According to his license, Andrew Carson is only twenty years old and lives on campus at the university. He mentioned being in a dorm last night but he was so out of it that I wasn’t sure what to believe. I wish he would have let me take him to the hospital but he was so cold that I just wanted to get him warm. And the only place I could think to bring him was here. So, after wrapping him up in a down comforter, I got him settled on my couch and watched him sleep. All night long.

I dozed off a few times, but as soon as I woke up, I checked his pulse and temperature to make sure he was fine. The first few hours were tense, but by three in the morning, he was sleeping comfortably, curled up like a baby and I finally stretched out on my recliner and got a few hours of shuteye myself.

Now, it’s almost seven am and he might have classes or work to get to. But instead of deliberately waking him up, I’m cooking a breakfast that no man can sleep through. The sizzling of the bacon alone could wake the dead but the scents coming out of my kitchen should have him up in no time.

And as if he’s reading my mind, Andrew starts to make some noises in the other room. I pour a glass of orange juice and grab a few aspirin before heading in to check on him. “Good morning.”

“Stay away from me.” He’s holding my fireplace poker out as a weapon while slipping into his shoes. “Just let me leave and I won’t tell anybody what happened.”

“Andrew, just relax. I think you’re misrememb—”

He thrusts the poker toward me then winces at the pain it causes. “I swear, I won’t tell the police anything. I don’t remember anything. Just let me leave, please.”

I hold up my hands and take a step back. “Yeah, of course. You can go at any time. I only bright you here because you didn’t want to go home.”

He looks down at the oversized hoodie I put him in last night. “Where’s my shirt?”

“It was torn. You really don’t remember what happened?” Shit. If I’m the only face he can associate with the night, that’s not good. “I didn’t hurt you. I swear.”

“Whatever.” He inches toward the front door with the poker aimed in my direction. “I won’t say anything. Just let me go.”

I heave out a heavy breath and watch as he shuffles out the front door. As soon as he hits the street, he tosses the fireplace poker onto my lawn and tries to run away. I want to chase after him to make sure he’s okay, but that will just make things worse. If he actually believes I’m the one who hurt him—he one who raped him—chasing after him will do more harm than good.

I turn off the stove and leave the unfinished food to cool while I jump in the shower, trying to wash away the nightmare of the past twelve hours.

* * *

Over the next two weeks, I try to focus on work, but it’s not easy. Dueling for prominence in the back of my mind are thoughts of the police coming to arrest me on assault charges and Andrew.

Sweet, innocent, bruised up Andrew.

Watching him sleep reminded me of the few moments of peace and contentment I saw in his eyes when he first got out on the dance floor. He was relaxed and happy as he moved with the music. Until that asshole grabbed his dick and scared him. And then he… Fuck, I hate thinking about it.

When I walked into that room and saw Andrew unconscious on the floor with steaks of blood across his ass, I hated myself for not getting in there sooner. His arms and chest were covered in bruises and his hair was matted on his head as if it had been curled up in someone’s fist. And that’s probably exactly what had happened.

At the time, I didn’t press him for details because he was going into shock and I didn’t want to make things worse. But when he woke up and didn’t remember anything, I realized how stupid I’d been. Now he’ll live the rest of his life thinking the abuse and trauma he suffered was at my hands. And I’ll never get to tell him how sorry I am for not helping him sooner. I knew something bad was about to happen when I saw the fear in his eyes, but I just finished my beer like I didn’t have a care in the world. Like a complete and total jack ass.

Murdoch is already ten minutes late for our meeting, so I pull up my email and start deleting spam until he finally drags his ass in. “Oh, good. You’re here.”

I slowly pull up my sleeve and look at my watch. “Yeah, I’ve been here since ten when our meeting was supposed to start.”

“Good.” He doesn’t seem apologetic at all as he arranges his coffee and a bowl of oatmeal on the table in front of him like he’s settling in for breakfast with his grandma. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

It only takes me twenty minutes to go through my updated design and the reasoning behind my decisions and the next forty minutes are spent listening to him piss and moan about why he thinks everything should be different.

Just before he pushes back from the table, he gives me the best news I could hope for. “Well, Jude, I guess you’ve got a handle on things. I’ve got a sales conference to prepare for and some analyst meetings coming up so I’m going to be handing this project over to a new intern. He’s a design student at the university who is hoping to get some hands-on experience with a huge commerce site launch like this. He can do the grunt work of hunting down content and approvals for you, and you can just call me in when major milestones are met.” He stands up and brushes some brown sugar off the front of shirt. “We good here?”

“Yeah, sure.” I’m absolutely thrilled that I won’t have to work with this idiot anymore. Maybe Matt realized how useless he was and made the recommendation after my last few complaints. “When can I meet this intern?”

“He knows you’re here today so I told him to find you after lunch. You’re eating with Matt today, right?”

I usually have lunch with Matt in the mezzanine café on the days I come into the office. It’s the only chance we get to catch up since he started dating an omega from some matchmaking site. I’ve only met the guy a few times but I don’t see it lasting much longer. The guy is insecure and needy, never allowing Matt to hang out with friends unless he’s there too. And since he works at night, Matt is pretty much relegated to sit at home every night. Sadly, I am too but I have no real reason to be…other than a lack of interest in socializing with strangers. “Yeah, we should be done by one.”

“Great.” Murdoch head to the door with his coffee cup, leaving the rest of his shit on the table for someone else to deal with. Prick. “I’ll tell him to wait for you in here.”

“Thanks, Murdoch.” Awesome. Apparently, I’m the asshole who has to deal with his shit later. “I’ll see you later.” Preferably never.