Was that an arm or a leg around his waist? After a moment, Zeph decided it was definitely an arm, because he felt two icy feet buried between his own to leach his heat like a damn parasite.

He couldn’t be angry, though. All Zeph felt was wonder at how lucky he was to have River wrapped around him while he awoke. The peaceful moment of listening to River’s steady breathing, watching sunlight filter in through the morning blinds, taking note of every spot where their bodies brushed—nearly from head to toe…

This could be his reality every day.

And then it wasn’t.

His world came crashing down as soon as his mind awoke enough to offer a reminder of yesterday.

Yesterday: the day everything had changed, once again.

The look on Rhino’s face right before he died. The fear, confusion, pain. Like he’d needed help but hadn’t known how to ask.

It was like a kick to the fucking stomach. No, worse—Zeph had had plenty of those that didn’t make emotion swell inside him until his skin fucking strained. He wanted to peel his own existence away, layer by layer.

They’d told him last night it wasn’t his fault—the glancing blow had no more caused it than the moon phase. He’d already been in the middle of medical distress.

But Rhino was dead now, and he hadn’t been before, and the difference was that he’d gotten up that day to fight him.

Zeph wasn’t any more superstitious than he was religious. He knew it was all a bunch of damn coincidences. But when he thought about it, it was another fucking tally on the list of people who’d died from exposure to him.

That was what hurt the most: he couldn’t be trusted to keep his own buddy safe in the ring. Maybe he could have stopped the fight earlier. He could have told someone that Rhino hadn’t been feeling well, and Rhino could have gone to the hospital instead of dying in the cage.

It hurt so badly Zeph couldn’t breathe, even with River’s breath against his neck and the warmth of the sunlight that streamed across his sheets, soaking through them to settle into his bones.

None of it made a damn difference.

He couldn’t keep anyone safe near him, least of all River. How long would it be before something happened that he couldn’t stop? How long before he hurt River, or worse? Before he lost his life to some fucking out-of-control asshole like him?

For all Zeph tried to keep his life organized and tidy and clean, his past was still there. However hard he fought, he couldn’t keep the ghosts of his past from breathing down his neck. Jesus, even in Vegas, George had shown up for the first time since he’d left that foster home.

It terrified him, the idea that he could bring harm to River just by being around him. Hell, maybe that asshole stalker had first come over because of him, not River. Maybe he’d been the competition the guy had wanted to overpower. It made as much sense as anything else.

Zeph was a liability. Everything could be his fault, and nothing was safe.

He shifted and rolled away from River, pushing the sheets off. When River yawned, stretched, and tried to pull him in again, he pushed River’s hand away.

River pushed himself to sit up. “Morning.”

“Yeah.” Zeph kept his eyes on the dresser as he stretched, not looking back at River.

“You all right?”

Zeph grunted.

River sighed, and then the sheets rustled and the bed shifted. River tried to lean against him, putting his chin on his shoulder.

“You can’t stop touching me,” Zeph grunted and pushed himself to his feet to pace over to the dresser.

River didn’t say anything, just watched him. The silence was more disconcerting than an answer.

“Cat got your tongue?” Zeph finally asked, his voice tight even to his own ears.

River answered, his voice even, “Is there anything to say?”

“Nope.” Zeph pulled open drawers, fishing out his underwear, a t-shirt, and jeans. “You should get home before we make even more mistakes.”

“More?”

“Like getting attached.” Zeph shot River a look over his shoulder. “I was right before, you know.”

River wasn’t giving him an inch. He kept asking questions. “About?” was the latest one.

Zeph’s jaw gritted in annoyance. “About us. It didn’t work out for a reason before.”

“Because you moved.”

“If we’d cared that much, we would have stayed in touch,” Zeph pointed out, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull his clothes on one piece at a time.

River didn’t touch him again, but he sat close by. “That was a long time ago.”

“We haven’t changed that much.” Goddammit, however much Zeph tried, he couldn’t seem to. “You’re still fucking everything that looks at you without getting weirded out. I’m still fighting everything that moves.”

“You’re fighting me,” River told him, his voice low. “And I’m only fucking you.”

Zeph paused as he pulled on his t-shirt, then finished pulling it over his torso and turned to River. “Yeah, maybe.” It wasn’t like he could help it. Fighting was all he knew how to do. “You should find someone else.”

“Someone better than you?”

Zeph flinched but nodded. That was a good way of putting it, even if it pissed him off to hear it.

“I was expecting this,” River told him, which wasn’t what he’d expected.

“What?”

“You pushing me away.” River sighed and pushed his hair to the side, playing with it for a moment as he gazed across the room, then finally looked at him again. “Okay. Here’s the thing.”

Zeph instinctively folded his arms. It didn’t sound good, whatever was coming.

“I was giving you a free pass before because fuck knows you’ve been through stuff. Everyone needs time to learn how to deal with that. But you’re pushing me away again. If I leave, this time, I’m not reaching out again.”

Exactly what Zeph had figured. Everyone said they’d be there for him when he needed it, or they’d stick with him, but who was willing to do that when the real him came out? Nobody. Not even River.

“I want to make it work with you,” River murmured, pulling on his own clothes in quick, efficient movements. Those slender hands danced up his buttons, buttoning up the clingy black over-shirt. “But I’m not going to do a back-and-forth fucked-up TV drama. It might not be obvious, and I don’t act like it to someone who isn’t looking close enough, but I have a bit too much self-respect for that.”

“Right. So, you’re leaving.” Zeph brushed aside all the rest of the pretty, meaningless words.

River eyed him, then scratched his nose and pushed himself to his feet. “If you wanna hear it that way.”

“Not many other ways to take that,” Zeph retorted, pulling open the bedroom door and heading for the kitchen.

He needed a drink of water to clear his head. Normally by this time he’d have had several, plus a protein shake and a good workout.

Now he was going out of his damn mind, trying not to think about what was going through River’s head. Trying not to think about what was going through his own head.

When he leaned in the hallway again, River was pulling on his shoes. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—get closer.

“Right. See you, then,” Zeph said, because it felt like someone needed to say something.

“I hope so.” River straightened up and looked at him, that wide-open face inscrutable for once.

Goddammit, what was he feeling? What did he want from him?

Zeph wanted to throw something heavy, or lift something, or run ten miles. Anything to burn off the shit that was clouding his thinking. Something to cut through it and show him what he was supposed to do.

Instead, he just raised a hand slightly. And River just nodded, and left. And then, when he was alone, he slid slowly down the wall to sit on the floor of the hallway.

Now and then, I wish there were a God out there I could pray to. Someone to tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do.

There were no signs, no voices breaking through the clouds and booming through his windows, chase the man! or let him go!

Instead, the clock ticked and ticked and ticked, and Zeph?

Zeph was alone again.