Chapter 5

LOUIS

A nurse came to take the man away, probably to clean and properly stitch him up. I stood aside, suddenly feeling out of place—like I’d intruded on something sacred, even if I was the one who had been here first.

His wound seemed deep, a slow trickle of red still seeping through the makeshift towel I’d pressed against his side. But from the moment our eyes met, I knew this wasn’t his first scar. The way he carried himself—despite the pain—was proof of a man who had survived far worse.

But I couldn't get him out of my head.

Not the weight of his gaze.

Not the moment our skin made contact and a jolt raced through my chest like lightning in a thunderstorm.

A man like that did not belong in my world. And yet… he'd looked at me like I wasn't invisible. Like I was seen. A feeling I’d longed for as long as I can remember.

I finished my shift in a daze, the hum of fluorescent lights and the soft background noise of hospital chaos barely perceptible as I punched out and slipped my ID badge into my back pocket. My body ached with old and new familiar bruises, but the real pain was internal—still and empty.

The city night was cold when I ventured out, wind biting at my face as I made my way to the corner store. The bells jingled overhead as I pushed in, grabbed the cheapest six-pack I could find, and tossed a few rumpled bills on the counter. My father's beer. His tradition. His vice.

The home walk was quiet, the half-asleep streets littered with shattered bottles and shady men and women, looking for their next target. 

I rubbed my pocket knife for comfort.

Climbing the stairs to our run-down apartment, I unlocked the door, and slipped in quietly.

Father didn't utter a word this time. Just took the beer from my hand, grunted, and stomped over to his side of the living room where the old TV buzzed with static. No slaps. No shouting. Just the weight of silence, thick and suffocating.

I retreated to my room, closed the door, and locked it.

I was safe—for the time being.

The bed groaned beneath me as I collapsed onto it, rolling up onto the old mattress like a child fleeing the storm. My body hurt, but I was used to that. What I was not used to… was feeling anything.

Anything at all.

Him.

The red-haired giant with brown eyes. The full beard. The massive height. A giant of a man—wounded, bleeding… but alive. 

His powerful yet terrifying aura shook me for a moment. But it was his beauty that completely enraptured me.

Why couldn't I get him out of my mind?

It was ridiculous. Stupid, even. I was pathetic.

Just another desperate, broken gay boy pining over someone he'd never be able to have. And not just anyone. A dangerous man. A man who exuded power. Who probably left a trail of broken hearts and broken bones in his path.

And yet, if I closed my eyes, I could still feel the heat of his hand on mine.

The way his gaze remained on my bruises.

He saw them. Looked at them. And he didn't flinch.

I sighed heavily and rolled onto my back, unlocking my phone. My cracked screen barely registered my touch as I scrolled through my notifications. Nothing new. A few spam emails and a message from an address I didn't recognize.

Re: Allure Janitorial Position

My heart skipped a beat.

I opened it.

"Dear Mr. Durant,

Thank you for your interest in the janitorial position at Allure Casino. After careful consideration, we regret to inform you that we have decided to go with other candidates whose experience better suits our current needs.

We wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors."

I blinked.

Then blinked again.

The words swam before my eyes, cold and unforgiving.

Rejected.

Why had I even bothered?

A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I tossed the phone aside, letting it drop to the side of the bed. My chest ached differently now—a hollow type of pain, one that had not been inflicted by fists or knives, but by disappointment.

Stupid. I was so stupid.

I should've known better than to hope.

Who the hell did I think I was, dreaming about escape? A better life? Someone like him?

I scowled up at the ceiling, the cracked paint lines forming senseless patterns above.

Perhaps this was it. This dingy room. This rotting building. My father's snarls. My silent sobs. My empty future.

But even in the darkness, I couldn't stop my mind from straying.

To him.

To the heat of his skin, despite the blood.

To the way he'd gazed at me—not with pity, but with curiosity.

To the gentle potential within the quiet between us.

My eyelids flagged, the ache in my chest slowly numbing to a hum. I pulled the thin blanket over me, trying to shut the world out. But before sleep took me, one last thought leaked through the gaps:

What if, for just one moment, he put his arms around me?

What if he kept me warm?

What if someone… wanted me?

Sleep claimed me with that image branded on the back of my mind—me, snuggled into the side of a man who should have frightened me, but hadn't.

And for the first time in a long, long while…

…I dreamed of safety.

Of home that wasn't a place, but a person.

Him.