“Don’t get me wrong. There was a big fucking Damie-sized hole inside of me. It ached all the time. Every time I heard someone mention us or there was some stupid radio station playing one of our songs, I bled inside, man. Kane made it okay. Because I could bleed like that, and he’d wipe it away. He makes everything okay, D. You know? Like he can hold me, and I can—breathe. It made missing you a little less achy. And I hated that. I felt scared I was going to lose you again because there was Kane, and he made the hurting—less.”
“Loving Kane doesn’t mean you lose me, asshole,” Damie teased. “I’m always there. It’s not a hole. It’s like an imprint. A part of me. Like a snow angel I left on your heart. Doesn’t matter if I’m here in the flesh—”
“Let’s not test that one. I kinda like having you here,” Miki interrupted. “Die on me again, and I’m going to fucking piss on your grave. Shit no—I’m going to sell every single damned song we have to a children’s show with puppets.”
“Yeah, okay—it’s not a perfect analogy, but it’s all I’ve got. What I’m saying is, he gets you. Hell, he gets me. He’s not going to let you drown, Sinjun. Ever. You’ve got to believe that about him.”
“I do,” Miki whispered softly. “You were the first one I knew wouldn’t let me go. It’s kind of how I knew I wasn’t ever going to shake off Kane. He was just there—folding over me. Like you did. I knew I loved him when I realized he was going to be inside of me—no matter where he was, I’d always have him there.”
“Well, if you play your cards right, Sinjun”—Damie winked—“he’ll be inside of you tonight too.”
“Dude, I’m not worried about the sex.” He jabbed at Damie’s stomach with a soft fist. “I’m worried about fucking up Valentine’s Day for him. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“It’s not that hard, Miki. Wiggle your ass and toss the present at him. Chances are, anything you give him is going to be perfect. Kane’s just that kind of guy. It won’t really matter what you give him, just so long as it’s you giving it to him.”
“Right,” Miki said, rolling his eyes. “That’s ’cause you haven’t seen what I got him in the first place—before the jewelry place. He’s going to fricking hate it. Just wait and see.”
I was bleeding when I met you,
Blood running red over my skin.
You want me to love you,
I’m telling you I don’t know where to begin.
You’ve got your hooks in deep,
Pulling at parts of me I can’t see.
How can I believe I hate you,
When I don’t want to be free?
—“Cut Open To Heal”
MIKI DID not need Sionn adding to his Jenga game of anxiety.
No one told the Irish pub owner that, because Sionn was waiting for them outside when Damien drove Sionn’s Cherokee through the gates.
Leaning against a glossy chunk of American steel shaped like a car.
A big masculine growl of a vehicle with a big fucking red bow on its hood.
“Holy shit! Dude! Do you see that?” Damie barely threw the Cherokee into park before he hefted himself out of the open window and hit the black asphalt running. “That’s my damned Val-Day present! God, he rocks! Seriously, Sionn!”
Bouncing into Sionn’s arms, Damien crowed about something car related, and Miki shook his head, hoping to settle his teeth back into his skull after the rough, jerky stop that sent him nearly sliding under the dashboard. Miki closed his eyes, willing his brain not to jerk him back to that time, but his gray matter was a sullen beast, dredging up the scent of blood from its memories and the loud, endless crinkle of metal meeting metal.
He grabbed the armrest and seat to steady himself, cursing his mind for pulling up shit he didn’t want to deal with. As if in solidarity with his rebellious brain, his knee began to throb, a merry beat of almost-pain and twinge.
“Really? You fucking thing.” He wanted to slam down on the joint with his fist, but he’d learned that particular act of stupidity only made things worse. Instead, he shifted in his seat, opened the door, and swung down from the Cherokee’s cab.
And almost ended up on his ass in the middle of the cul-de-sac he called his driveway when his knee gave out from under him.
“Sinjun!” Damie was there a second after Miki grabbed at the door.
Damie was always there, and the black seep spreading through Miki edged away, probably muttering darkly as it was forced back to the rock it lived under.
“Dude, you okay?” Damie hooked his hands under Miki’s arms and lifted, helping him steady himself. “Your knee?”
“Yeah, I’m okay, D.” Miki blinked, startled to find Sionn a few inches away, reaching to help. Miki waved him off. The attention was too much, and it made him too aware of himself. Not something Miki wanted to deal with when Damien should have been spooging over the steel beast squatting in the driveway.
The bow made it look pretty silly, but Miki kept his mouth shut. People liked shit like bows and wrapping paper. He’d learned that when he wrapped Brigid’s Christmas present and jacked it up something fierce, but she’d loved the wrapping job nearly as much as she liked the bracelet Kane picked out for her.
“Shit, I should have asked her what to get Kane,” he muttered, then stopped himself. “What the hell am I saying? That’s nuts. She’d peel me apart like a chestnut. Or a banana.”