Odd Ball Out Read Online Free PDF Page B

and then wonder what I’m doing there before making my way to my office. I spend some time researching insomnia. Then I check my email and see a ton of new replies for the position. I need to delete—.
     
    “AAAAAHHH!”
     
    I spin in my chair and jerk away, my arms flying up to ward off an attack that never comes. I open my eyes to see a very startled and very wretched Morgan. He murmurs, “shit, shit. Haden, I’m so s-sorry.” I shake my head at him and wave my hands, trying to reconnect the stuff that got torn apart, putting things back where they go. I swallow a few times and roll my head on my shoulders. Shake it off. I grab my phone.
     
    HADEN: my fault, I should have told you I startle easily, part of the PTSD stuff. Just knock from now on or call or make noise. No harm done.
     
    I watch Morgan try to set the coffee cup on the corner of my desk but his hands are shaking so bad he’s jerking so hard it’s sloshing everywhere. I look at him closer and see that he’s near tears. Jezus. I place my hands around his around the cup and gently help him steady it so he can set it down. As soon as he does he pulls his hands away and flashes me a weak completely fake smile before trying to flee.
     
    I’m on my feet in seconds because I can’t let him leave thinking he did something wrong. I rush in front of him and shake my head. He just stands there looking beaten, with his head bowed. Nothing like the gregarious outgoing tease I’d seen so far. I reach out to touch his cheek and he flinches, hard.
     
    I suddenly know without a doubt his life has been harder than mine. I’ve never been hit. He’d talked about his size and I’d had my suspicions but… now I know. “Morgan.” I say his name and his head snaps up, tears running down his face. I raise my arms slowly and hope he takes me up on my offer of comfort. With a sob he crashes into me and holds on like he’s never letting go. I hold him tight as well. I tell him, “its o-okay.”
     
    I hold him until his sobbing quiets and gently rub his back and the back of his head, smoothing, caressing, touching were I can reach and where I think it will communicate that I’m in no way upset and that I want him to be happy. He shifts a bit but doesn’t let me go and starts rambling, “I wanted to do everything right. I wanted you to think I could do this. I don’t want to go. I like it here. I like being with you. I know I can do better. I promise I can. I don’t want to go.”
     
    I tell him harshly, “stop.” He freezes in my arms. I know if I try to get my phone to text him to explain he’ll bolt. So I have to try and do this the old fashioned way. Shit. Breathe. “You. P-perfect.” He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. I say with conviction, “yes.” I hold him tighter and kiss the top of his head. He relaxes into me and I know he’s going to be okay.
     
    After a few more minutes he eases back and tries to surreptitiously wipe his face. I take his hand and pull him to my room and into my bathroom. I have him sit on the toilet while I wet a washcloth with cold water. Then I sit next to him on the side of the tub, our knees bumping as I lean forward and wipe his eyes, cheeks, forehead, nose, jaw, mouth and even the back of his neck. I stutter out, “b-b-better?”
     
    He nods and grins that megawatt smile that could light up the entire continent and I’m blow away by his beauty. He’s not classically handsome like you’d think of a rugged male model or something. No, his face is more heart shaped and slender, his eyes big and his lips red, not pale pink, with a cute upturn at the end of his nose. He’s sort of like a waifish elf. I suppose someone else might call him pretty, but that really implies feminine and he’s not. He’s masculine but in a gentler way. Not quite boyish either. Tender hearted. No, not soft, unselfish.
     
    I have no idea how long we’ve been sitting here staring at each other as I’ve been in my head trying to