Chapter Thirty-Three #2
With a shudder, I wonder what my mom would say if I told her—or if I showed her. Maybe she’d believe me . . . until Patrick comes in with his fucking lies and tells her some awful alternate-reality version where I somehow attacked him first.
The thought makes me sick, and I quickly slip my shirt back on and push open the bathroom door.
The hallway is mostly dark, but the lights from downstairs give me plenty to see by.
I cross over to Alex’s bedroom and push open the door about halfway.
Alex is working on his computer at his desk, and he looks up at me, grinning, as I step inside.
“What?” I ask, closing the door behind me. His eyes are bright and curious, and he starts to open his mouth to talk when I hold up my hand. “Hang on. This is about space or gravity or black holes or something nerdy, right?”
He snorts a laugh. “Yeah, I just checked my email, and Dr. Ellis sent me this article—”
I try not to groan out loud, but I fail miserably. He laughs again as I reach over and take his hand, tugging gently. “Can you tell me about it while we cuddle in bed? I’m tired.”
His grin softens. “Yeah, of course.” He shuts his laptop as he stands up, then he squeezes my hand. “Let me just go brush my teeth and stuff. Five minutes, ’kay?”
At my nod, he leans in and kisses my cheek. Then he grabs a change of clothes and takes off out of the room, leaving me alone. I glance at his computer and then up at his corkboard, where his Stanford acceptance letter hangs proudly.
There’s a tightness in my chest, and I realize I’m holding my breath. I turn away and head over to the bed, forcing a long exhale. And I sit and wait for him. My heart’s now racing, and I’m not sure why.
Maybe the reminder that he’s leaving. Or . . . or we’re leaving. We’re leaving, and I still don’t have a plan for how I’m going to make that work. A job. A budget. A . . . vehicle.
Fuck.
Alex pushes the door open then, smiling, and he turns around, closing it softly. “My mom’s still working, but I think she’ll be up soon, so, uh, you know, we’ll need to be quiet if—” He faces me and pauses. “What’s wrong?”
I almost laugh at how easily he can read me.
And I love his assumption that we’ll need to be careful to stay quiet.
But instead of laughing, I blurt out, “What’s the public transportation like in Palo Alto?
A-and nearby?” Then I drop my eyes to my hands and shake my head.
“Do they have buses or trains or something?”
“Um, I . . . think so?” He pads across the room toward me and sits next to me, then rests his hands on top of mine in my lap. “Why?”
I shouldn’t have started this. It’s late. I’m tired. He was going to tell me happy stuff about some article he read, and we were going to cuddle. Maybe even more than cuddle. But I can’t just wave it off now.
“I need to know. For my budget. If—if I’m going to California with you. I . . . don’t have a car anymore. My mom . . .” I shake my head, deciding I can’t go into detail tonight. “I don’t have a car. Can we find out?”
“Right now?” he asks, rubbing his thumb along the back of my hand.
I nod quickly.
“Okay, yeah. Let’s take a look.” He gets up and returns a moment later with his laptop. Together, we scoot back on the bed until our backs are against the wall, and then he opens up the computer and types in a quick search. “Okay, so . . . here’s the public transit info . . .”
He clicks through the websites for both the Santa Clara Valley Transportation Authority and Caltrain, stopping to read to me every once in a while.
He finds maps and schedules of the bus and light-rail routes, and we look through those for a few minutes.
He even opens up the local subreddit for the area, finding general praise for the public transit systems before hopping back to the Transportation Authority website and looking up options for bus fares.
“Ah, look, they have a monthly pass,” he says, pointing to the screen. He lowers his voice and adds, “And it’s actually much less than the cost of car insurance in California. So, that’s good then, yeah?”
I close my eyes and nod. It is good. Maybe even better, actually, budget-wise. I’ll ignore the fact that my anxiety is going to be through the roof if I have to ride a crowded bus or train, but at least I’ll have options.
“Yeah. Yeah. Um, thanks. Thank you. Sorry, I just . . . I kinda freaked out for a second there.”
“It’s okay.” I hear his laptop close, and his lips brush my forehead. “Ready for bed now? Are you okay? Or, um, did you want to talk more?”
I shake my head immediately. “No more talking. Or, I mean”—I open my eyes and tilt my head back to look up at him—“you can still talk. But I’m done. For now.”
He holds my gaze for a moment, like he’s studying me to make sure I’m actually okay. When he’s maybe found what he’s looking for, he smiles, bends down, and captures my lips in a soft kiss. “Okay, yeah. One sec. I still need to tell you about this article from Dr. Ellis. You won’t believe it.”
This time, when he gets up, I crawl underneath the covers and settle on my back on my side of the bed near the wall.
He climbs into the bed next to me just a few seconds later, after he puts his computer away and switches off the light.
Then he’s on his side, his hand caressing my forearm as he kisses my shoulder over the top of my T-shirt.
His touch is so gentle and caring, and I just close my eyes with a quiet hum as his hand moves to my stomach, slips under my shirt, and starts stroking slowly across my abdomen.
“So, this article,” he begins, pausing to kiss my shoulder again.
“Hmm?”
“It was just published last week in Nature Astronomy—that’s one of the top journals for astrophysics research in the world—and it’s by a research group working in The Netherlands. They were studying giant elliptical galaxies that had become dormant, and what they found was . . .”
He says a bunch of words I don’t understand, but I try to listen anyway, even as I’m very, very distracted by the searing touch of his fingers on my skin and the occasional light kisses he places on my shoulder.
He’s obviously excited by the conclusions of the research, and he says something about how Dr. Ellis wants to hear his opinion on it.
That makes me smile, and I turn my head sideways and open my eyes.
It’s dark, but I can still see him smiling back at me.
He scoots a bit closer, props himself up on one elbow, and then leans down and kisses me, his lips soft and warm.
“Mmm,” he hums into the kiss, and I smile against him. When he pulls back, he’s grinning again. “Thanks for listening. I know you were tired.”
He’s adorable and so sweet to me, and it’s taking all I have to not pull him back in for another kiss. The way he was touching me was arousing as hell, and I wish I wasn’t still exhausted and anxious and hurting, because even with all of that, I want him.
His fingers flex against my hip, and he lowers himself to kiss my lips again.
It’s the same gentle, loving kiss with no expectations—just his lips caressing mine in a slow, careful exploration.
I lift my hand to cup his cheek, then let my hand slip back to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
And he moans softly, breaks the kiss, and lowers his head to my chest.
He rests there for a moment, then asks quietly, “Ready for sleep?” He lifts his head and starts to flutter tiny, light kisses along my jaw, and his hand caresses low along my stomach, just above the waistband of my sleep shorts.
A low groan escapes me, and Alex laughs, the huff of air warm against my neck. “Is that a yes? Or something else?”
I want to whisper roughly in his ear that it’s definitely something else.
That he should keep doing what he’s doing.
That I’m very much not ready for sleep. I want to reach down and push his hand lower.
I want to beg him to touch me. And I almost do it.
But my hesitation alone seems to be enough to tell him the answer because he hums softly, kisses my jaw, and then lowers himself back onto the bed next to me, moving his hand to rest on top of my shirt.
“It’s late.” There’s no disappointment in his voice. Just understanding.
I close my eyes, fighting to keep myself from apologizing, and that struggle turns into a buzz of anxiety, which is even worse. “I slept so much today, but I’m still tired,” I admit, if for no other reason than to try to distract myself from the feeling.
“Mmm. That’s understandable.”
“Is it?”
He nods. “Yeah. I mean, I think so.”
He’s guessing, since he doesn’t really know what happened. And I appreciate that he’s still not demanding I tell him. I owe him more, though. I owe him the truth, and another honest talk about everything.
I turn onto my right side, facing away from him, and pull the blanket up to my chin. Before I even ask, his arm slips around my waist, and he snuggles up behind me, holding me close. His knee pushes between mine, and his lips brush against my neck. Then he settles against me and breathes in deeply.
“Mmm, you’re warm,” he murmurs, nuzzling my neck. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah. It’s good,” I say, managing to keep my voice level.
It’s more than okay, though—it’s exactly what I need right now.
I wish I could just tell him that. I wish I could just tell him a lot of other things, too, like what happened with Patrick, the car, my mom.
Like how much I appreciate him taking care of me, even if I don’t always show it. Like how much I care about him.
Like how nothing else in the world is more important to me than he is.
I love you.
That’s what I wish I could tell him.
“Tomorrow,” I blurt out, the single word breaking through the jumble of thoughts in my head. I cover his hand with mine on my stomach and hold him to me. “Tomorrow, can we talk?”
“Yeah. Of course,” he answers immediately. His arm tightens around me, and his breath warms the back of my neck, chasing away the little buzz of anxiety underneath my skin. “I’m here. I’ll be here. Just rest now, okay?”
My whole body shudders as though releasing more of that deep pain that’s constantly suffocating me. I nod and close my eyes and wriggle backwards to settle into him. It is warm. And comfortable.
A tear slips down my cheek, and I sniffle and wipe it away.
“Good night, Nico.”
“Good night, Alex.”