Page 37 of Hurt

These were the languid thoughts he was thinking rather than paying attention to the words on the page. Usually, he was quite engaged in books. He preferred them to TV, though he did have a few guilty pleasure shows he watched on occasion. But tonight, he found himself rereading the page over and over and still not absorbing anything.

Setting the book down on his lap, he looked around his living room without really seeing. His mind had been all jumbled since his conversation with Kurt. Longer than that, really. Since the first time he had seen him, the man had only presented him with questions. Grant had made plans on how to get to know him and then backup plans in case those failed. It didn’t matter. Kurt continually made moves that Grant couldn’t predict. Like an experienced chess player, he slaughtered Grant’s defenses and left him exposed and wanting more.

Why him?

Grant had been asking himself that over and over again, and there was no definite answer. He was handsome, of course, but Grant had met thousands of handsome men in his life. Men that were handsome, smart, funny, and well suited to his personality. So, what was it about Kurt? What quality made him so completely obsessed?

Perhaps the fact that he didn’t have an answer to that questionwasthe answer.

There was no tangible quality to Kurt that made him drawn to him. If he believed in soul mates or love at first sight, he would be inclined to think Kurt was his. But the idea that there was some ethereal being responsible for choosing a life partner for humans was laughable, something suitable for fiction.

Or at least, so Grant had been inclined to believe. Now, he might be more open to the concept.

None of that changed the fact that Kurt was hiding something. There was something behind those dark eyes. Something in the way he flinched and put distance between them. When Kurt had launched across the bar and threatened to punch Grant, there wasn’t anger in his eyes. Kurt had been afraid. Fear had contorted his face and pushed him to attack.

What could make a man surrounded by monsters on a daily basis so afraid? Where was he those four years between high school and The Sunspot? Was it the same reason Willow stopped playing professionally?

Grant wanted to know. He wanted to know more than he had ever wanted to know anything in his life, but he couldn’t ask. Not when Kurt watched him like a skittish animal—one wrong move, and he would be forever out of his grasp. The last thing he wanted to do was scare him.

He had never considered himself a particularly protective person. He cared about his family, of course, but each and every one of the Weavers was more than capable of taking care of themselves. Better than he could protect them. Even in his advanced age, Wallace could probably best almost any enemy who crossed him. Grant had lost count of how many times Roland, Jamie, Elijah, and he had ended up on the business end of a weapon. Never once had he felt the need to defend them, to shield them from the violence.

Kurt was capable of protecting himself. He had seen it when Roland started the fight with Asher. He put himself right in the middle of it all. Jamie had even told him he had taken over bouncer duties when Sid needed help.

None of that mattered.

Grant felt a need to protect Kurt that went beyond logic. Despite knowing he was a strong man, and despite knowing he had no right to do so. There was a need building inside him. One that demanded he wrap him in his arms and shield him from every terrible thing that existed in this world.

Even if hewasone of those terrible things.

He remembered the night Roland assaulted Asher. He had been so focused on diffusing the situation that he barely registered what was happening outside of his brother. Grant’s mind had been going a thousand miles a minute, calculating just how to keep a lid on what was happening and produce a favorable outcome. He almost missed it. The way Ezra grabbed for Kurt, hands running over him in a familiar way. Those hands had annoyed Grant. He had wanted to cut them off at the wrist. Give Ezra nothing but stumps to stare at in horror as a reminder not to touch things that were his.

But Kurt wasn’t his. At the time, he neglected to look at Kurt to see what he was thinking when Ezra’s hands were on him. Were they lovers?

That thought was so abhorrent Grant slammed the book closed and tossed it onto his coffee table. Kurt hadn’t said anything when Grant admitted he was flirting with him. Wouldn’t that be the time to acknowledge a relationship?

Not that it would have mattered.

In the past, Grant might have backed off. Respected a relationship and put his desires on hold. But he couldn’t do that with Kurt. The gentlemanly thing would be to back off, perhaps wait in the fringes until he became unattached.

But Grant was not a nice man. And he would do everything in his power to win Kurt’s affections.

Having settled his thoughts, he reached for the book he tossed aside when there was a knock on his door.

Instinctively he reached for the gun he kept on the coffee table. Instead of grabbing the novel, his hands slid around the handgun. It wasn’t his preferred weapon, but he didn’t have his knife on him at the moment.

Likely, it was his brother or one of the other Weavers. If there had been an emergency, they would have called him. Bothering him at his personal residence was strictly prohibited unless it was deemed to be something that couldn’t wait. Standing, he glanced at the open window and felt exposed.

He was barefoot and wearing sweatpants and a baggy sweater. Most people wouldn’t recognize him out of the Weavers’ standard uniform.

Creeping toward the door, he looked out the peephole but could only see blackness. With a steadying breath, he pulled open the door a few inches.

An expanse of purple was illuminated by the warm light spilling out from the open door. Pulling the door open farther, he saw Kurt looking in. His hands were stuffed into a ratty jacket, and he fidgeted from foot to foot.

Setting the gun down on the table beside the door, Grant opened the door completely.

“Kurt? What…how did you even get here?” he asked, looking around in the darkness for any trace of the vehicle. There was no way anyone could get on Weaver’s property without the alarms going off.

“Jamie, let me in.”