center of my chest, and I bit the inside of my cheek.
“Mikey, I love you,” I repeated. The tension in my voice sounded weird in my ears.
He lifted his eyes, watching me cautiously as I shuffled toward him. He gave out a tired sigh. “If you can manage to crawl upstairs, I’ll put you in a bed before you crumble.”
I smiled, then winced.
He supported me up the stairs and showed me the bedroom. The bed was massive, and it warmed me that I could ask Michael to sleep next to me, even as I lay on my back with my shoulder and arm in a brace.
“Get undressed,” he ordered.
“Michael, come here.”
Warily, he stepped closer.
“You’re angry with me,” I stated the obvious.
“Of course, I am.” He scowled. “Now undress.”
“I was stupid, and I said horrible things. Will you forgive me?”
He clenched his jaw. “Not yet.”
I chuckled. “Will you help me at least?”
Wordlessly, he helped me take off my pants and the hoodie hanging over my shoulders. He touched me with infinite gentleness, careful despite his anger.
When I finally lay in bed, I couldn’t hold back the groan of pain. Michael covered my legs with a blanket, avoiding my gaze.
“Since you made it here, you can make it to the en suite by yourself. I’ll send someone with food later.” He was about to leave, but I wasn’t having it.
“Mikey, wait.”
“What now?”
He looked tired. So, so tired. Hanging on his anger as if it could help him through the day. I knew what he needed. What we both needed.
“Don’t take that tone with me, boy,” I said, my voice deep and commanding. “Come here. Now!”
He tensed with his back to me, a shudder running through his body. Then he turned and walked back to the bed. He paused by my side, face blank.
“You have a right to be angry, boy. I hurt you and disappointed you.”
He looked down, his mouth curling in a self-deprecating smile. There was more… What wasn’t he telling me?
“Look at me.”
He lifted his tortured gaze.
“Did you miss me?”
A long pause. “Yes, Daddy,” he finally whispered.
“Do you want me to touch you?”
Another whisper, even quieter than the first. “Yes.”
“Then come here. I want you by my side. Where you belong.”
I stretched out my healthy arm over the wide bed. He lay on his side, curling his body close to mine. He inhaled and sighed, his body slumping with the exhale. I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and tugged him closer, but he winced and shuddered again. I rubbed my hand down his back, trying to soothe, but he tensed even more.
What the hell?
“Sit up and take off your shirt.” God, I hoped my instinct was wrong.
He froze.
“Do what I say, boy!”
Slowly, carefully, he sat and took his white T-shirt off. His hands shook. In the light from the window, the thin red stripes and purple spots over his shoulder blades and lower back glowed like beacons.
“What did you do?”
He hung his head, facing away from me. Stunned, I traced a red welt with a fingertip from his shoulder blade to the center of his back. Michael trembled under my touch.
“What did you do, boy?”
“I violated myself and flogged my back,” he murmured.
“Why?” I gasped.
He shrugged. “I needed it to hurt.”
“Jesus, Mikey…” I didn’t know what to think, what to say.
“It was stupid of me. Will you punish me for it, Daddy?” he asked in a broken voice, his face still hidden.
“No. No, dammit.” I took a few calming breaths. I almost asked why he’d done that, but I realized the answer before I could word the question.
“It’s my fault. I did this to you.”
Michael shook his head.
“Please, come here, my boy.”
Hesitantly, he lay down, tucking his face into the crook of my shoulder. I weaved my fingers into his hair, avoiding the bruised skin on his upper back.
I was disgusted with myself. How could I have been so thoughtless? Michael had given himself to me, his body and soul. He’d laid his entire life by my feet, generous and trusting.
Instead of treasuring him, I’d sent him away.
“I’m so sorry, Mikey.” For the first time since I met him, my throat clogged with tears. “It’s my fault. I left you.”
“Vincent…” A sob.
“I wasn’t here to take care of you. It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.” I kissed his forehead and inhaled, drawing in his scent. “I love you, Mikey.”
He strained to me and kissed me, tasting of salt and desperation.
“I don’t want you to forgive me today, baby,”