Page 42 of Tribute Act

“Hey,” I said, offering a crooked smile.

He smiled back, if a little guardedly. “Hey.”

What I really wanted, in that moment, was to lie down beside him and pull him into my arms, but I didn’t feel like I could. Without saying or doing anything, Mack had somehow made himself remote.

Slowly, he sat up, managing to create some mattress space between us as he did so.

When he met my gaze, his smile was broad but curiously distant. “God, I needed that,” he said, then chuckled. “Thanks, man.”

Like I’d scratched an itch for him.

My heart sank. Fuck, I’d known as soon as he’d suggested this that it wasn’t a good idea.

Well, it wasn’t Mack’s fault that I wasn’t into casual hookups. Of the two of us, I was the unusual one, probably.

I dropped my gaze, not trusting myself to speak. What was I supposed to say, after all? You’re welcome?

He didn’t seem to notice my lack of reaction, was too busy getting up and grabbing his boxers from the floor, donning them quickly.

“Christ, I’m starving,” he announced. “How about I finish making dinner?”

“I’ll do it,” I said automatically, getting to my feet. “I’ve already started. I only need to finish chop—”

“Nathan,” he interrupted, his tone exasperated. “Can you just let me do something? For once?”

My head jerked up and I looked at him, astonished. “What?”

He gave a hard sigh. “You don’t have to do everything, all the time.”

“What do you mean” I sounded defensive now. “I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do. You take care of everything, for everyone. But I don’t need you to do that for me. I know it’s important for you to—” He stopped, pressing his lips together.

My heart was pounding. “To what?” I bit out. “What do you think is important to me?”

He eyed me for a long moment. “You like to be needed—and that’s fine. Your mum, Rosie, my dad, they all need you. Personally, I think they expect too much of you sometimes, but if you’re all right with it . . .” He shrugged, then added, “But not me, okay? I don’t need that. I can do my fair share.”

I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at him. What was he saying, that I had some kind of martyr complex? Or worse, that I got people to love me by making them feel beholden to me? My cheeks were suddenly hot. I must be bright red. I felt insulted and stupid and thoroughly rejected.

Mack’s hard expression crumbled at whatever he saw on my face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s none of my business how you deal with your family.”

Your family.

Not his. Not even ours.

Yours.

At that instant, I just felt incredibly . . . sad. Still angry, still hurt, but sad more than anything else. And I couldn’t think of a thing to say. What was the point is saying They’re your family too—he obviously didn’t see it like that.

I turned away, hiding my face from him. “I could do with a shower—if the offer to finish dinner’s still on the table, I won’t stop you.”

“Okay, good.” He sounded relieved. “Chicken stir-fry, right?”

“Yeah. Chicken’s in the fridge. There’s rice in the cupboard or noodles if you prefer.”

“Coming right up,” he said, positively cheerful now. “I hope you like it spicy!”

I need you back; I want you back