Chapter 23
Stone
Ican’t believe after all the years I spent trying to keep him safe, I’m the one who’s going to cause Hanlon’s downfall.
If one person runs their mouth to my boss, my job is done.
And if my boss runs his mouth to the board of the American Avalanche Association, Hanlon’s internship will probably come to an end as well, which will leave him unable to graduate.
Yet, despite all of that, all I want is to hold him in my stupid, selfish arms.
“It’s my fault, you know,” Hanlon says from his position on the couch with his head in my lap. “And I’m really fucking sorry.” He hiccups as he says the last part.
“Your fault?” I take his glass of ginger ale and set it on the coffee table. Hanlon and I still have to work tomorrow, although we don’t have to start until eight because we aren’t blasting, but after the events of the night, we both switched to something non-alcoholic when we got home.
We left the party shortly after being caught. Our excuse was that Hanlon wasn’t feeling well, and as his mentor, I needed to make sure he got back okay.
Logan was nowhere to be found as we said our goodbyes.
“Yeah,” Hanlon confirms. “I’m the one who told you to follow me downstairs. I’m the one who couldn’t stand someone else touching you for a few hours. I never should have risked getting caught like that. Your job is on the line, Stone,” he laments as I continue playing with his hair.
“And if I hadn’t wanted to do it, I wouldn’t have, Hanlon. We’re both at fault,” I point out, refusing to allow him to accept all the blame.
“This is a bit of a clusterfuck, isn’t it?” he laments.
“Enough wallowing,” I decide, tapping his shoulder, making him sit up.
“We knew the risks. Even if we hadn’t been caught at the party, we knew this was a bad idea, but I want to do it anyway, Hanlon.
Doing this with you, of all people, may not make sense, but when I’m with you, everything else does.
And that’s not something I’ve ever felt before.
” Hanlon’s head jerks back like I slapped him.
I guess sometimes the truth can feel that way.
But he stays quiet, and dread fills my stomach. “Han? Say something.”
“I’ve fucking missed you,” he says, choking on a sob as he sits up and launches himself onto my lap.
Every time I wrap my arms around him, I feel more at peace than ever, because when Hanlon is pressed against me like this, I know he’s safe.
I can gather all the information I need and take action if something’s wrong.
I can gauge his stress by the tightness in his muscles; I can tell if he’s too cold or too warm; I can feel his chest rising against my own; and I can count his respirations, which clue me in to his anxiety level.
Right now, Hanlon’s breathing is even, his muscles are loose, and he’s not shivering or sweating. He’s perfectly content despite the situation, and that makes me perfectly content as well.
“Stay with me tonight?” I ask, allowing my insecurity to poke through just a little.
Hanlon and I haven’t slept in the same bed yet. I think we both felt like once we do, we can no longer pretend we’re just fooling around, getting off, or that this is him trying to educate me on my options. Sleeping in each other’s arms is intimate. It’s what couples do.
It’s what I need, and tonight, I fear that if he’s left alone in the dark with nothing but his thoughts, he’ll change his mind about this. After tonight, the possibility of losing him feels more like a probability, and I find myself holding on tighter.
Oh, the irony.
“You’re sure?” he asks, searching my face.
“I’m sure.”
The feeling of someone staring at me makes my eyes blink open. The sight I’m greeted with causes a sleepy smile to spread across my face.
Hanlon is lying on his side, palms pressed together, tucked under his cheek.
We fell asleep holding onto each other last night. Neither of us made a move to take it further than that, which was actually really nice and made this thing between us feel multi-dimensional and not just about constantly getting off.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says, not sounding tired at all.
“How does your breath smell like spearmint already?” I ask, rolling onto my back, stretching my arms overhead.
“Because I’ve been up for an hour and a half, had my coffee, and brushed my teeth.”
“What time is it?”
“Six-forty.”
I groan and pull the covers over my head.
“Merry Christmas,” Hanlon says, ripping them off me. “Get up. I made you breakfast.” He plants a kiss on my closed lips and energetically hops off my bed.
This is the first Christmas I’ve spent with someone in a long time, and I might have gone a little overboard with gifts, but then again, it’s Hanlon, and I regret nothing that makes him smile.
I may have called the gear store and placed an order that was delivered to the office a couple days ago.
I chose several items I know Han will need in the field once he’s hired.
There are certain brands I trust and if Hanlon’s life depends on his gear, then by God, I’m going to make sure he has the best. We didn’t talk about gifts, but I couldn’t suppress the urge to make sure he had something to open on Christmas morning.
Pulling on another pair of sweatpants—my usual outfit in the winter—I dig in my closet until I find what I’m after, brush my teeth, and head for the kitchen.
The smell of bacon greets me as soon as I step into the hallway, and by the time I reach the kitchen, my stomach is grumbling loudly. We never ate dinner last night.
Hanlon smirks at me with fire in his eyes. “Someone’s hungry.”
I laugh. “Are you talking about me or yourself?”
“Can it be both?” he asks, walking toward me.
“Definitely.”
We collide in the middle of the kitchen, tongues fighting for dominance. His hands latch onto my ass and pull me against him as I clutch his gift in my hand, hoping he doesn’t think it’s the stupidest thing in the world.
I’ve never been so eager to touch or be touched as I am with him, and I clutch his waist with my free hand.
After dry humping me for a few seconds, Hanlon grips the back of my neck and starts sucking on that spot below my ear that lights me up like the pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree I have plugged in on the counter.
“Han, your bacon’s burning,” I manage to mumble.
“So is my desire to get you naked,” he replies, reluctantly pulling away from me to tend to the meat on the stove.
Well, fuck, that’s too much distance. I place the gift on the table and wrap my arms around his waist, planting my chin on his shoulder.
“I got you something for Christmas.”
His head whips to the side, trying to look at me. “Stone! We haven’t done gifts in years! And besides, I’m pretty sure you hated me until like five days ago, so I didn’t get you anything!”
“I’ve never hated you, Skittles.” His childhood nickname slips out without my permission, causing him to go still.
The day I gave him that nickname was the day I taught him to ski.
It was a snow day from school, but our parents had to work.
I was fourteen, Hanlon was ten, and of course, I was told to babysit.
Our house wasn’t too far from the slopes, and there was a bus stop nearby that would drop us off right at the ticket counter.
I’d been with my dad and other friends several times and thought if I could wear Hanlon out, maybe he wouldn’t bug me all fucking day.
Of course, to this day, our parents have no idea I used the cash they’d left me to take him to the slopes, and to his ten-year-old self’s credit, he kept the secret even though I know he was dying to show our parents what he’d learned.
I should have known Hanlon would be determined to get the hang of it, but he was still a kid, so I’d brought along some reinforcements just in case he needed motivation.
Our parents were so strict with his diet, but I knew sugar was his weakness.
Every time he would complete a trip down the bunny slope, I’d give him a few Skittles.
He probably ate close to three full packs that day and got sick that night.
I felt like shit, but I was also really proud of him for picking up the sport so quickly despite his particular set of challenges.
I also remember that he didn’t whine or complain once that whole day until it was time to go, and he begged to stay just ten more minutes.
“You haven’t called me that in a long time,” he says quietly, turning in my arms.
“Yeah, I should probably use something more fitting for an adult and a…” I trail off, not knowing what to call him.
“Boyfriend?” he finishes for me, quirking a brow.
Could Hanlon Jacob Winchester III really be my boyfriend?
“Yeah,” I agree. He smiles, and my face immediately mirrors his. “I should pick something befitting a boyfriend.”
“Nah, I’m partial to Skittles. The day you gave it to me was one of the best days of my life.”
“I hope to give you many more.” I cringe at how sappy that sounds, but I don’t take it back because it’s true.