Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,237

see, he became a god of war and rage. The hammer in his hand was an extension of his body, the sweat rolling down his spine was a scream of encouragement, and watching iron bend to his will was cool oxygen in this sweltering space.

He worked. He worked. He worked. Until his phone vibrated in his pocket, the alarm dragging him back to reality. It was time for a break. Time to face the real world for a while and become the safest version of himself: cool, cocky, calm. Mustn’t forget the calm.

Outside, the early spring sun was choked by dull, pale clouds. He took a gulp of sharp Ravenswood air, clean and crisp even here, on the small town’s tiny industrial estate. Then he pulled out his phone and fired off a text to his mother, the same one he sent three times a day.

Did you take your meds?

A few minutes later, her reply came through.

…I have now! Relax, darling. I always remember eventually. :)

More like she always checked her texts eventually. He rolled his eyes and flicked through his notifications. The online forum he’d been lurking in for months now continued to be active, especially his favourite thread: Demis for DC, a place for demisexual members to discuss all things DC related, for no particular reason other than a love of nerdery and camaraderie.

Zach had learned a lot about demisexuality since discovering this forum for ace and arospec people. Had felt a lot, too, reading about others’ experiences while he grappled with his own. Now he knew for sure that he was demisexual, a discussion about comic books was clearly the perfect place for him to slide in and make some… internet friends, or whatever they were called. Friends like him. Friends who got it.

But he was still too nervous.

Zach sighed and put his phone away. A breeze bit at his cheeks, ruffled his hair, made the sweat beneath his overshirt feel clammy and cold. He pulled off the shirt and swiped at his brow, wandering toward the low brick wall at the edge of the lot. He knew what he was waiting for, or rather, who: Rae. His morning ray of sunshine, full of smiles and fantastic stories.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of movement, a hint of colour. His mouth hooked up into a smile, though the expression didn’t come as easy as it used to. Ma’s illness was under control, and the depression that had swallowed him whole was under control, too, but Zach still felt distant sometimes—like a faint photocopy of himself. Still, for his friends, he tried.

But it turned out, the person walking toward him wasn’t exactly a friend. Not anymore. And it certainly wasn’t Rae.

Callista Michaelson was all graceful movement and bold contrasts: pink coat, blue eyes, hair like summer wheat, topped off by a genuine, beauty pageant smile. He hadn’t seen her in ages, but once—before Ma’s diagnosis had rearranged his life—she’d been someone he knew. He wasn’t sure he knew her anymore.

Still, he leaned lazily against the wall and gave her his usual grin. “Hey, Cal.”

“Hey, Zach.” She stopped and mirrored his posture, her arm coming to rest beside his. Familiar mischief lit her gaze, and she ran her fingers playfully over his wrist. His stomach tightened, and not in a good way. He’d slept with Callie three times, back when he didn’t understand himself. Before he’d vowed to stop hurting himself on other people’s lust. Before he’d abandoned his twisted attempts to seem ‘normal’.

For her part, Callista liked decent guys who gave decent orgasms, and there weren’t many to choose from in this town.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked, arching a brow toward the grim facade of the forge. “Is Daniel being a nightmare again?”

“He keeps to himself, these days,” Zach said dryly. “I think he’s on thin ice with daddy.” That was the trouble with men who had the world handed to them: someone could always take it away. Daniel Burne, town sweetheart and bona fide human shit stain, was learning that the hard way.

“Then why are you out here in the cold wearing that?” Callie’s eyes slid over the thin, white vest plastered to Zach’s torso with sweat. She didn’t seem to mind the view.

He resisted the urge to put his overshirt back on. “Gets hot in the forge.”

“I bet.” Her fingers climbed higher and higher on his arm, gliding over the art inked into his skin. Her touch felt more