An Unlocked Mind (Secrets #2)(15)

THE ALARM clock read four thirty, but it felt as though he’d only closed his eyes mere seconds ago. Is that a function of age? Time didn’t fly by these days—it zoomed, with all the speed of a guided missile.

Vic rolled onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes. He’d figured the boy would have come to his room before this point. Rob clearly had preconceived notions about gay men, and Vic wasn’t about to live up to them. And if Rob wanted something from Vic, he would have to admit it first.

That’s the only thing I am sure about. Rob wants—needs—something.

When a door clicked open and soft footsteps pad along the landing, he sat up and flicked on the light. A few moments later, he heard the toilet flush, more footsteps, and then a door closing.

“What is it about you?” Vic murmured into the ether. “I want to turn you out, send you packing, but every instinct tells me that you need someone more than you’re willing to admit.”

He slipped out of bed and walked over to the desk that sat in the corner. After pulling a pad of paper from it, he returned to his original spot. The pillows supported him as he sat back and started making a list of why he should or shouldn’t be helping Rob. When he finished, the only thing he could truthfully admit was that Rob’s rudeness had thrown him. Vic was used to boys who knew their place in life. Even those with a chip on their shoulder knew where they truly belonged. Rob’s uncertainty told Vic a lot about the kind of person he was.

You’re fighting some kind of internal battle, aren’t you, Rob? That much was obvious. Maybe he’d recently discovered something about himself that he didn’t like and, more importantly, couldn’t accept. Those were the types one couldn’t force. He’ll either figure it out and admit it, or he won’t. Vic had seen such behavior so many times. His fear was that if Rob couldn’t accept himself, in the light of whatever self-discovery he’d made, he’d turn his anger back on himself or lash out at others in a more violent way.

Listen to yourself. You’ve known him for all of five minutes and you’re already psychoanalyzing him. You don’t even know why he interests you.

Except he did have an idea about that. In the plus column, Vic had written two words—sadness and loneliness—and these spoke to the Dom in him. Whenever that occurred, Vic knew better than to ignore it.

He put the paper on the bedside cabinet. Nothing would get settled tonight—well, this morning—and he needed sleep.

It was a long while before he drifted off, however.

When he glanced over at the clock for a second time, he saw with surprise that it was almost seven. The first thought to cross his mind was that the trains had already started running, but he wasn’t in a hurry to wake Rob. The boy needed sleep more than anything else.

Sleep would have been good, he thought ruefully. What is it about Rob that ties me up in knots? The kid had been mouthy, rude, and downright obnoxious at Secrets. If he hadn’t stormed out when he did, they would most likely have thrown him out on his ear. But after he’d picked him up, Vic had watched Rob. He could see the anguish written all over him. From his expression to his body language, Rob screamed “save me.”

Vic shivered, his dreams not entirely dissipated. There still lingered the vague memory of them, the feeling that if he hadn’t picked Rob up, the young man would either do something foolish or find himself in a situation he couldn’t get out of. An unaccountable feeling that Rob brought unrest, even trouble.

And yet here he is, in my house.

Vic groaned at his own stupidity. Who the hell brings a stranger into their home? I should have dropped him off at the train station, and that would have been the end of it. Yet Vic had worried about Rob spending the night there. Would he be safe? Would he have something to eat? Would he be warm?

Shit. He didn’t understand why he was putting himself through this. He’d get the kid up and out the door, and then life would go back to normal.

Well, maybe after breakfast.

Vic launched himself into the shower and let the hot water soak away what remained of his tension. Once dressed, he went into the utility room and pulled Rob’s clothes from the drier, kicking himself for not doing it the night before. After folding them and leaving them outside Rob’s door, he went down to the kitchen and prepared a couple of omelets with diced ham and cheddar cheese, serving them with some wholemeal toast. After he plated them and left them to keep warm in the oven, he went upstairs to knock on Rob’s door. The clothes were where he’d left them.

“Breakfast,” he called.

No answer.

He knocked louder. “Breakfast, Rob.”

“Huh?” Rob sounded groggy.

Vic opened the door a crack. “Breakfast is served,” he called, then closed the door.

A few minutes later, a rumpled Rob came stumbling into the kitchen. His hair was askew and in need of a good comb. Those beautiful eyes were red rimmed.

And there it was again, something tugging him toward the young man, a feeling Vic couldn’t account for.

“Didn’t you sleep well?” he asked, serving up the food and placing it at their settings.

Rob shook his head. He stared at the plates on the table. “What’s this?”

“Breakfast?” Vic said with amusement. “I thought you might be hungry.”

Rob frowned. “I’m not eating that.”