Page 47 of See My Words

A low groan welled in Scott’s throat, and he froze, his cock throbbing deep inside him, his hitching breaths gusting against Rylan’s cheek. He wrapped his arms under Rylan’s shoulders and buried his face in his neck, holding him close until their shudders stopped.

Scott rolled to his back and stripped the condom off. He wrapped it in a handful of tissues he pulled from a box on the bedside table and dropped the whole thing to the floor. Rylan scooted out of the wet spot and into his arms, settling in with a sigh. “That was fun.”

“It was.” Scott’s voice was slurred with contentment. “The best part is, Minh got us off and then left.”

Rylan chuckled. “Aww, I wouldn’t mind sharing some snuggles with him.”

“Speak for yourself. I wanna sleep and that boy doesn’t know when to shut up. Good riddance,” Scott teased, and they laughed quietly before drifting into silence.

After a moment, Rylan lifted his head from Scott’s shoulder, running his fingers idly over Scott’s stubbly jaw. “Minh told me how you met.”

Scott tensed for a brief moment before relaxing again, throwing one arm up over his head. “Did he tell you I followed him around the streets like a little lost puppy? I was scared shitless, and he knew everything: the places to avoid, the tricks who were bad news.”

Rylan rubbed his palm in languid circles over Scott’s sweaty chest, brushing teasingly against his nipple. He bit his lip when Scott caught his breath and growled, “If you don’t stop that, I’m going to want you again.” He reached down and gave Rylan’s ass a squeeze.

“Mmm.” Rylan nuzzled into Scott’s armpit, breathing deeply of the arousing musk. “Well, he gave you a lot of credit for what you did, too.” He strung a series of tiny kisses across Scott’s upraised bicep.

Scott shivered at the same time he gave a self-deprecating snort. “I didn’t do jack but play off my looks like I have my entire goddamn life, except bonus, this time it made things a bit better for people who’d never had anything come easy for them.”

“So how is that not deserving of some credit?” Rylan asked. “You used what you had to help other people as well as yourself.”

Scott’s face tightened. He pushed Rylan away and sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I also sold myself on a daily basis.”

“And?”

Scott’s look was incredulous. “What do you mean, ‘and’? I was a whore! From the moment I left that house with Joel until the moment Corey Lindermann put that first paycheck in my hand.”

Rylan held his eyes steadily. “So tell me about it.”

Scott’s mouth worked soundlessly before he threw up his hands in disgust. “Not much to tell, Ry,” he said, bitter sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I fucked people for money.”

“I get that. What happened after Joel left you at the truck stop?”

Scott got out of bed and started to pace, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Why the fuck are we even talking about this now?” He sounded angry, his motions agitated and jerky. “I wanted to go to sleep!”

Rylan didn’t move, or speak, and he buried his shaking hands in his lap, clenching them together. He was acting purely on instinct, a bone-deep certainty suddenly churning in his gut that this was the right time to lance a bit more of the poison lurking in Scott’s soul.

He sat quietly and let him wrestle with old ghosts, until Scott blew out a breath, going to the window and bracing his palms on the sill, looking at his own reflection in the glass. “After Joel drove off, I stood there for at least half an hour waiting to see if he’d come back. Waiting to see if he’d fucking come back.” The last two words were whispered, and he tapped his fist on the glass, leaning his forehead against it.

“But he didn’t.” Rylan’s voice was equally as soft. “So what did you do?”

“I went into the diner and sat at the counter, ordered the cheapest thing on the menu. I’ll never forget it. Cream of tomato soup.” His back was tense, the muscles in his arms corded.

Rylan pushed off the bed and went to stand behind him, freezing in place when he heard Scott warn, “Don’t you dare fuckin’ touch me right now.”

Rylan took a step back but didn’t fully retreat. “I won’t,” he said, as reassuringly as he could. “Just tell me what happened. Please.”

“I ate my soup, tryin’ to stop shiverin’. Wasn’t workin’.” His voice was thick, raw, and Rylan’s heart ached at how terrified he must have been. “Listened to all these truck drivers around me talkin’ about their routes, their freight, and I remembered something.”

He spun away from the window and began to pace again. “I went around and I asked everyone in that goddamn place, ‘Do you know Robert Mahoney? He’s a truck driver, too.’” His lips twisted. “Like out of all the thousands—the millions—of people that pass through there, anyone would know one dude from motherfuckin’ Pace, Florida.”

Rylan lowered himself to sit carefully on the end of the bed and just listened.

“Big surprise, ain’t nobody did. I went and stared at the one little payphone at the edge of the parkin’ lot, dialin’ that number over and over in my mind. I even got close enough to lift the receiver once. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t call—her and admit what I done. Admit that I was a big, fat, stupid failure.”

“You weren’t a failure, Scott, you were a kid!”

Scott’s lips twisted in a sneer. “Not to her. A failure is all I was and ever will be to her.” He slumped. “No, I’m not even that, am I? I’m nothin’ to her. I’m nothin’.”