Exodus

by Stewart , Kate

  “What in the hell? You’re hurt!”

  I raise on my toes to inspect the wound and he gently pushes me away.

  “I’m all right.”

  “You’re bleeding. Tobias, this looks bad.”

  He reverses us, the water hitting his scalp and coming out tinged with pink between our feet at the drain. He runs his hand through his hair as I struggle with him to get a closer look.

  “What happened?” I battle with him until finally he relents, sitting on the shower bench so I can inspect him. The inch-long gash at his crown could use a stitch or three.

  “You need stitches.”

  “It will heal.”

  Once he’s rinsed off, he follows me out of the shower and stumbles before bracing himself on the counter.

  His eyes close as he pales.

  “You’ve lost too much blood.”

  He chews his lip with his teeth. “I’m good.”

  “Sit down. Now.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “If you pass out and crack your head, I will leave you to die.”

  “No, you won’t, that’s not who you are.” He grips my hand and glances at me, his smile faint.

  “Sit the hell down.”

  He does as I do my best to towel him off.

  It takes every bit of strength I have not to press my lips to his skin as I do.

  That’s affection, and maybe it’s his helplessness that has me wanting to do something so intimate.

  I bat that notion away Louisville Slugger style. I’ve shown him enough kindness by tending to him.

  I will not be the fool again.

  He watches my every move as I pat the water from his body before ordering him to sit on the edge of my bed.

  “You think fucking me was smart, considering?”

  “I think fucking you was worth the added headache you’re giving me.”

  I roll my eyes as he tries to pull me into his lap.

  “Tobias, you’re seconds away from passing out. Stop, you’re white as a sheet.”

  He shrugs. “Better than having one draped over me.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  I don’t miss his grin. “Maybe you don’t hate me so much anymore.”

  “Not debatable.”

  I collect his clothes from my floor and see the collar of his shirt is covered in blood, along with the back of his suit jacket.

  “How long have you been freely bleeding? You’ve lost a lot.”

  He nods toward his clothes. “Burn them.”

  “I’m afraid my incinerator is on the fritz.” I bite my lips to stifle my laugh.

  He rolls his eyes. “Bag them. I’ll take them with me.”

  I lift the clothes in jest. “So, this is all covered in incriminating DNA, all I need to take you down, huh?”

  Nothing about that amuses him.

  “I’m joking.”

  He’s not.

  “You already have all you need to take me down.”

  We stare off, his newest confession throwing me until he winces.

  I cock my hip and palm it. “You need stitches. It’s still bleeding. Don’t you have some sort of dirty mob doctor on the payroll?”

  A chuckle erupts from him. “You’ve seen entirely too many movies, but it’s not a bad idea. It’s not deep enough, and it will close tonight. I’ll settle for a nurse with a horrible bedside manner instead.”

  “Fine,” I roll my eyes. “Stay there.” Dressing quickly, I go to the hall closet and pull out a trash bag and the first aid kit. I bring it back to the bedroom and spray his gash with antiseptic. I can’t help my giggle when he lets out a whimper as I press a bandage to his wound before ordering him to hold it.

  “Big baby.”

  “It fucking hurts,” he says, his posture wary as he holds the bandage to his head.

  “I’ll get you something to put on.”

  He grips my hand. “No.”

  “This isn’t debatable, Tobias.”

  Downstairs, I head to Roman’s bedroom and check his medicine cabinet, grabbing a couple of Vicodin. Searching his drawers, I find some unused boxers and a T-shirt before I stop in the kitchen. Back in my bedroom, I hand him the pain killers and juice. He swallows them down before studying the clothes in my hands—the clothes belonging to a man he despises.

  “They’re clothes. You can’t walk around naked.”

  “Says who?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The boxers are still in the package.”

  He doesn’t say a word as he opens it and slips them on, along with the T-shirt. I extend the napkin holding the quick sandwich I made, a croissant and swiss.

  “Here, eat this, a Frenchman’s delight.”

  “Not hungry.”

  “Eat, or you’ll pass out.”

  He takes it from me and shoves half the croissant in his mouth, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “You’re acting like a brat. Like Mom just forced you to get a buzz cut. Just say thank you. You won’t hate yourself as much.”

  It’s faint, but I hear it when I switch off the bathroom light. “Merci.”

  “So, is this some sort of scare tactic? Because I’m leaving soon.”

  “No, this is a rough day.”

  “Retaliation?”

  He sips his juice, completely ignoring the question.

  “You know, your brother did the same shit.” I roll my eyes. “I wonder where he got it from.”

  I pull my comforter down and sort my pillows while he finishes his sandwich. He sits there as if he’s confused about how he got here. I am too. Instead of questioning it, I lay our used towel on the pillow next to mine and gesture for him to lay down.

  Instead, he stands, crumbling up the napkin in his hand while walking into the bathroom. A second later, I hear running water.

  “What are you doing?” I ask from the edge of the bed.

  “Brushing my teeth.”

  “Are you serious?”

  I hear a mumble around the toothbrush, “Swiss cheese breath is the worst.”

  Laughter bursts from me. “You better not be using my toothbrush.”

  “There was a spare in the cabinet.”

  A few seconds later, I see the flicking of the light once, twice, three times before he climbs into bed with me.

  “Better?” I press my lips together.

  He rolls his eyes. “Laugh it up.”

  When my smile dies, we lay there silent, facing the other on our pillows.

  “Why did you come here? I’m not your girlfriend.”

  “No, you aren’t.” His voice is wary, as is his stare, he’s exhausted.

  “So, are you going to answer the question?”

  “No.”

  Up close, I take in the slight wave of his damp hair, his thick midnight black lashes, the smooth planes of his face, his mouth. His top lip a more masculine cupid’s bow, slightly smaller than the bottom. He returns my stare, his eyes roaming my face, and equally as probing.

  I’m the first to speak.

  “What’s your game?”

  He fires right back. “What’s yours?”

  We lay there, silent, eyes challenging.

  “I won’t ever be able to believe a word you say, Tobias.”

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  “So why bother, after treating me like total shit, you suddenly have a conscience? Suddenly I’m worthy of,” I wave my hand around, “whatever the hell you’re doing?”

  “Treating you with respect? Like I’ve wronged you. Like I’ve mistreated you horribly and I’m apologizing for it? I’m not a monster, Cecelia.”

  “Debatable.”

  He sighs. “As I said, I don’t expect you to believe me.”

  “I don’t, and I won’t.”

  His eyes dart past my shoulder, a deep line forming between his brows.

  “Are you okay?”

  He focuses back on me.

  “Te soucies-tu vraiment de moi?” Do you really care about
me?

  “Tobias, I’m not fluent.”

  He clears his throat, but the question seems to pain him. “Do you really care?”

  “I asked, didn’t I?”

  “You should hate me.”

  “I do.”

  “No, you don’t. You want to, but that’s not who you are. You want to believe the best in people.”

  “Is that so wrong?”

  “No,” he swallows. “It’s not.”

  “Just bad for business,” I conclude.

  A faint dip of his chin before his eyes gloss over.

  I lean in, unable to help my smile. “Pills kicking in, huh?”

  A little smile forms on his lips, which in turn tugs at the edges of my heart. And in that moment, his words ring true. I’ve been looking for the good in him. But I can’t trust him, which leaves us nowhere. He sinks into the bed a second later, and my smile grows.

  “Ohhhhh, you’re high as a kite.” I straddle his lap before leaning forward and pressing my nose to his. “All doped up.”

  He grins up at me, his smile so blinding that I feel that familiar flap of wings.

  His grin starts to fade as I peer down at him. He slowly lifts from where he lays and kisses me, his fingers stroking my face in a way that has me turning my head to ignore my reaction. It’s far too intimate.

  “Don’t do that,” I lift to climb off his lap, and he stops me with his hands on my thighs.

  “Do what?”

  I change the subject. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “You’re better off not knowing.”

  I pull back and nod. “I thought that would be your answer. Can’t give me an inch, huh?”

  I don’t miss the ironic twist of his lips as he gently lifts his hips, his growing erection letting me know precisely what inches he would readily give me.

  Rolling my eyes, I take my place beside him and click off my lamp. We lay in the dark, inches away, untouching. We’ve never been in bed together, not in the domestic sort of sense. And I curse my stupid emotions for feeling what I shouldn’t when he begins running the pads of his fingers along my arm.

  Utter fucking disaster.

  Minutes pass, as I stay quiet beside him. His touch lulls me into a state, a minute before he pauses his fingers.

  “Why did you sleep with them both?”

  “Whoa.”

  I click the light back on and slide to sit at the head of the bed, peering down at him. If his pupils are any indication, then he’s been pulled way under. Those painkillers must be potent, or he’s a lightweight. Otherwise, he would never let me hear the hint of jealousy in his voice. And it is undeniable.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  I get a half shrug. “I’m curious.”

  “No, you’re not, you’re judging me. And it’s none of your business.”

  His voice is faint when he speaks. “Je n’en ai aucun droit.” I have no right.

  “English, Tobias.”

  “I have no right. Answer the question.”

  His voice is so raw as if he’s been mulling this over and it pains him to ask. What do I have to lose by being honest? Nothing. This man knows me. He sees me more clearly than most others I’ve known for most of my life. But only because he’s studied me as his opposition.

  “Sexually, for me, it started like a college phase. I’d only slept with two other boyfriends before I met them.”

  “You weren’t in college.”

  “It’s an expression.”

  “I know the expression,” he replies with an edge. But the look in his eyes isn’t condemnation. It’s curiosity.

  “I know I’m not the first woman they shared, so don’t think relaying that will make a damn dent in me. And don’t be such a prude. Wasn’t it the French who coined the term ménage à trois?”

  His eyes narrow to slits.

  “Come on. I’ve been on the receiving end of you. I know you aren’t a saint.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then why does it matter?”

  He stares at me with expectancy.

  “If you get this from me, I want something from you.” He opens his mouth to speak, and I lift my hand. “And it’s got to be good. A real confession.”

  He smirks, his expression boyish, and I soak it in knowing all too well this is a side of him he rarely reveals. His guard is down, even if it’s drug-induced. “When I was twenty-one, I slept with every woman in the June edition of a French lingerie catalog.”

  Maybe I didn’t need that confession.

  His lips turn up at my reaction.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not jealous, I’m…”

  “Judging?”

  “No. But exactly how many girls was that?”

  “It was a boutique.”

  “You aren’t joking.”

  He slowly shakes his head, and his lips press together like he’s trying to hide a threatening smile.

  “How is that even possible?”

  “I was bored.”

  “You were…bored.”

  “Yes.” He shrugs. “But it was just the once.” His accent makes his comment almost comical. Almost.

  “So, what, the other eleven calendar months didn’t appeal to you?”

  “It was a college phase,” he supplies blandly.

  “Well,” I clear my throat, “there you go.” I move to turn off the light, and he stops me.

  “That answers nothing.”

  Positioning my legs to sit crisscross style, I sit and scowl at him. “You really want to know?”

  “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”

  “Don’t you already? Aren’t you the one who mapped my life up until now—my motives?”

  Silence.

  I gaze over at him as he adjusts himself on the pillow, his sculpted arm bulging as he does. I uncap the water on my nightstand with the image of Tobias, ten years younger, alone in a hotel room with naked lingerie models.

  And in a sick, possessive way, it turns me on.

  His eyes light in recognition as he dips his hand between my thighs, and I swat it away. A knowing chuckle leaves his lips, and my cheeks flame.

  “Let’s just go to bed.” I again move to reach for the lamp, and he grips my wrist in a silent order. I meet his eyes and sigh.

  “Fine. When I got here, I realized no one knew me. It was a chance to reinvent myself. So I decided to live it up and let myself go. Like you said, I was pissed at Roman for stealing a year of my life and feeling a bit rebellious. I gained my freedom as you so cleverly pointed out. When I met Sean, it was as if the universe had handed me an invitation. It was an instant attraction with him. We clicked both physically and spiritually, but Dominic hated me from the start.”

  He looks up at me in silent urging—permission. I’m a fool for freely giving the devil more of my details.

  “I trusted Sean because he took his time, he earned it from me, so when he said he recognized my attraction for Dominic and told me he wouldn’t judge me if I acted on it, I permitted myself. I trusted Sean enough with my body and heart to explore with him. I was already falling for him and had a hate/lust relationship with Dominic. After it happened, we just…grew into more. I got to know them both inside and out, and neither one of them made me feel bad about it. We all just sort of fell into place, together.”

  Tentatively, Tobias lifts his fingers to brush the damp hair away from my shoulders, the act so intimate. I shiver involuntarily, trying desperately not to get lost in the look in his eyes.

  “I will say, it went against my nature, it bothered me a lot more than I let on—at first—but the more we grew, the more I couldn’t imagine…didn’t want to think about giving either of them up. And they didn’t force me to choose. We were all okay with it. In fact, we were happy, until they…”

  Tears threaten, and in a flash, I’m back in that garage, living some of the most painful seconds of my life. Tobias grips my chin in his hands. “Until they what?”


  “They called me a whore in a roundabout and very fucked up way. Have you ever heard the song “Cecilia” by Simon and Garfunkel?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Well, it’s about a promiscuous girl, and the lyrics are degrading. That’s how they ended it with me. They played that song when I showed up to the garage and humiliated me publicly, to try and get the message to you that they were playing me. So, they tore me to shreds in a way they knew would work. And it did. I got the message, even if you didn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever known pain like that, ever.”

  “Je suis désolé .”

  “In English, Tobias.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I want to believe him. Everything in his expression, his posture tells me he’s sincere, but I can’t. He has to understand I can’t believe him.

  I bite my lip and briefly contemplate coming clean with the rest.

  He lifts the pad of my pointer finger to his lips and kisses it, in an attempt to tell me my secret is safe. I know the safer bet is to shut this down, but I continue anyway.

  “Looking back now, I know some of the sexual stuff was me waging war on the wallflower I was before I got here. You were right. I played it safe. I rarely took chances. I colored in the lines. When my father told me he tried to love me, I think it cut much deeper than I could heal. I’m not saying I went out and purposefully sought to sabotage myself, but it sure as hell didn’t stop me from acting on impulse. I will not blame it on him, or my new-found freedom. I fell for them. Both of them. And the best part about it was that Sean and Dom refused to let me apologize for it. They refused to let me degrade myself. It was the safest I’ve ever felt with anyone because of the way they embraced me. I don’t regret it. I will never regret it. And I’m not ashamed of it. As for loving them, you know them. These are the people closest to you, right?”