Page 24 of King of Pain (Damaged Hearts #1)

Be Near Me

Anthony

The second I step into my dorm room after today’s classes, my sneakers squish against the carpet. I look down and see water pooling across the floor, creeping toward the few pieces of furniture in the small space. My duffel bag, which I’d left by my bed, is already soaked halfway up.

“Shit,” I mutter, stepping carefully around the water to check the extent of the damage. It’s bad. My bed, desk, and bookshelves are mostly untouched for now, but the water is spreading fast. I quickly grab a towel to try and block it from reaching my things when there’s a knock at the door.

I open it to find the facility maintenance guy, a stocky man with graying hair and a clipboard tucked under his arm. His boots are wet, and he looks like there’s one hundred other things he’d rather be doing right now.

“Pipe burst on this floor,” he explains, bypassing introductions, and glancing past me at the mess.

“We’re clearing everyone out so we can extract water, assess the damage, and get repairs done before mold sets in.

You need to pack up essentials and head to the front desk to figure out temporary housing. ”

“How long are we talking?” I ask, already feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me.

“Could be weeks,” he says flatly. “Depends on how bad the damage is once we tear into the walls.”

Fucking. Fantastic.

I nod and thank him before turning back to my room.

Essentials. Got it. I grab an empty duffel bag and toss in a few changes of clothes, my laptop, toiletries, and anything else I might need for a couple of days.

I can come back for the rest later. Hopefully it’s all salvageable.

Sadly, this tiny space holds everything I own.

When I left Michigan, I packed a suitcase and left the rest behind, walking away from my parents—and everything tied to them. I’m not going back. Ever. Not to the house of blind eyes turned. Not to the people who sacrificed their child to their faith.

This duffel bag is all I have now. It’s all I need.

At the front desk, the student worker barely glances at me before launching into the same spiel she’s clearly been giving for hours.

“We’re adding displaced students to a waitlist for alternative housing, but it’s going to take some time to find anything available this far into the semester.

In the meantime, we recommend finding someone to stay with. ”

“That’s it?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intend. “No guarantees, no timeframe, just... figure it out?”

She shrugs, clearly over it. “Hey, just the messenger here. We’ll call if something opens up.”

I clench my jaw, grab my bag, and leave before I say something I’ll regret, then head to the only place I know to go.

When I get toDevil Records , Jen and Chance are at the counter laughing about something. Jen waves when she sees me, her smile fades a little when she notices my face and the duffel slung over my shoulder.

“What happened?” she asks, coming around the counter to meet me.

“Flood in the dorms,” I say, setting my bag down. “Pipe burst. They’re kicking everyone out while they fix it, but there’s no available housing right now. I need to find somewhere to stay.”

Jen’s eyes soften. “Damn. That sucks.”

“I was hoping I could crash with you,” I say calmly, trying to mask how panicked I really am. “Just until something opens up.”

She winces, and my stomach sinks. “I’d love to help, but my landlord’s strict about extended guests not on the lease. You know how it is with students. Too many people pack into studios and one-bedrooms and trash the place.”

I open my mouth to reply, but she glances over her shoulder at Chance, her expression brightening with mischief and something else I can’t decipher. “Hey, Chance has a one-bedroom. That’s way more space than my studio. You should stay with him while your room gets sorted.”

I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat.

Chance, however, doesn’t seem fazed. His blue eyes lift to meet mine, his expression calm and open.

After a beat, he cocks his head, and his lips pull into one of those blinding smiles that always make me want to blow up every wall and boundary I’ve ever built.

“I mean... yeah,” Chance says, his tone genuine. “I’ve got the space, and Little G already loves you. It’s really no problem.”

I’m immediately plunged into a conflicting mix of relief and panic. With no other options, I know this is the best solution, but the thought of being in close proximity to Chance sends my mind spiraling and my body reacting in a way I’m determined to ignore for now.

“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

“Of course,” Chance says, his smile softening. “Come on, roomie. Let’s get you settled.”

I nod and lean down to set my bag on the floor. As I straighten, I catch Chance winking at Jen.

What the hell was that?

After clearing it with Frank and Kathy, Chance leaves his shift early with me in tow.

When we walk into his apartment, Chance lets Guinness out of his crate, and the pup bursts out, tail wagging furiously. Chance crouches down to scratch behind his ears. A hidden part of me can’t help but feel a little jealous.

I like scratches, too.

God, get a grip, Pacini.

“Alright,” Chance says, standing up. “I’m going to take Little G out to piss. Go ahead and put your bag down and grab a beer if you want. I’ll be right back, and we’ll get you settled.”

“Okay, thanks,” I reply as he heads out the door.

This is fine. You can do this; I tell myself as I toss my bag on the couch and go to his kitchen to grab two beers from the fridge. Peering inside, I make a mental note to grab some cooking essentials tomorrow. This man’s fridge is practically barren—just beer, ketchup, and almond milk.

When Chance returns with Little G, he claps his hands together and says, “Alright, let’s get you set up. You can use the hall closet for your clothes since it’s basically empty, and I’ve got extra blankets and pillows for the couch.”

“Thanks,” I say, following him as he pulls the bedding out from the linen closet.

“Make yourself at home,” Chance says, tossing the blankets onto the couch. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Protein powder, snacks, whatever.”

I glance toward the fridge, raising an eyebrow. “Will do. I love ketchup and almond milk soup. A real delicacy.”

Chance throws his head back, laughing. I do my best not to watch the cords of his neck flex. I fail miserably.

“Careful, Pacini, your sense of humor is showing. I’ll be sure to order you one of those gourmet meal kits to satisfy your culinary needs.”

I shake my head and laugh, handing him his beer. “Nah, I’ll go to the market tomorrow. You need actual food in your house, Chance.”

“Noted,” he says with a crooked grin. “Are you going to cook for me?”

I snicker. “If you’re lucky.”

Chance slips into his bedroom to change.

I journey the two short steps it takes to get into his kitchen and dining area.

The kitchen table is a jumble of art supplies.

Sketchbooks, charcoal pencils, and a few loose sheets of paper are scattered across the surface, their drawings hidden face-down.

These weren’t out the last time I was here.

“Are those for school?” I ask, motioning toward the table when he comes back.

Chance’s eyes bounce between me and the table. He looks uncharacteristically flustered as he quickly gathers the supplies into a pile. “Yeah, just... projects. They’re not finished. I don’t want to show anyone yet.”

Blindingly fast, he scoops everything up and takes it to his room, making sure to close the door before coming back.

That was… interesting.

Later, after we’ve taken Little G for another walk, I zero-in on a gaming console hooked up to the TV I hadn’t noticed the few times I’d been here before.

“You game?” I ask, nodding toward it.

Chance’s face lights up with a grin. “Hell yeah. You?”

“Occasionally,” I say with a casual shrug.

“You want to battle?” he challenges, grabbing a couple of controllers and tossing one my way.

“Sure,” I reply, catching it easily.

He heads to the fridge, grabs two more beers, and hands one to me before dropping onto the couch. “Alright, prepare to get your ass handed to you.”

“Big talk,” I say, smirking as I crack open the beer.

Chance queues up the game, and the competition is on. The living room fills with the sounds of explosions, banter, and Little G softly panting by our feet.

“Seriously? That’s the best you can do?” Chance teases after I misjudge a jump in the game and my character plummets to his doom.

I roll my eyes, trying to suppress a grin. “Don’t get cocky, Sullivan. I’ll make a comeback.”

“Oh yeah?” He laughs, leaning back against the couch. “I’ll believe it when I see it, PacMan .”

I groan.

We go back and forth, trash-talking and laughing until my stomach hurts. It’s then that I realize something unusual—I feel completely at ease.

After another round where I almost beat him, I set my controller down and turn to him.

“Hey, Chance,” I start, my tone more serious now. “Thanks. For letting me stay, I mean. I’ll find a way to pay the favor back. I know it’s temporary, but…” I trail off, unsure how to finish the thought.

He looks over at me, his blue eyes crystal, yet warm and sincere. “You don’t have to thank me, Ant, I meant what I said. Little G loves you, and I’m kind of a fan too.”

My heart lodges itself in my throat.

“Also, you owe me nothing, Beautiful, but if you walked around the apartment in your boxer briefs, I wouldn’t complain.” He winks, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Ooh, or better yet, cooking for me in your boxer briefs.”

My face heats instantly, and I turn my attention back to the TV, picking at the label on the beer in my hands. Inside, I’m spiraling. How am I supposed to survive under the same roof as this man?

“Blushing already?” Chance teases, nudging my shoulder. “We haven’t even gotten to me walking around in my boxer briefs yet.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, trying not to focus on how red my face must be—or the vision he just put in my head.

He laughs, and the sound wraps around me, softening the edges of everything else.

Chance orders a pizza, and as we dive into another game, I find myself stealing glances at him, wondering how I’m going to keep my head straight when everything about him makes me want to lose it.

After Chance takes Little G out one last time and heads to bed, I find myself sitting on the edge of the couch, my duffel bag at my feet.

I stare blankly at the pup for a while as he snores softly on the rug.

He wouldn’t follow Chance to bed, earning him the title of Little Traitor, or Little T,from Chance.

The accusation made me laugh, but Little G staying by my side was exactly what I needed, and I think he knew that.

I wouldn’t have minded if Chance had stayed a little longer, too.

My thoughts are a tangled mess, looping around themselves in a way that makes my head hurt. Staying here was a simple solution, right? But nothing about it feels simple.

Chance has been… incredible. Unexpected, but incredible. Not just tonight, either. Since the day he breezed into town, he’s made it his mission to chip away at my hard exterior, and damn it, it’s working. He’s made me feel lighter, freer in ways I didn’t think were a possibility for me.

Now, he’s opened his home to me without hesitation, no questions asked. Yet here I am, overthinking every moment. Every breath. Every look.

Being here feels good. Too good. That’s the problem. My walls are already chipping in his presence—the top bricks beginning to crumble. Now we’ll be sharing space, for however long. What if he punches a hole through and sees what’s on the other side? What if he doesn’t like what he finds?

What if I don’t like being seen?

Chance is disarming in a way that terrifies me. His warmth, his easy smile, the way he somehow seems to know when I need space and when I need someone close. It’s not just comfortable. It’s safe. Safe isn’t something I’ve ever let myself feel.

Not after them.

I run a hand through my hair and sigh, trying to ignore the warmth blooming in my chest. Every day, it gets harder to ignore the way my heart leaps when he calls me beautiful, the way his eyes pierce through my protective exterior like sunlight cutting through fog.

I’ve caught myself watching him too many times, wondering what it would feel like to let all my walls come down.

Wondering what it would feel like to be seen. Really seen. By him.

Let him show you what you already know about yourself.

But then there’s the other side. The one screaming at me to keep my distance. That I’m only setting myself up for disappointment. I can’t let myself get too close, can’t let him see everything. What if it’s too much? What if I ruin this?

And then there’s this priest. The thought of him sends a chill down my spine. He’s shown up three times now, and I refuse to believe it’s a coincidence. Is he watching me? Just waiting for the right moment to... what? I don’t even want to think about it.

Maybe it’s better that I’m staying with Chance.

That night… he didn’t even hesitate. He went after that priest without a second thought, his voice sharp and his body tense with anger.

He didn’t stop to ask why I was so shaken; he just saw it and reacted, like someone who is used to identifying a threat.

It made me feel Protected. That’s what I think scares me the most—how easy it is to let myself feel safe with him. It’s not something I’ve ever had for long, and the more I lean into it, the harder it’ll be when it disappears.

For now, I’ll take it. Under this roof, with Chance just a room away, I feel a kind of protection that was always for other people.

I’m damaged, but I’m not oblivious—I’ve seen the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. Like he’d tear the world apart if it meant keeping me safe.

It’s selfish, isn’t it? Staying here when every day, I feel myself inching closer to the edge of something I don’t know how to navigate?

Little G lets out a soft snuffle, his paws twitching in a dream, and I blow out a shaky breath. Maybe it’s okay to let myself feel safe, even if just for a little while.

Maybe it’s time to let my guard down.