Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
ROMAN
Jesse breathes softly on the pillow, his chest rising and falling peacefully, his expression unburdened.
I haven’t dared to move from my spot on his bed where I’ve been sitting and watching him for most of the night, convinced that the moment I left him alone, he would be gone.
I only allowed myself to close my eyes for a little bit, and that was only because I’ve been lying on the other side of his bed with my back perched against the headboard ever since I carried him here last night so that I would know it if he tried to leave.
He’s here, mere inches from me, barely stirring under the thin sheet I covered him with, and if I hadn’t touched him with my own hands and felt him sag in my arms, I would probably think that all the exhaustion and last few shitty days finally made me snap and I’m just hallucinating him.
But I’m not.
He’s here, and more fucking perfect than ever.
I haven’t been able to stop looking at him for one damn second, watching him like the fucking miracle he is and always has been.
The pale, pre-dawn light is enough for me to see his features clearly—his rosy skin, the pink bow of his lips, the arch of his dark blond eyebrows that are a few shades darker than his hair currently framing his face.
My skin is still burning from when I touched him last night in the kitchen, his waist fitting perfectly in my hands, and it’s torture, having him so close right now and not reaching for him.
For a split-second yesterday, I almost took him to my old room and laid him on my bed. I almost pulled him in until he was curled against me and I could feel every breath he took.
But I couldn’t do it. Not after our conversation. Not after—
Just thinking about his low-spoken, hurt-filled words has my stomach twisting, my throat tightening, something buzzing, itching under my skin.
Even though leaving him out of my sight right now is the last thing I want to do, I get up as slowly as possible, making sure I don’t disturb him as I let him sleep some more and head downstairs.
My gaze strays briefly to the living room, before I continue to the kitchen.
I light up a smoke and crack open the kitchen window so it doesn’t smell like a fucking ashtray when Jesse comes down.
But I inhale deeply, feeling my shoulders loosen, stretching my neck that’s permanently fucked up after days of sleeping on the couch here.
Apparently, being my father’s only living relative carries a whole load of responsibilities. At least, that’s what his lawyer said when he called me with the news and acted like I was supposed to care about the fact that the man who’d barely given any shit about me during his life was now gone.
I shake my head, taking another drag and blowing out the smoke sharply, frustration and bitterness churning in my gut.
I wonder if he would have done for me even half the things I did for him after that call.
Would he have dropped everything to arrange his son’s funeral, make sure all affairs are in order, deal with unwelcome well-wishers who only want to savor a piece of tragedy?
Would he have cared enough to do all that?
I know the answer deep in my bones.
And Jesse…
Need bleeds through every part of me at the mere memory of opening the front door and seeing him on the porch, of watching those blue eyes staring back at me, of knowing he’s upstairs right now, so close. So fucking close.
Jesse wasn’t even supposed to find me here.
He wouldn’t have found me here if he’d come a day or two later.
And then we wouldn’t have met again. I wouldn’t have seen him, touched him, smelled him.
I wouldn’t be thinking about every possible way to fucking keep him here with me after I was the one who let him go. After I left him, sleeping in my bed that day and disappeared so he would be free.
Free of me and of the burden of who I am, free of my need for him, free of my growing obsession.
Yes, I did the right thing because in the end, he was happy. I fucking saw him being happy.
I saw him.
A growl builds in my throat as I turn around to put out the cigarette with more force than is damn needed, the beginnings of a nasty headache throbbing in my temples.
“Did you just growl?” a soft, sleep-thickened voice comes from behind me, sending my pulse haywire.
I turn to see Jesse in all his rumpled glory, barefoot, in last night’s T-shirt and jeans, still pink from sleep, with a crease from the pillow on his cheek, and I’ve never longed for anything more in my life than to trace that faint line with my fingers.
“I might have.”
He peers at me from across the room.
“Is it something you usually do now?”
Fuck, how much I’ve missed him.
“Only when the situation warrants it.”
His lips twitch like he wants to smile, and it’s a good thing he doesn’t because it’s taking everything in me not to bridge the distance separating us.
And there’s no way in hell I wouldn’t be doing that right now if he smiled at me.
The silence stretches and his gaze flicks away, his fingers tugging the hem of his T-shirt in a move that betrays his nervousness, before he looks at me once again.
“Hey,” I tell him, like it hasn’t been years since I last said that to him, since we last greeted each other like that.
His hands freeze on his T-shirt, his eyes briefly widening.
“Hey,” he breathes out, and something in me settles just hearing that one word from him.
“Did you sleep okay?”
He nods, his mouth opening and closing, clearing his throat before he speaks.
“Thank you for taking me upstairs.”
Fuck, the way his body simply slumped last night as if he’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, is still etched in my mind. I barely had time to lean over and scoop him up.
I nod at his words, drinking him in standing here.
I still can’t believe he agreed to stay.
It was just one night. Nothing has changed.
I tense at the intrusive thought, wishing it gone.
He’s still here. That’s all that matters.
“I’ll make coffee. Do you want some?”
“Yeah,” he mutters quietly, hesitating for a moment before he comes closer and leans with his hip against the counter.
We’re quiet as I get the coffee ready, pouring some in a mug for him first. But I can feel his eyes on me, following every move I make, until I’m sure the mug will shatter in my hand from how tightly I’m holding it before I can even hand it over to him.
I turn around, coffee mug still intact in hand, and my damn heart fucking skips a beat when I catch him looking at my tattoos curiously. His gaze snaps up, before he takes the mug from me and averts his eyes.
But not before I notice the faint blush on his cheeks.
And I want more of it.
“So, uh, new job?” I ask, reveling in that lingering blush when he glances my way again.
He nods, taking a tentative sip from his coffee.
“It’s a youth librarian position for a summer program.”
Pride swells in my chest for him, my hand almost shaking with the need to pull him in, kiss his temple, whisper in his ear how much he deserves everything good.
I might not be able to do all that, but I hide nothing from my expression.
“That’s great—” I barely manage to stop myself from calling him ‘Blue,’ a stabbing pain cutting me deep, “—Jesse.”
His eyes are unfathomable over the rim of his mug, and I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking.
“Yeah, I’m really excited.” A small smile tips the corners of his mouth, and I raise the mug to my lips downing several gulps of hot coffee that burn half my internal organs.
“And where were you supposed to be right now?” I ask in a voice I pretend is simply rough from sleep and not because I just burned my vocal cords to a crisp.
Jesse’s eyes dance with amusement, before they widen in horror.
“Oh, shit,” he curses, dropping the mug on the counter and taking off, bounding up the stairs.
It’s several minutes before I decide to seek him out, finding him in the middle of his former bedroom, staring at the screen of his phone, his entire body stiff.
“What’s wrong?”
He whips my way, expression tense, jaw tight, and shakes his head, looking away again.
“It’s nothing.”
Sure.
I’m by his side in two strides.
“Tell me, Jesse,” I mutter quietly, but firmly, close enough to feel the warmth emanating from his body, and I swear he sways towards me before he stops himself.
He lets out a shaky breath.
“The place I’d booked to stay for a couple of weeks cancelled my booking when I didn’t show up.”
Savage pleasure spreads like an addictive drug in my veins at the sound of those words.
“Then you will stay here.”
Jesse freezes, and he’s right to freeze.
Because I say it like it’s a given, simply a matter of fact. Like him leaving would be nothing but fucking madness. Unthinkable. Unsurvivable.
It’s like a switch being flipped, stone-cold clarity filling my head until only one thought remains.
I’m not letting him go.
I know that I’m still me. Still not enough. Still too much.
But I’m selfish and I want him here. Even if I never touch him again, I want him here where I can look at him, and talk to him, and smell his fucking vanilla and caramel scent. For as long as I can get him.
I want him here because it has been hell without him, and I’d rather torture myself by keeping my need for him locked down and away from him, than not see him at all.
I already let him go once and he flew back to me, and I’m not strong enough or even willing to do it a second time.
His eyes lift and I’m staring into endless blue, holding my damn breath because nothing else matters now.
“It’s not a good idea, Roman.”
No, it’s the worst idea because the space between us is already humming like it’s always had, and it’s been mere hours of him here.
But I don’t think I can give a shit about anything else anymore.
I’ll do anything to make him stay.
Even push him a little.
His breath catches when I reach over and tilt his chin up, that one point of contact turning the hum into a roar.
“I thought you didn’t scare that easily.”
His eyes flare with so much heat and anger, and maybe it makes me a bastard but I’ll take his anger over seeing him hurt.
He grabs my T-shirt, fisting the material tightly and my heart thunders beneath his hold.
Jesse pulls himself up, until he’s close enough that I can feel his breath on my lips.
“Fuck you, Roman,” he hisses, but his eyes flutter when my palm slides to his nape, squeezing it, feeling his pulse under my fingers.
So much for not touching him, I snort internally.
He’s shooting fucking daggers at me with his eyes, but there’s something else there too.
Challenge.
“Nothing has changed,” he whispers hoarsely, and he might as well have injected the words in my bloodstream.
“Stay anyway.”
His hand tightens further on the material until I’m sure I’ll hear it rip, his eyes twin blue flames.
“Fine,” he mutters finally. “I’ll stay.”
But it’s the way he says it that makes every cell in my body snap into attention.
Like he’s going to make me regret it. All of it.
Saying what I said. Asking him to stay.
Leaving him.
And I can’t fucking wait.