Page 24 of Foxed Up
It was only around his eyes that I saw the wavering hesitation when he looked at me, then came to join me at the desks. He sat down opposite me with no show of reluctance, but I saw the hint of raw uncertainty in his eyes.
He moved with all the smooth dexterity anyone would've wished. That was one thing I'd always envied about him, something that made me grow still sometimes watching him, and wonder how someone so perfect could exist. He seemed so completely in tune with his body, the way he moved, the way he observed the world. I wasn't sure if it was because he was a shifter or not, that poise and awareness. He was certainly on the nerdy, quiet end of the scale most of the time, but he had the poise of an A-list celebrity — and the looks, too. At least I thought so, and I wasn't the only one.
"Need some help with that?" he asked, motioning to the paperwork I was dealing with.
I nodded and pushed it across to him with relief. Perhaps I was being forgiven. I was definitely not too proud to accept his help with paperwork. The man was great at it — and I was less than great.
He bent his pretty head and ran his gaze over the words, looking calmly competent, and rather like a genius. "I guess we have a backlog of cases to consult on?" he said, his head still ducked so he didn't have to look at me.
He sounded...embarrassed. And perhaps for the first time, I realized it really wasn't all about me. He hadn't left the job just to get even. If he had, he wouldn't be embarrassed now that the work had had to wait for him. And he wouldn't have been so strange last night, so unlike himself.
He was messed up right now, as messed up as I was by his disappearance. But he was the one who'd chosen it.I don't trust you right now. Those words had cut deep, were still cutting deep.
Was our relationship really so fragile? Washereally this fragile? Sure, I'd made a hash of things, but it wasn't really news to him that I could be a big clod. I'd tried every way I knew to show him I loved him. Maybe it was never going to be enough; maybe we would end up breaking up no matter how much we both wanted to stay together.
He looked up, nervousness betrayed in his gaze, and I realized I still hadn't answered. I was letting Avery drag me down when we were supposed to be working, being professional — and at least trying to get along.
"Um, yeah, there is. If you'd rather I didn't tag along..." No doubt Matt would leap at the opportunity to volunteer to accompany him, instead.
"No. You can come along," said Wallace quickly, looking alarmed.
At least he still trusted my backup. I suppose you have to start somewhere; perhaps I'd have to be content with that for now.
The captain let us know what we needed to do. There was a backlog of evidence that needed a good sniff or two from Wallace, a fresh crime scene to be gone over...and a "see me in my office" case, which sounded bad.
Wallace cast me an anxious, hunted look, his brow furrowing with worry as we headed off. Was that a good sign, that he still looked to me for assurance? I tagged along while he did the tasks required, feeling rather useless. He clearly didn't need or want my reassurance...but he also didn't want to be left alone. I decided to pretend that was a good sign, and not a sign that I'd irretrievably broken him.
How did I manage to ruin the one good romantic and sexual relationship I'd ever had in my life? How? These thoughts occupied me, and I brooded.
Eventually, he was done with the grunt work and we went to the captain's office and shut the door behind us. There was a look about the captain that spoke of strain, and hinted that he wasn't going to enjoy this upcoming conversation any more than we were. I really hoped it wasn't about our relationship...or possible lack thereof.
Nothing to worry about, I told myself. If the captain wanted to tell me off, he wouldn't do it with his golden boy present. The captain was protective of him: Wallace, with his big soft eyes and his nervous disposition...even the way he flared up indignantly against any perceived injustice. If anything, it all made the captain like him more.
Most people, once they knew him, seemed to want to protect Wallace. But he didn't let most people know him at all.
It was starting to feel like I was back on the outside. Avery seemed unknowable today. I couldn't hold onto any outrage, though. After seeing him last night, how uncertain and hurt he seemed, I saw him as vulnerable and needing to be protected, too.
Did that mean I needed to protect him from myself? I pushed that thought away; I didn't like where it took me. And whatever thenicething, thegoodthing, thegentlemanlything to do was, I wasn't leaving Wallace for his own good. I was keeping him. Maybe I was selfish: too damn bad. I wasn't letting him walk out of my life without a fight to keep him, and I sure as hell wasn't playing the martyr and giving him up. Nope. He was mine.
"Come in, sit down," said the captain, mostly looking at Wallace. "Avery, how are you doing?"
"Good, sir," said Wallace in that soft, contained voice of his. He was acting particularly shy and sweet today.
I hated it when he did that. It made me want to grind my teeth. It made me want to tell him to toughen up. It made me want to throw myself in front of him like a human shield, dammit.
If he realized the effect he had on people, I was pretty sure he'd be embarrassed. Or he just wouldn't believe it at all. People wanted to protect him, with his pretty face and his unexpected vulnerabilities. He could be such an ice prince...and he could be like this.
He sat quietly, hands in his lap, looking like he was trying to sit as precisely upright and quiet as possible, as if perhaps no one would notice him if his posture was perfect. Not a hair was out of place. He looked damned perfect, like he always did, with his perfectly fitting sweater vest and his slim-cut, completely wrinkle-free dark wash jeans. Not a hint of messiness or lack of control, except for the strain on his face.
The only time he really lost control and looked disheveled was during sex...or just after, when he was open, vulnerable, exhilarated, cuddly, friendly...or just looking shocked at how glad he was to be alive.
My throat felt like it was closing up, and I had to stop thinking about this shit.
Once you've had a guy like Wallace, you can't just forget what it's like to be with him, to revel in his sensuality and grace. I didn't want to give that up. I missed it — him — so much already. How would I survive if he stayed this distant, and yet this close?
Ineededhim. To at least smile at me. It was surprisingly painful to realize just how little I would be willing to settle for in this moment. How much I fucking needed him. Me, who'd never let myselfneedanyone.
If this was what it was like to be in love, who fucking needed it?