Zach’s gaze was so tender, so soft and understanding, that looking him in the eye made her feel naked. And not in a sexy way. “I get it,” he said, nodding slowly. “I’m sorry, Rae.”
“Don’t be. I’ll get over it.” That was what she did, after all. She got over things. She’d gotten over Kevin’s betrayal, she’d gotten over Zach’s rejection, and she’d get over the nightmare that this convention promised to be.
“I didn’t realise he was an author, too,” Zach said. He studied his beer bottle with narrowed, thoughtful eyes. “Your ex, I mean.”
Something resentful flared inside her, a volcano that had been dormant for months. “He’s the author. I’m just his wife.” Even though she’d been the one with the dream. Even though he’d never picked up Lord of the fucking Rings before the day they’d met in that old library, when she’d told him to impress her. Even though…
“You’re not his wife,” Zach reminded her. “You’re Something McRae. Hey, what’s your name again?”
She smirked, amusement chasing the bitterness away. “Nice try.”
He clicked his fingers. “It’s on the tip of my tongue. Jennifer?”
“No.”
“Melissa?”
She sighed like she wasn’t loving this. “No.”
“Uh…” He pulled out his phone and squinted at the screen for a second. “Amanda?”
“What, do you have a list on there?”
“Yeah.” He waved the phone. “The 100 most popular baby names in 1979. I’ve done my research.”
She couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing, so loud that Duke cracked an eyelid and looked up at her like, Do you mind?
Zach sighed. “I take it I won’t find you on this list?”
“Oh, honey. The only list my name has ever made is my mother’s list of sins.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“It’s not,” she said honestly. “It’s straight-up ridiculous.”
“Now you’re just teasing me.”
“Kind of like how you teased me with those donuts.”
“Nope.” He stood. “I brought the donuts. Hang on.”
She waited while he disappeared into the hall, presumably in search of the jacket he’d hung up by the door. He came back with a brown paper bag that he presented with a flourish.
She raised her eyebrows, opened the bag, and pulled out a rock-hard, blackened ring. “Um…”
“I thought I’d try making my own, like you do. Unfortunately,” he said, all grave solemnity, “turns out I still can’t bake for shit.”
This time, her laughter was the high, helpless kind that signified imminent pants-wetting. Nothing had ever been funnier than big, strong, handsome Zach standing there with his bag of shitty donuts.
“Hey, what if you’re hurting my feelings?” he protested. “I worked really hard on these. I was hoping you’d try one.”
She threw one at him instead.
It bounced off his chest, and he grinned. “Ungrateful.”
“I gave you the best brownies ever,” she said, “and this is how you repay me?”
“Oh, come on. Isn’t it the thought that counts?”
“No. It’s the sugar, carbs, calories.”
He shook the bag hopefully. “Pretty sure my donuts have all that.”
“And the taste,” she added.
“Charming.” He flopped down beside her, his weight jolting the cushions, his presence jolting her heart. Duke opened one eye again and shot her a warning look. Hands to yourself, woman. I mean it. I will guard you against your own foolishness, if necessary. She imagined him grabbing her arm gently between his massive jaws and leading her into a cold shower. What a good boy.
“These were actually my third try,” Zach told her with an air of confession.
“Maybe your kitchen is cursed,” she suggested. “Maybe the serial killing ghost is sabotaging you.”
“It was just one murder! And I don’t have any ghosts.”
“What you have are balls of steel, living in a place like that,” she muttered.
“I’m thinking of buying it.”
She spluttered, unable to keep the disbelief out of her voice. “Are you taking the piss?”
“Property is an investment,” he said, his tone all studious and sensible and therefore disturbingly sexy. “The price is unbelievable. I should take the plunge.”
“But you haven’t, because your gut knows that place is evil. Don’t buy it.”
“I have to buy something soon,” he shrugged. “It’s in my five-year plan.”
Um, what? Record-scratch. Pause. She gaped. “You have a five-year plan?”
“I have multiple five-year plans. A new one every five years.” He winced. “But I’m a little behind, because…”
He didn’t have to say it. Rae had heard whispers about Zach almost losing his job a while back. He’d taken a ton of days off before Nate moved up here to help with their mum. The idea that he could’ve been sacked for taking care of a sick relative—never mind his mother—made her fingers tighten around her glass. She shifted away from the topic. “You’re twenty-eight. So when you say multiple plans, I’m assuming you mean two.”
“Three,” he corrected, then looked thoughtful. “Or four.”
“You’re telling me you were making these plans as a kid?”
“It’s what I do,” he said, like it was no big deal. “I had shit to handle. I always have shit to handle.”
Something twanged beneath her breastbone. She felt herself get all soft and sympathetic. “Zach…”
He flashed her a look. Might as well have said Don’t out loud. "There’s something I wanted to tell you."
“What a smooth change of subject.”
“Shut up.” He tugged one of her little plaits. As usual, she’d braided the front of her hair off her face. His eyes eased over her scars for a second, like a touch.
No, not her scars—just her. He was looking at her. Always.
“Let me talk,” he said. “It’s about Friday night.”
She screwed her face into what must be a highly unattractive expression. “Are we still on that?”
“Yes. Right now, I’m blurting out a big speech while you listen.”
She started to smile, but then she saw the tightness of his jaw and realised he was nervous. “Oh. Okay.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Okay.”
He met her eyes. “So, do you know what demisexual means?”
5
What a way to begin. Do you know what demisexual means? But it was part of the plan, and Zach couldn’t deviate from the plan. He’d thought it all through so carefully, from his opening line to the fact that he would tell Rae before anyone else. She’d be his trial run. He’d decided that, if he had to face an ignorant meltdown from someone he cared about, he’d rather not start with his fucking brother.
But, as he waited for Rae to respond, he started to think she wasn’t a great first choice, either. He should’ve told a random old lady at a bus stop, or something, just to get used to the conversation. And, maybe, to get used to negative reactions. He could handle just about anything, so long as he knew what to expect. Right now, he had not a fucking clue what to expect.
After a pause, she said carefully, “I think I do.” Her eyes seemed darker and more direct than ever, two patient black holes sucking the air out of the room.
He wasn’t surprised. She knew all kinds of shit. It was one of the many ticks in the ‘for’ column of his Should I Come Out to Rae? project.
“As far as I’m aware,” she went on, “demisexuality is an orientation on the asexual spectrum. Demisexual people only experience sexual attraction toward those they’ve formed an emotional bond with. Does that sound right to you?”
Like she was checking her explanation hadn’t offended him. So, she’d already figured out what he was going to say. That was another tick he’d put in Rae’s ‘for’ column: she was smart.
“Yeah,
” he said. His voice came out too rough, so he cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’s about right. I figured out a while ago that I’m demisexual—I mean, I knew from the start, but I didn’t realise it was, uh, an official thing. And I wasn’t exactly okay with it. Which is why I slept around a lot.” He gave her a wry look. “You might’ve heard about that.”
She bit her lip and looked mildly tortured, which he enjoyed more than a gentleman should. She was real fucking cute when she felt guilty. “You know, I really don’t care about that stuff.”
“I know.”
“Are you okay with it now?” She looked at him like, if he wasn’t, she’d drag him off for lessons in self-love.
“I am,” he assured her. “Honestly, it wasn’t like I hated myself or anything. I just didn’t get it, and then, when I was starting to…” He trailed off with a frown, because this story wasn’t necessary, and he didn’t know why he’d started to tell it. Sharing details like that wasn’t part of the plan, mostly because no-one wanted to hear them.
But Rae kept watching him, like anything that might come out of his mouth was vital. Like she had all the time and inclination in the world. Fuck it. He shrugged off his hesitation and just kept going.
“I was an unpopular kid,” he said. “Giant nerd. Obvious target.” He’d been lanky and pale with milk-bottle glasses and an open love of comics, always daydreaming and drawing weird shit in the back of his notebooks. It hadn’t really mattered, at first, because everyone was terrified of Nate, and no-one would touch Zach if it meant facing his big brother’s wrath. But then Nate left, and it had been open season.
Rae cocked her head and smiled. “You? Seriously? Mr. Tall, Charming and Handsome?”
“Aw, shut up. Back then I was just awkward. But during the summer between school and sixth form, I started labouring—you know, for extra money, to help out at home. And I had a growth spurt around the same time. So, when summer ended, I, uh, I looked like this.”
“I see.” Judging by the expression on her face, she really did see. Zach hadn’t, not for a while. He’d been baffled, then slowly, tentatively hopeful when the kids who used to tease him had suddenly wanted to talk. When girls who’d never looked at him twice developed a fascination with his Batman rucksack. And when one of those girls had asked him out, he’d said yes, because… well, because she was nice, and because that was what people did.
“I got a girlfriend,” he said. “She was lovely. But, eventually, she wanted to have sex—which is when I realised that I didn’t.”
“How’d that turn out?” Rae’s voice was gentle.
His mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “She thought there was something wrong with her.”
“I’m starting to see where this is going.”
He snorted, unsurprised. “Am I that predictable?”
“You’re that sweet. Even when you shouldn’t be.”
Something about the way she said it, with this deep, undying appreciation, made it seem like an actual compliment instead of a laughable character flaw. His smile felt real all of a sudden. He laughed, surprising himself. Rae made things easy like that.
“I slept with her, obviously. It made her happy, so I kept doing it. I think that’s how it all started—how I wound up sleeping with a shit-ton of people I wasn’t even attracted to. But a little while back I realised that it mattered, and it was doing something awful to me. I just wanted to be… myself. So, I stopped. Better late than never, I guess.”
“Definitely.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and he met her eyes. She looked so serious, like she needed to hammer this home. “You should be proud of yourself, you know. Changing learned behaviour is hard. And brave. Even when you want to.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
“And I’m sorry, Zach. So sorry that you ever had to go through that. I mean—that you did things you didn’t really want to do. That’s… That’s never okay.”
He covered her hand with his own and squeezed. Murmured again, “Thanks, Rae.” The phrase didn’t reflect even half of the bittersweet gratitude swirling inside him.
“Well,” she said, “thanks for telling me. Trusting me, I mean.” She smiled slightly, leaning back and sipping her lemonade. “Gotta say, Davis, I’m flattered.”
“I bet.” He rolled his eyes, but sunlight radiated from his chest. What had he been nervous about, anyway? He barely even knew anymore.
But then she hesitated, flashing him a wary look, and something inside him tensed. They weren’t quite done here. Rae paused, then took a deep breath. She seemed to be searching for just the right words, and once she found them, they came out steadily. “I want to ask you something. But you don’t have to answer, okay?”
Ah, shit. “Okay.” Please don’t ruin this. Please don’t ask me some bullshit—
“What I did on Friday night. The way I didn’t really take no for an answer. Did that trigger you?”
Her tone was so neutral, so calm, so utterly focused on Zach. There was no subtext, no pressure to answer one way or another. That fact, combined with her even bothering to ask—with her understanding that an experience like that could trigger him—meant so fucking much.
“That night was… a lot,” he admitted. “But, honestly? I’m okay.”
She bit her lip. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. A lot of the stuff in my past, I’ve worked through it.”
“But I—”
“Hey.” Now it was his turn to put a hand on her shoulder. “Listen to me. You didn’t know, but now you do. You fucked up, you get it, you apologised. I don’t want to dwell on it anymore. Alright?”
She nodded slowly. “Alright. But just so you know, that won’t happen again. And if I ever fuck up do something that makes you uncomfortable…”
“I’ll tell you,” he said softly.
She smiled and whispered, “Thanks.”
“While we’re doing this,” he added, “sorry if I was a little overzealous about… about turning you down.”
She winced. “You kind of had to be.”
True.
“Anyway, there’s really no need to apologise. I’m an adult. I’ve been rejected before.”
For some reason, he found that difficult to believe. “By who?”
“Kevin,” she said easily, then slapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened, her cheeks darkened. She mumbled behind her palm, “Oh dear. That sounded rather pathetic.”
He dragged her hand away from her face. “No, it didn’t. Kevin’s got the sense of a rock, and nothing you say or do could ever be pathetic. You’re a fucking superhero.”
She swallowed, her gaze fluttering to the tattoos on his arm. “I take that very highly, coming from you.”
“You should.” He meant it. He’d never meant anything more in his life. He’d also never been more pissed off in his life. “Fucking Kevin. I bet he’s an ugly little toad.”
“He’s quite handsome, actually,” she said, sounding aggrieved.
“Of course he is. They always are.”
“And Billie’s very pretty. They suit each other.”
“Don’t act like you’re not beautiful. You know what you need?”
She didn’t respond—just stared at him with a stunned expression that made him play his words back. Don’t act like you’re not beautiful. Well, she was. But he had no idea why he’d mentioned it when they didn’t usually discuss that sort of thing. His face heated slightly.
Finally, she re-hinged her jaw and said, “Um, no. What do I need?”
“You need to beat him at his own game. If he’s bringing his pretty wife, get yourself a pretty boyfriend.”
She laughed and lifted her glass of lemonade. “I need wine when you’re like this.”
“I’m serious.” He wasn’t, and they both knew it. But this game was chasing the shadows from her eyes, so he’d play it forever. “When’s the convention? How much time have you got?”
“A few weeks. You think I should hunt down a date?”
“Waste of time,” she tutted, clearly fighting a smile. “I don’t even like men.”
Oh, for God’s sake. “Best bullshit I ever heard. When we walk into a room it takes you thirty seconds to clock every hot guy in there.”
She gave an outraged gasp, eyes wide, lips half-curved into a reluctant smile. “That is not true.”
He waited.
“Fine! It’s true. But looking at men and dating men are two very different things—and trust me, I have no desire to date anyone. Ever.”
The words seemed to echo with finality, like she’d just cast a terrible spell. Zach paused, taken aback by the vehemence in her voice. Was this an aftereffect of divorce? It would make sense. He wanted to ask, to push, to figure out exactly why the thought of romance made her narrow her eyes and speak like a peal of thunder. But the look she speared him with said loud and clear: Don’t.
So he didn’t. “It’ll be a means to an end. We’ll get you on Tinder or something.”
“Ugh. I predict sad or disgusting dick pics and other forms of harassment.”
“I’ll be your Tinder manager. Let me vet the messages and delete the dick pics for you, madam. What are friends for?”
“You’re ridiculous.” But she liked it. He could tell by the look on her face; that wild, reckless amusement lighting her up. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “It has occurred to me that maybe I should bring a friend. For support. I suppose your idea is just a more extreme version of that.” Her expression changed, embarrassment creeping in. “Is it weird that I’m actually considering this?”
He blinked. Unexpected, maybe, but… “Who cares if it is? Weird can be good. Weird can be great. Would it make you feel better to go with someone who had your back?”
"They wouldn’t need to have my back,” she admitted. “All I want is fewer pitying looks. I really hate pitying looks.” She stared into her lemonade like it was a crystal ball—and whatever she saw in there seemed to make her feel stabby.
“That’s fair,” Zach murmured. Growing up in a gossip-hungry town like this, with a single mother and a disappearing brother, he knew a few things about pitying looks himself. His dad had run off with a beekeeper, for Christ’s sake. He’d felt the acid burn of strangers’ sympathy for too many years to count. He didn’t want Rae—proud, brilliant, accomplished Rae—to feel a thing like that, especially when she should be high on her own success instead.
Hold Me Close Page 66