Shame

“YOU WANT TO RUN THAT by me again?” Con asked, his voice surprisingly level.

Maybe he got it. It would be nice if somebody did. Shame was seriously tired of hurting, tired of hurting people, tired of a lot of shit. He’d thought about killing himself a hundred times, probably more, but that was the coward’s way out.

If he died...well, it wasn’t his fault he had cancer, right?

This way, maybe Charli would move on.

She still had feelings for him. That was why she was moving. She’d all but told him. He’d seen it in her eyes, too. Now that he wasn’t hurting—painkillers weren’t all that bad if they didn’t knock you out—and now that he wasn’t sick out of his head with fever, he could think, and he was actually thinking better than he had in a good long while.

It made sense to him.

Maybe it made sense to Con, too.

But then, just as he started to explain again, he caught sight of the glitter in Con’s eyes.

“I think I explained it well enough,” he said, deciding to let it go at that.

Connor moved so quickly, Shame barely had time to process it, spinning away and slamming his fist into the door of the bathroom. Blood splattered. Con didn’t even flinch as he turned furious eyes on Shame. “You selfish son of a bitch. I know you’ve thought about taking an out, but you always said you’d never do it. You always said you knew it was a coward’s way. What in the hell are you doing now if not taking an out?”

“Hey, you can’t blame me for getting cancer,” he said caustically.

Con closed the distance between them and bent down over the bed, shoving his face into Shame’s. “I can sure as hell blame you for not trying, you chickenshit bastard.”

He backed away then, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’d do this, Shame.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“That’s the whole fucking point!” Con shouted.

“You’re going to get your ass thrown out of here,” Shame pointed out, jerking his head toward the open door.

Con turned around and slammed it. “I don’t give a rat’s ass.” He stormed back over to the bed. “Don’t do this, Shame. You can’t do this.”

Now, as tears burned in Con’s gaze, something hot and tight gripped Shame’s gut, but he looked away. “You don’t get it, Con. Things just... I hate... I...”

“You hurt. You think I don’t know that?”

“How can you know?” Shame returned, slanting his best friend a look. “You weren’t there. You don’t know...”

“I know you survived. And if you give in now, it means he broke you. You were always stronger than that son of a bitch. Be strong now.”

“I’m tired of being strong,” Shame said, and it was nothing but the truth. He’d never even felt all that strong to begin with. He just...went on. He hurt, and he went on. He had nightmares, and he went on. He was tired of just going on.

“You’re tired because you shoulder it all alone. You never went to counseling. You never talk to anybody. You never—”

“Don’t start that shit,” Shame warned him. “You think I want people to know what he did to me?”

“You think you’re the only one who was ever hurt like that? You think you should hide away because some predator hurt you? It’s his fucking fault, not yours!”

Shame flinched as Con tossed the words out, half-sick at the thought that somebody out in the hall might here.

“Con, just—”

“Don’t just anything at me, bro,” Con bit off, cutting a hand through the air. Then, head cocked and eyes narrowed, he said, “You know, I’m curious. What are we going to say at your funeral? When people want to know how you died?”

“I’m not having a fucking funeral.”

“You made out your will already?” Con looked almost comical as he gaped at him with wide-eyed sarcastic skepticism. “Dude, I never realized you were that forward thinking.”

He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed.

“Have a funeral, don’t. I’ll have a memorial service at the pub and all your ladies can come and mourn you. Charli can give your eulogy.” Con’s brows shot up, dark anger edging everything he said. “Riley and I will stand there so we can help her when she starts to cry, because you know she’s going to cry over you.”

“Stop it,” Shame said, voice raw.

“How much of this is because of whatever happened between you two?”

Shame slammed him with a hard look. “That’s none of your business.”

“If you’re choosing to die because you don’t like the way things ended with my sister, I think I’ve got a right to know. And if I don’t, she does. She already just about cried herself sick!” Con closed the distance between them, all but shaking with rage. “If you weren’t already flat on your back, I’d put you there myself. I could beat you senseless for what you’re doing to her—what you’re going to do to her with all this.”

“I gave you a chance,” Shame reminded him.

Con sneered at him. “You think I mean because you slept with her? You dumbass, the only reason that’s a surprise is that it took so long. She’s been in love with you for years, and you feel the same damn way about her.” Con paused, then started to laugh. “What’s that look for? Did you think I didn’t know?”

Turning away, Con man started to pace. “Shit, man. I know you better than you know yourself half the time. You were probably in love with her before she was in love with you. You’re putty in her hands and always have been.” He turned back to face Shame, challenge in his eyes. “You were the one who damn near scared all her boyfriends away in school, not us. They couldn’t take the way you looked at them and eventually Charli stopped bringing them around the house. Not that she ever had many. Hard for the girl with the genius IQ to find a guy who isn’t intimidated by her...not that you ever were.”

Oh, Charli intimidated him. She scared him senseless. But it wasn’t her IQ that did it.

Shame kept his mouth shut, glaring at Con.

“How can you even think about giving up?” Con stared at him, a million emotions running through his turbulent eyes.

“The bigger question is why would I even want to bother?” The words tore out of him. “Don’t you get it? I live with it all the time, what he did. And you can tell me all you want that it wasn’t my fault, but that doesn’t change how or what I feel inside, Con. I’m...fucked up. I’m dirty. I’m twisted and broken. And...shit. You’re right about Charli.” He sat up in the bed and swung his legs off the side, staring outside. “But I don’t have any right to her. None. Nobody as fucked up as I am has a right to somebody like her.”

He dragged in a pained, choked breath, wishing he could just expedite the process and get it all over and done with, but while maybe he was okay taking the easy way out, he wasn’t going to full-out cheat and quit early.

Behind him, Con was silent.

For the longest time, he was silent.

Then, finally, he walked around the bed and stood in front of him.

He had a phone in his hand and when Con met his eyes, he held it out.

“Your sister’s been talking to me lately. She wants to try to fix things with you...wants you to get to know your nephew. Maybe you should just tell her that you’d rather check out instead. And hey, while you’re at it, maybe you should just get the ten-year-old boy on the phone and tell him that he’s filthy and doesn’t deserve anything good in his life, either.”

Something in Shame snapped and he reached out, knocking the phone from Con’s hand. It landed on the bed behind them, but Shame barely noticed. “You son of a bitch.”

He came off the bed, adrenaline fueling him.

He swayed, but stayed on his feet.

Con jutted his chin up.

“What’s the matter? It’s okay for you to feel that way, but that kid can’t?” Head cocked, he challenged, “Maybe it’s because you’re here sick and in the hospital. Is that why? Maybe you think you deserve this?”

Shame flinched. Did he? Did some part of him think he deserved it?

“Come on,” Con demanded. “Let’s call your sister and let her know it ain’t gonna be possible for any sort of relationship between the two of you. Let her know you can’t help her figure out how to help her son.”

“I don’t know how to help him!” Shame shouted.

“Of course not! You’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself to see the people around you who’ve tried to help you for half their lives!”

Shame swayed and Con caught him, hands gripping his upper arms. “Sit your ass down before you fall down, you hardass.”

Shame was tempted to flip him off, but decided he’d be better served sitting down before he fell over.

“What in the fuck do you want from me, you son of a bitch?” he muttered as Con guided him over to a chair. Once he was seated, his head stopped spinning around like crazy and he was able to focus on Con’s face.

“I want you to fight, you bastard,” Con said, his voice cracking. “I want you to think about the people who love you, the people who need you.”

Shame shook his head. “I’m tired of fighting, Con. Sometimes, it just...hurts.”

They stared at each other for a long, long moment.

Finally, Con pulled away. He opened his mouth, then closed it. After a few more seconds, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Shame wanted to call him back.

But what in the hell was he supposed to say?

* * * * *

“MAX...NOOOOO...”

Her ragged groan reached his ears, but he was more intent on wringing every last bit of pleasure-pain from her that he could. He’d told her to stay out of there. She hadn’t listened.

So now she’d see just what the room was for.

Stretched out on the sawhorse, her arms tied overhead, Charli shuddered as he twisted two fingers inside her ass, stretching her. “Max!”

“You know how to make me stop,” he reminded her.

He fisted his free hand in her thick hair and tugged, forcing her spine to arch.

She whimpered and wiggled, inching away from the invasion taking place behind her.

But she didn’t say stop.

She didn’t say the one word that would end this.

Not even when he spread the cheeks of her ass and began to impale her. She cried out, the sound laced with pain and shock and he dragged her back on his cock, the give in the ropes allowing him to move her just enough.

“Tell me to stop, Charli,” he said, staring down at her, watching as her ass flowered open around him, yielding to him slowly.

“Max...” She whimpered and shuddered, her spine arching as she worked to take him.

He withdrew and surged forward again, rocking deeper. She’d taken more than half of him already. The next thrust had her bouncing up onto her toes and he grunted in pleasure as she clenched down around him.

“It hurts,” she said on a low moan.

“Then make me stop. What do you say?”

But she shook her head.

He withdrew, held himself poised at the entrance, the head of his cock barely tucked inside her. “Last chance, Charli...”

“Max...”

He drove home, burying himself completely inside her. She screamed, the sound breathless and tight—and in a weak, weak voice, she whispered, “Wait...Max...”

* * * * *

“MAX?”

He jerked awake, the echoes of the dream falling to shreds around him, leaving him in a state that was torn between arousal and self-disgust.

Wait...Max...

But he hadn’t waited. He hadn’t stopped. He brought her to a keening, wailing climax. But once hadn’t been enough.  He’d needed more.

A few days later, when she told him that she needed more, he’d pushed her away.

“Max?”

He tensed at the sound of his name, looking around the dim room, eyes struggling to adjust.

“Who’s there?” he asked, not quite able to make out anything beyond the small pool of illumination cast off by the light over the head of the bed.

“It’s Elaine.” There was a brief pause, and a shuffling in the shadows over by the door.

He finally locked on her form just as she said, “Your sister.”

“I know who my fu...” The cuss word died on his lips as she stepped forward, a young boy at her side. He gamely swallowed it back and finished with, “I know who my sister is, thanks.”

The boy blinked up at him, his eyes the same icy blue as Shame’s, his face holding echoes of the boy Shame had once been.

They looked alike. Why hadn’t Shame ever noticed that?

The boy’s face was a little softer, his chin rounder, a nod to his father’s genes. But the boy was definitely a Schaeffer. Poor kid.

“Hey,” Shame said uncomfortably.

Elaine summoned up a nervous smile and rested a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Alex, say hi to your uncle...” She hesitated. Clearly she knew what name Shame preferred.

But he could tell it wasn’t a name she wanted to give her son.

Awkwardly, he said, “Call me Max.”

“Hi, Uncle Max,” Alex said obediently. And he watched Shame with wide, curious eyes. Eyes that hid a thousand secrets.

Shame could see them all and he wondered at them.

Elaine pressed her lips together, then looked over at Alex. She reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet, fishing out a few bills. “Do you remember where the coke machine we passed is? How about you get yourself a drink, maybe a bag of chips?”

He solemnly accepted the money and turned on his heel. But at the door, Alex paused and looked back, staring at Shame with uncertain eyes for a long, lingering moment.

“I got a call from your friend, Connor earlier,” Elaine said, without waiting a moment once Alex was out of the room. “I don’t think he meant to call—you two were fighting. I was able to piece together enough to figure out you were sick. When I called him back, he wouldn’t say much but he did let me know you were here.” She did that thing again, pressing her lips together as if to stem a flow of words she wasn’t ready to let out. “Max...why are you here?”

Fuck, he wasn’t up to doing this again. Three times in one day?

“Are you sick?” Elaine persisted.

“I’ve got cancer,” he said after a few seconds, turning his head to look at her.

She reached out, grasping the bedrail and squeezing it as she closed her eyes. “I had a bad feeling...” She blew out a breath, then opened her eyes. “Is it treatable?”

He jerked a shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not messing with it.”

“I— What?”

At that moment, Alex appeared back in the door, carrying a bag of chips in one small fist and a soft drink in the other. His eyes sought out his mother and he smiled nervously. “Did you want something, too, Mom?”

“No...no, baby. I’m fine. I just...” She waved at the seats before turning turbulent eyes back her brother. “He’s been wanting to meet you for a while. I held off because I wasn’t sure how you felt about me. And I was ashamed.”

Shame glanced toward the kid, puzzled. “Why would he want to meet me?”

“Because you were there in court,” she said simply. She looked over at Alex.

So did Shame. Now Alex was focusing on the task of carefully pulling the bag of chips open, but when he sensed their attention, he darted a glance up. It was a shy, nervous look and he focused back on the food quickly, but Shame had seen the expression in Alex’s eyes.

It was a look he recognized.

There was a unique sort of loneliness he’d felt in the years after he’d escaped his father’s torture.

It had never dawned on him that his nephew would feel it, too.

“I’d hoped...” Elaine stopped, lifting her face to the sky. “I guess that’s pointless. I have no reason to hope for anything from you, after abandoning you the way I did. I just...seeing you in court, knowing you were there for my son, I’d hoped maybe...” Her eyes were wet when they met his. “But I guess it doesn’t matter.”

She pulled away and held out a hand to Alex. “Come on, Alex. Max is sick.”

“But I...” Alex looked back at Shame.

And Shame felt it—that ugly, miserable knot of self-disgust curing in his gut and spreading outward like a disease. “Wait,” he said in a rough voice as the two of them headed for the door.

Elaine kept walking.

Alex glanced back.

“For fuck’s sake, Elaine. I told you to wait,” he snapped.

And his sister stopped, looking back at him.