Thrown to the Wolves (Big Bad Wolf, #3)

by Charlie Adhara

“You’re constantly rushing headfirst into the clutches of psychopaths and murderers. I just listened to you cackle your way through a potentially fatal car accident. You like danger.”

A simple, affectionate touch that offered the reassurance and connection he couldn’t seem to give with words. He liked the way Park sometimes held his breath when Cooper kissed him like this. Like unexpected affection was so precious he didn’t want to risk any interruption. The way Park kept himself straight and stiff, clearly wanting to look his best for someone he must surely know already thought he couldn’t get more beautiful.

“I wasn’t trying to hide you or anything about you from anyone. I’m so proud of you, so proud I get to be with you, to be part of your life. That you chose me.”

“If I could tell the whole world I love you, I would.”

“Loving you is the privilege of my already overprivileged life. I never wanted you to feel like I was hiding you from them. I was trying to hide them from you.”

“Have you met me? I don’t like to talk about anything, Oliver, but I do it for you. You think it’s fun for me to tell you about my dead mother and my childhood bullies and my psychopath partner? It’s not. Do you think it makes me feel good when you see me vomiting because I ate too much too fast for my fucked-up gut or when you come back to the apartment and I haven’t dressed or showered or moved because my anxiety is spinning out? It doesn’t. It’s painful, it’s humiliating, it’s fucking hell. But I work on it anyway because I thought that’s what people do when they’re in love and want a—a serious life together.”

“I didn’t mean to—” He bit his lip hard, fists clenched and trembling. “I just wanted to be as good as you thought I was.”

“I didn’t need good. I needed a partner who respected me enough to let me decide what and who I want for myself. It’s like you took away my choice.”

He didn’t say “It’s okay” because it wasn’t, or “I know” because he didn’t. He didn’t say “I’m sorry” because it was an empty, ritualistic platitude, or “You don’t need her” because need had nothing do with it. It was about want. And at some point, at least once in a lifetime, no matter who or why or what came before, everyone wants their mom.

“You’re not a bad thing. And fuck anyone who’s ever made you think you are, including myself. You are good. You’re the best person I’ve ever known.”