Page 26 of Phantom Faceoff (Daddies of the League #5)
Chapter Twenty-Three
Zander
Malachi isn’t picking up his phone.
When I check in with Julian, he hasn’t heard from him.
I call the record shop. Not scheduled today.
Do I feel a teeny bit stalkerish? Maybe. But when your boyfriend suddenly starts gasping for air, runs outside, and then disappears for hours?
Yeah, I’m going to exhaust all of my options.
Julian
No coffee shop. No book store.
Me
I checked the record shop just in case. Nothing.
Julian
I hate to say it, but if Mal doesn’t want to be found, we won’t find him. Hiding is one of his specialties. Just hasn’t needed it in a while.
Me
IDK what happened. One minute we were laughing and kissing and the next it was like he couldn’t breathe.
Julian’s chat bubbles come and go a couple of times, which only serves to worsen the ball of anxiety in my chest.
Me
***
Julian
It might have been a panic attack.
Me
Panic attack?
Julian
Yeah. He gets those sometimes. Not as often as he used to.
Me
Did I set him off?
We didn’t do anything this morning that we haven’t done before; I’d even call our interaction this morning tame for our usual standards. Especially considering last night.
Julian
Did something happen?
Should I mention the woods thing to him? Is that too private?
Given the recent group play, I’m going to go with no.
Me
We maybe sorta had sex.
Julian
Maybe sorta?
Me
We had sex. Mind-blowing sex with details not for the faint of heart.
More popping and disappearing bubbles.
Julian
Has he talked to you about Mack yet?
Me
Who’s Mack?
Julian
I’ll take that as a ‘no’. I’m at Cakes I promise.” He folds his hands on the table and rests his face on them almost child-like. “Mal has some relationship hangups that he unfortunately needs to work through.”
“I can help him? Look, I’m no stranger to burying the lead and having it blow up in my face. I’m the last person to judge someone’s past.”
Pity. That’s the look in Julian’s eyes. Shit.
“It’s not my place to say,” he says, “But I care about Mal and I care about you, so I’m willing to push the boundaries a little.”
“Is he gonna be mad at you?”
Julian shrugs. “Maybe a little. But sometimes Mal needs someone looking out for him, too.”
The barista comes over and drops off a cold drink and warm pastry in front of Julian, then sets a black coffee down in front of me.
“Thought you might need it,” he says, sipping what looks like a cup of pure chocolate and humming a little cheerful sound.
He’s probably right.
“Okay, so the first thing you need to know is that Mal has C-PTSD, which means ‘Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder’. His time in the system was rough. He has trust issues. Abandonment issues. And is prone to panic attacks. Remember when I told you he was having a bit of a dry spell? Those are partially why.”
He taps his fingers on the table, watching me for a silent moment before continuing on.
“It’s why he has a short fuse. Why he can so erratically jump from mood to mood. It means he feels everything very intensely.”
I bite down on my lip, staring down into the cooling coffee. “What happened to him?”
“He was abused,” Julian says the words like they’re poison. “By everyone. His birth parents. His foster parents. The people running our group home. He wanted to protect everyone, and he paid the price for it.”
“So he’s naturally a Daddy?”
My eyes widen as the word comes out, filter be damned, but Julian simply chuckles.
“He doesn’t think so, but he is. I think … this thing he’s got going on with the both of us … I think it’s helping him cope. He’s been so much happier, so much more open the last few months. More than I’ve ever seen him.”
“Then, what did I do?” I ask, voice cracking a little at the end. “How did I … trigger him?”
Julian sighs and drops his chin into his palm. “Mal has a few big triggers. One being crowds. He’s always the last to class to avoid the rush of people. It’s why he was so oppositional about going to your games.”
Well now I feel like an ass.
“The others?”
His smile this time is sad. “Being touched. Usually casual touches are fine, but … the more intimate ones can be hard for him. Which is why I was really proud when he showed you his tattoos. And part of why we talked about the three of us fooling around. He wanted you to have whatever you needed, even if he couldn’t give it to you. ”
He takes in a deep breath and straightens. “You two having sex is a big deal. That he felt comfortable and safe enough to do that with you? That’s monumental.”
So he says, but now I’m not so sure. We were both upset. Tensions high.
He told me repeatedly that he wanted it.
But what if he just said that so I’d let him take care of me? Let him give up a piece of himself he wasn’t ready to give?
My throat feels thick and dry.
“Zander?”
Julian reaches a hand across the table, offering it to me. I take it even though my stomach feels like it might capsize.
“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” I whisper, the rawness clipping my words.
“I know,” Julian says, squeezing my hand. “Mal knows, too. Sometimes he just needs some space. He’ll be back.”
I hope he’s right.
I spend the afternoon hiding out in Julian and Malachi’s dorm waiting for him to come back. The dorm is a safe, non-crowded place that we both agree he’ll return to once he’s cleared his head.
Julian waits with me for a while, but as the blue sky turns a dark gray, he offers to pick us something up for dinner. I loan him the truck and wait—rather impatiently—on Malachi’s bed.
I wake up to Julian gently rubbing circles on my shoulder. Sleep clings to my eyes, and even as I swipe it away, the heaviness of exhaustion is still present.
“It’s late,” he says, stroking a hand through my hair. “Wasn’t sure if you wanted to get back.”
Right. This isn’t my room.
A quick look around reveals that Malachi hasn’t returned, and I sag against the pillows.
“There’s Chinese if you want me to heat it up.”
I shake my head and dig my palms into my eyes.
“He’ll be back.”
What if he’s not? What if I fucked up so bad he doesn’t feel safe here anymore?
That thought hurts.
I want to be there for him the way he’s been there for me. To show him that he isn’t giving to me with nothing in return; we take care of each other.
He’s my Daddy, and I’m his boy.
A thought hits me, and I sit up. “Julian? What if he does want to be found? What if he’s just scared to come back?”
He sits down on the edge of the bed and squeezes his fingers around my ankle. “Mal can have a hard time getting a grip on his emotions, so, yeah, that’s possible. He’d probably go somewhere important. Somewhere that tells him if we find him, then we actually care.”
“Of course we care!”
Julian taps his temple. “He know that up here. But down here?” He leans forward and splays a hand over my heart. “It’s hard for him to believe it.”
Where would Malachi want to be found? What place would be special enough?
I wrack my brain, unable to come up with anywhere he’s shown extra interest in.
What about somewhere important to us ?
I replay our entire tumultuous relationship. Most of our time has been spent in bedrooms or alleyways.
Would he have gone back to The Den in the middle of the night? Waiting out in the alley for someone—friendly or not—to find him.
The idea makes me antsy, so I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and slip my shoes on.
The least I can do is check. If I’m wrong—good.
Another snapshot plays in my head: moonlight shining through the trees, labored breaths as we fight the pull urging us together.
“You want to kiss me, too.”
Somewhere safe. Somewhere special.
Where we first kissed. Where he first told me we couldn’t be what we are.
My breath comes out of me as more of a sob.
“I think I know where he is.”
It’s late. The moon is high in the sky, and the air takes on a chilling bite. It’s worth it, though, because all of the worry and fear is abated by a silhouette beneath the willow.
I don’t even need confirmation that it’s him. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest on sight, and I cross the space with all of the speed of the winger I am.
It takes all of my self control not to drop to my knees and throw my arms around him, but I also need to just see him.
He looks up from where his knees are pulled tight to his chest, and all of my breath rushes out of my chest.
“Malachi.” Because that’s who needs me right now. The person behind the name. He can’t be Daddy if Malachi is hurting.
He doesn’t smile or show any outright joy, just stares up at me as if I were see-through, and as the seconds tick on the tension building inside starts to make my body physically ache.
After what feels like an eternity, he drops his gaze and—in a slight, barely noticeable movement—pats the ground beside him. I take it slow—so I don’t spook him—and mirror his position.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I whisper, knocking my knee on his.
It earns me the barest hint of a smile. “That’s relative.”
We sit in a bout of silence punctuated by the sounds of our breathing, unsure where to even start until Julian finally steps forward and sits down in front of us.
“You scared us, Mal.”
He sits there, squeezing his arms around his knees in a repetitive pattern, staring off into one space as he shrugs. “Sorry. I just needed to?—”
“Mope?” Julian chirps and reaches over to smack Malachi on the thigh.
The sound rings loud throughout the quad, and I think I’m just as shocked as Malachi is. His brows are creased, frown pronounced, and a huff of irritated air is expelled from his lungs.