Wanting Read Free Page B

didn’t help now.
    His bladder distended, and if he didn’t watch it he’d let out a stream of piss. He’d done that in the past too, pissed all over his goddamned self, ashamed at the way his body reacted to even the slightest ‘off’ noise. He should have gone to see a therapist like Dane had said, but that meant admitting he was mental, that he had a problem, and Adam wasn’t, didn’t.
    You fucking well are. Do.
    He ducked under the table, knowing as he scrabbled about down there he was overreacting now the gunman had gone, but he couldn’t help it. Snuggled in the corner, he took deep breaths as he listened to Dane talk to the police, closing his eyes to let that deep, sexy-as-fuck voice soothe him. The call seemed to take an age, when all Adam wanted was for Dane to hold him close, to rub his stubbly chin on the top of Adam’s head and tell him everything was going to be all right. To feel Dane’s dark brown hair wisp over his cheek and tickle his lips.
    To not be afraid.
    A loud hammering came from the front of the shop, and Adam jumped, banging his head on the underside of the desk. His heart stuttered, stopped for a few seconds then restarted with a God-awful beat that was too fast and hurt too bloody much. He gulped, lungs constricting and not allowing any air in, and panicked, flailing his arms and whacking his heels on the floor.
    “It’s the police already,” Dane said, hunkering down and peering at him. “It’s okay, it’s the police.”
    Adam’s lungs inflated and, nauseated, he fisted his burning eyes. Adrenaline surged through him, sending him lightheaded, disoriented. He blinked, seeing Dane as a blurry shape, and reached out a hand so he could feel his warm touch.
    “They stayed on the phone the whole time,” Dane said. “And now I have to let them in, all right?” He squeezed Adam’s fingers. “You coming out?”
    Adam shook his head, pulling his hand away. He drew his knees up, curling his arms around them, and waited for the pulse in his throat to stop its incessant, deafening throb.
    “Okay.” Dane stood and walked to the door. “I’ll be back in a second.”
    Adam wanted to call out, to tell him to be careful, but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He rested his head back, staring at the underside of the desk at a hardened nub of chewing gum someone had stuck there. It reminded him of school, of being a kid again, and he cursed.
    Who said when you grew up you didn’t get scared anymore? Who said things got better?
    In no time the office door swung open, and Adam saw Dane’s feet accompanied by four more—feet encased in shiny black shoes with droplets of rain on them.
    “Does that work?” a man said.
    “Yeah. You want me to rewind it?” Dane asked.
    “Please. And where’s the person who saw the gunman?”
    “Uh, he’s under there.”
    Adam felt all kinds of a prick, but he was fucked if he could make himself come out. One pair of the black shoes moved, came to a stop in front of the desk, and creaked as a police officer hunched down and looked at him.
    “You all right there, son?”
    Adam nodded.
    “Gave you a bit of a scare, did he?”
    “Yeah, just a bit. Like before.” He hadn’t meant to say that last bit.
    “Like before?”
    “Yeah. I was attacked…” Why tell him that?
    “Ah, I see. Right. You okay to come out, tell us what happened?”
    “What, about what happened before, or…?”
    “Just now, son.”
    Relief bled into Adam’s system—he didn’t fancy reliving that other time again—and he found the courage to crawl out. He stood, embarrassed as hell, and perched his arse on the corner of the desk. Knitted his fingers. Twiddled his thumbs.
    “There he is,” the other officer said.
    Adam glanced across to the door sharply, surprised to see a female officer there, then berated himself for being an arsehole in thinking she shouldn’t be out on a call like this. She stared at a monitor, walking towards the desk, and pursed her