Chapter 13
Stone
It’s not like I expected Hanlon to call me or anything, but when both of my texts have still gone unanswered by five p.m., I start to worry. Even if he’s pissed at me for sending him home, he’d still respond.
Which makes me think he can’t respond, and suddenly, I’m gripped with fear that he’s somehow injured or struggling with a panic attack that’s causing his muscles to seize.
I know I’m being ridiculous, but it doesn’t stop me from showing up at his apartment at six o’clock, banging on the door.
A guy who looks like he’s spent the last decade living in a hookah bar greets me on the threshold.
I smell the pot on him and hate him immediately.
Hanlon has a higher risk of asthma because, along with his other complications, he was born prematurely with a condition called bronchopulmonary dysplasia.
Lana says his attacks are much less frequent now, but still appear every so often.
When he was younger, he’d often get into coughing fits if people were smoking cigarettes, the air quality was really poor, or he exerted too much physical effort.
“You know you can’t smoke in these apartments, right?” I ask the stoned idiot in front of me.
“Who said I do? And who the hell are you?”
“You smell like you just spent two hours hotboxing. And who I am is none of your business. I’m here to see your roommate.”
“Got a couple of those,” he says. “But since I haven’t seen you before, I’m assuming you’re here for the nerd.”
That’s it.
I step into the guy’s personal space and lower my voice. “Be careful what you say because that nerd is probably going to be your boss one day. Now, where the fuck is he?”
The guy’s too high to be mad. Hell, he probably didn’t even register what I just said.
“Hell if I know. Check his room. Upstairs, first door on the left.”
The house gets worse the deeper inside I go.
There are empty pizza boxes on the coffee table and empty beer cans on the floor.
It looks like a fucking frat house, which I know must drive Hanlon crazy.
He’s a neat freak. I climb the stairs and realize his bedroom is right over the living room, and I get pissed all over again.
No wonder he can’t sleep. Any sound from the TV or a Bluetooth speaker is basically right under his pillow.
I knock. “Hanlon?”
No answer.
I knock again. “HANLON!” I shout.
After a few seconds, I finally hear movement on the other side of the door.
When he opens it, he looks absolutely wrecked.
One eye is squinting like the grimy forty-watt bulb in the hallway is too bright; his usually silky, wavy hair is standing in all directions, and godfuckingdammit, he’s only wearing boxers.
“Stone?” he rasps my name, and I hate myself for noticing how it sounds rolling off his tongue. In his underwear. With all his stupid fucking muscles and smooth chest staring at me.
“Pack your shit. We’re leaving.”
I’m pretty sure that’s not what I meant to say, but I don’t take it back.
“What?” Hanlon asks, obviously confused as I look everywhere except at him.
“You’re not living with these idiots for another nine weeks. You’re either going to die in your sleep from an asthma attack or from exhaustion from not sleeping at all.”
I push my way into his room and am not surprised to find everything is in meticulous order.
It also smells like him, and the scent is strong. Clean, masculine, and a little like…home.
My stupid, traitorous dick is letting me know he’s here for it. So, the fucker can’t get interested in ANYONE else, but he’s gonna have a whole fucking conversation about HANLON?
Just great.
“Where’s your bag? I’ll help you pack.” I move toward his closet because that seems like a logical place to start, and the faster we get out of this bedroom, the faster my sanity will return.
I hope.
“You’re insane. I’m not moving in with you,” he argues, finally waking up.
“Please don’t fight me on this, Hanlon. I just met one of your charming roommates downstairs. I wasn’t a fan. I’m surprised he could even find the door, being as high as he is.”
“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Stone.”
“I’m not. If I were fighting your battle for you, I’d raise hell with the housing department and get those guys evicted and never say a word to you about it.
Instead, I’m making a reasonable offer. I have more than enough space.
It’s clean. It’s quiet. And there sure as fuck are no weekend parties lasting until two a.m.”
I hold my breath as he deliberates.
When he opens his mouth, I think he’s going to tell me no until he asks, “You don’t microwave fish sticks, do you?”
The question is incredibly random, but I assume he has a reason for asking, so, donning my most horrified expression, I place a hand over my heart and gasp. “Absolutely not. What kind of monster microwaves fish?”
Hanlon loses the fight not to smile and rolls his eyes. “You’re such an idiot.”
“Fine. I’m an idiot,” I agree easily, taking the win in the curvature of his lips. “Does that mean you’ll stay with me?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to hear one word about how long my showers are,” he says, pointing a finger in my face. It takes every ounce of effort to keep my eyes off his body. God, I’m a pervert.
“Deal,” I agree. “Now, can we pack and get the fuck out of here? I’m pretty sure I’m getting high through the air vent.”
The nape of my neck breaks out in a sweat as I make the turn onto my street, suddenly nervous about inviting Hanlon into my space.
If he hates it, I’ll take it personally, regret asking him to stay with me, and start a new cycle of resentment neither of us wants or needs.
I tap the garage door opener before my house is visible, and in my peripheral vision, I watch as Hanlon shifts in his seat as if he’s anticipating this as much as I am.
“Holy shit, Stone,” he says as I pull into the driveway and park in the garage. “This is your place?”
With the tone of that one sentence, Hanlon sets my nerves at ease, and the role reversal between us is slightly unsettling.
“Yeah. It needed a bit of work when I bought it, but I’m really proud of how it turned out,” I admit, scrubbing a hand across the back of my neck to wipe the beads of sweat away.
I help him grab his bags out of the back of the Tahoe and lead him inside. It’s dark out, so he can’t see the view from the windows in the living room, but I’m hoping he’ll appreciate it in the morning light. I live at the bottom of the mountain that the ski resort is on.
Montana is crazy. You either live on the flattest of flat land or on the literal side of a mountain.
My land is flat.
It’s much cheaper.
“Um, so…yeah, this is the kitchen,” I say unnecessarily, since the stove and refrigerator are dead giveaways as to what room this is. “The living room is through here, as you can see.”
I’m wondering why I’m so nervous when it hits me: Hanlon and I are alone, in my private space without people on the other side of the door, for the first time since he arrived.
“The pine is gorgeous,” Hanlon says, running his hand along the wall as his eyes move around the space. They land on the telescope in the corner behind the couch, and like a moth to the flame, he’s drawn to it.
“May I?”
I nod, praying he doesn’t ask me why I have it.
While he looks at the stars, I look at him, wishing I could stop this insane fluttering in my stomach. Once he’s had his fill, I continue with the tour, climbing the stairs, pointing out the bathroom, my office, and his room, which is directly over mine.
“Oh,” he gasps as we enter. “I expected there to be more pine.”
Downstairs, the floors, walls, and ceiling are all natural pine wood. Afraid I’d get a little tired of it, I decided to drywall the bedrooms and my office, just for a bit of a break. My guest room is painted a moody color called ‘Drifting Mist.’ It’s somewhere between beige and gray.
“Yeah, I thought there was plenty of that downstairs.”
“Good call,” Hanlon says, stripping off his patrol jacket and using his middle finger to push his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.
I think I’m supposed to leave, but I can’t seem to make my feet move, and before I can, he starts talking again.
“Thanks for letting me crash here. I promise I’ll stay out of your way, and I can pay you for the extra water usage and stuff. ”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say immediately, not actually having thought through the finances at all.
I do okay, but it’s not like I earn six figures.
Salaries for ski patrollers are all over the place, but Ricochet takes pretty good care of us.
Plus, as the team lead, I make more than most, but the extra cost of food and hot water might stretch me thin.
“Stone, I’m not taking handouts. Let me contribute, or I’m leaving.”
“Are you going to threaten to leave every time I do or say something you don’t like?” I ask, needing to know just how fragile things are between us.
“Maybe. It makes me feel better. Like I have some power…even if I don’t.”
This conversation is getting far too heavy for his first night here because the reality is, he has all the power.
He always has. That’s part of the reason I had to fucking leave.
As long as I thought he needed me, I would’ve stayed and continued to protect him from all sides.
I would have sacrificed everything to keep him safe, including myself.
I needed to break free of that.
But here I am, doing the same thing all over again.