I surveyed the living room. It was spotless. I was terrified to touch anything because Hayden knew immediately when I had. His quest for order was draining. I understood the reason behind it. His world and his mind were in utter chaos; he could control his environment.
“Let me see if I can convince him first. I don’t want him to feel ambushed.”
“Okay. But if you haven’t called back within the hour, Nate and I will come.”
I took down the details and hung up, shoving the paper in my back pocket. I wasn’t sure how I was going to broach the subject with Hayden, but he needed more help than I could give him.
TK jumped up on the couch and head-butted my hand. She’d been as jumpy as me over the past few days, unsure of Hayden’s unpredictable moods. One minute he was fixated on a task; the next he exploded out of frustration because he couldn’t get it right. I picked her up and pressed my nose into her fur, listening to her motor run.
“Tenley?” The high tenor reflected Hayden’s anxiety, as did the heavy thud of his feet coming down the hall.
“I’m in the living room,” I called out.
“I thought you were just getting something to drink—” He stopped short when he entered the room.
He had on boxer briefs and nothing else. His chest and shoulders were sprinkled with droplets of water, his wet hair standing on end. His hands sank into it and tugged hard, the concern switching to irritation.
“This place is a sty. There’s shit everywhere,” he barked, his accusatory glare on me.
My phone and the pen were on the coffee table. Nothing else was out of place as far as I could see. But based on Hayden’s current rigid standards, those two items constituted a mess.
“I’ll put it away—”
“I’ve got it.”
He grabbed the pen and put it back in the drawer, slamming it shut. I pocketed my phone and stayed put. Waiting. His hands went to his hips as his eyes traveled the room in search of misplaced items. The tension in his shoulders didn’t ease in the slightest.
“Where’s your glass?”
“I got distracted by TK.”
It was a partial truth. If I told him I put it in the dishwasher, he would check and know I was lying. He zoned in on TK, nuzzling my chin. His paranoia was painful to witness. Cassie was right.
“Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll make you something to eat,” I said gently, hoping if I did something nice I could smooth the transition to a conversation I didn’t want to have.
“I’m not hungry.”
“But you haven’t eaten today.”
“Because I’m not hungry,” he snapped.
His volume startled TK. She launched out of my lap and bolted down the hall, likely seeking refuge under the bed. I wished I could join her.
“Well, I am.” I gave him a wide berth when I passed him on my way to the fridge.
I collected the items necessary to make a sandwich and dumped them on the counter. My method of sandwich assembly was likely going to give him an aneurysm, but I needed to stay occupied while I figured out how to approach the topic. His hand went back to his hair as he watched me. I was glad it was too short to rip out at the roots.
I took four slices of bread out of the bag. Even if he wasn’t planning to eat, I was going to make him something.
“You should let me do that.” Hayden moved in, prepared to take over.
“I can manage.”
“It’s my kitchen.”
I bit back a comment about going back to my place to make food. He would freak out over the possibility of my being more than ten feet away from him.
“I think I can handle making a sandwich.”
“But you’ll make a mess.”
“Which I’ll clean up.”
He snorted with derision.
I slapped the Black Forest ham down on the cutting board and turned to face him. “Hayden, I love you, and I know you’re particular, but this is too much. Do you even realize what you’re doing?”
“It’s not my fault you can’t remember where to put things when you’re done with them.”
“Excuse me?”
“We both know you’re not very tidy.” He made it sound like a felony.
My cool slipped a little. “For Christ sake, Hayden, compared to you, Martha Stewart is a slob! I can deal with your compulsive organization. Most of the time I like that about you. But I can’t even make a sandwich without you crawling up my ass now!”
He blinked, taken aback that I’d raised my voice. “I’m not that bad.”
I clenched my fists to keep my hands from flailing. “You’ve been two steps behind me fixing my so-called mistakes for the last few days. It’s giving me a complex.”
His rigid stance deflated. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter, eyes on the floor. He bit down on the spot where the viper bites used to be.
“I can’t keep waiting for the bomb to drop, Hayden. You’re on edge all the time,” I said softly.
When he stalked across the kitchen, I put my hands up to fend him off. He walked right into my palms. He brushed my hair over my shoulders, fingers skimming my collarbone. “I don’t want to be up your ass like this. I’m sorry for being a dick.”
“You’re under a lot of stress.”
“I’d like to apologize.”
“Apology accepted. This week has been hard on you.” I wasn’t sure if I should trust his sudden shift in mood.
“I could do a better job, though.” His hand came around my backside. He pulled my phone out of my pocket and dropped it on the counter so he could grab my ass and squeezed.
Gone was the dissonant hostility, replaced with something altogether needy. Apparently, Hayden responded better to frustration than coddling.
“Sex isn’t going to make this go away,” I said.
“But it will make me feel better.”
I grabbed his forearms. His fingers were perilously close to places they shouldn’t be if I was to have any hope of finishing this conversation. “We need to talk first.”
“We can talk after.” His hands went down the back of my jeans.
“You’re evading.”
“I know. And you’re going to let me.” His lips parted against my neck, his tongue swept out, and his teeth followed. I closed my eyes and reveled in the sensation for a fleeting moment.
“You need to talk to someone,” I said, amazed my voice stayed steady considering his wandering hands and mouth.
“I’ll talk to you, after I’m done using my tongue for other things.”
“I mean a professional.”
He retracted his hands. His lips left my skin. I’d definitely gotten his attention.
“I can handle my own shit,” he bit out.
“Hayden, I love you more than anything, and I know this is bringing up a lot of things you’d rather not deal with—but I feel like a target, not an anchor. You’re not acting like yourself, and it’s frightening me.” Pretending everything was fine wasn’t an option anymore. “I can’t stay here if things don’t change.”
“You can’t— What do you mean?”
“I can’t walk on eggshells all the time.”
His eyes flared with panic. “So you’d fucking leave me?”
“No, Hayden—I won’t leave you. But I can’t stay here when you’re like this. It’s not good for either of us.”
“You’d go back to your apartment?”
“If this continues, I’ll have to.” My chest ached at the possibility, but I needed him to see what this was doing to us.
With more lip biting he mulled it over. “I don’t want to screw up this relationship. Not when I’ve just gotten you back.”
“So you’ll talk to someone?” I smoothed my hands over his shoulders.
“What if I don’t like it?”
If he agreed, he was going to sit down with a perfect stranger and talk about his past and his perceived shortcomings. He was not going to like it. But if I could get him to go once, I wasn’t above bribing him for subsequent visits.