11. Michael
Chapter eleven
Michael
I solation spread like mold in my apartment. It seeped into the walls, curled into my lungs, and weighed down every breath.
I sat on the couch, time unwinding around me until night and day blurred into the same hollow shape. The TV flickered with muted images I wasn't watching, casting blue shadows across takeout containers I'd stopped bothering to throw away.
My phone vibrated somewhere beneath yesterday's mail, but I let it buzz itself into silence. Every call or text message was another reminder that I'd become radioactive.
The Seattle rain drummed against the windows, a constant and dreary beat. I'd always found comfort in the sound before, but now it was merely white noise blocking me off from the rest of the world.
Marcus had left three more messages. Miles sent memes I didn't open. Matthew had texted once with forced casualness that fooled neither of us. I didn't respond to any of them. What could I say that wouldn't drag them further into my mess?
I rubbed my thumb against the side of my index finger, searching for the outline of my father's badge I'd lost somewhere in Tahiti. Its absence haunted me like a missing limb.
The knock on my door startled me so badly that I nearly knocked over my cold cup of coffee. It wasn't a tentative or questioning sound. It demanded a response.
I climbed to my feet, listening to my knees creak. Nobody knocked on my door. Nobody except my brothers, and they would have called first.
I moved silently across the floor, years of training making my footfalls soundless despite the wooden planks that should have creaked. I leaned forward when I reached the door and peered through the peephole.
I blinked.
Alex stood in the hallway, looking like he'd swum to my place. His hair was plastered to his forehead, rainwater streaming down his face and dripping from the edges of his jacket. I watched his shoulders rise and fall with each breath as if he'd been running.
Surely, my mind was playing tricks. I closed my eyes momentarily, but he was still there when I opened them again.
My hand hesitated on the deadbolt. I could leave it locked and pretend I wasn't home. I could protect him from the shell of a man I'd become.
Instead, I wrenched the door open with enough force to rattle the hinges.
"How the hell did you find me?" I gripped the door frame hard enough for the wood to bite into my palm.
He didn't flinch at my tone. His eyes, steady and clear despite the rainwater dripping from his lashes, locked onto mine. "Google. Your full name's scrolled across every news site for days, and you mentioned West Seattle over breakfast."
He stood his ground in the hallway, rainwater pooling around his shoes. His backpack hung heavy from one shoulder, and he shivered slightly.
"You shouldn't be here." My voice dropped lower to a warning growl. "You have no idea what you're walking into."
"I think I do." His stance widened slightly, a subtle but unmistakable refusal to be moved. "Someone tried to access my university account after I researched Lars Reeves. They jimmied my apartment door open while I was at work, and then I got a text from an unknown number telling me I should have listened to you when you told me to go away."
The words burrowed into my gut. "Jesus Christ, Alex."
Something ugly twisted inside me—rage mixed with fear. It must have shown on my face because Alex took half a step back.
"You're putting yourself in danger because of me." I wanted to grab him and shake him to make him understand that he needed to run as far from me as possible.
He countered my words. "I'm already in danger, whether I'm here or not."
His blue denim shirt beneath his jacket was soaked through and clung to his chest. Rain dripped steadily from his hair onto his shoulders. There was nothing fragile in the way he held himself. His academic bearing had been replaced by something harder—a determination that was a match for my stubbornness.
I couldn't decide whether I wanted to slam the door or pull him inside. The two instincts battled inside me. Protective fury clashed with a hunger I couldn't deny. Loneliness was dismantling me from the inside.
"You need to leave," I said without conviction in my voice. "Go back to your classroom and your books. Forget what happened in Tahiti. Forget you ever met me."
Alex didn't argue or step forward. He stood there, rain running down his face like rivers of tears.
"Do you want me to go?"
The simplicity of the question tore through all my defenses. His six brief words handed me all the power. He would walk away if I truly wanted him to.
I opened my mouth to say yes. My logical brain told me to say yes, but the word refused to leave my lips.
Instead, I stood paralyzed in the doorway. The silence between us was as taut as a tripwire.
No matter how often I'd told myself to stay away from him, I couldn't deny that in the days since Tahiti, my thoughts continued to circle back to Alex like a compass finding north. His voice echoed in my memory. His touch provided the few shreds of comfort I found in my dreams.
I watched a droplet of water run from his hair down over his right cheek. It slid along the curve of his jaw. Before I could stop myself, I reached out my hand to catch it.
Before they could get to his face, my fingers closed around the front of his jacket, the fabric cold and sodden beneath my grip. I didn't remember deciding to move, but suddenly I was pulling him inside with enough force to make him stumble across the threshold.
I kicked the door shut behind us, the slam echoing through my apartment like a gunshot. For a moment, we stood inches apart in the dim light of my living room, breathing hard.
Water dripped from his clothes onto my floor, forming a small puddle around his feet. Outside, the rain intensified, drumming against the windows with renewed fury.
I spoke again, but the whispered words were hollow. "You shouldn't be here."
I released his jacket and didn't know what to do with my hands. They hung uselessly at my sides, curling and uncurling.
I should have offered him a towel or dry clothes. I should have said something—anything—to break the tension crackling between us.
Instead, I reached up and brushed wet hair back from his forehead, my fingers trembling. His skin was cool from the rain but warmed rapidly beneath my touch. He tracked my hand like he wasn't sure whether to lean into the contact or pull away.
I let my hand drop, uncertain of where the boundaries stood between us.
Alex stepped closer, only half a step that somehow bridged our worlds. He was close enough for me to feel the heat coming off his skin, even through the chill of his wet clothes.
He'd torn down the final barrier I'd built to keep him at a distance. I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him against me, crashing my mouth onto his with none of the gentleness I'd shown in Tahiti.
It wasn't a paradise kiss. It was desperate, angry, and charged with all the things I couldn't put into words. He responded immediately, his hands framing my face, fingers pressing into my skin.
I backed him against the wall, pinning him there with my body, kissing him like I was a drowning man who needed his breath for air. The cold dampness of his clothes soaked into mine.
His hands moved restlessly across my shoulders and down my back, urging me closer even though there was no space between us. I caught his lower lip between my teeth, just enough pressure to blur the line between pleasure and pain. The sound he made vibrated through my bones.
I whispered against his mouth. "We shouldn't."
"We already are."
Our hands fumbled with wet fabric, frantic and clumsy. His jacket hit the floor first, landing with a heavy, waterlogged thud. I yanked at his shirt, buttons catching against my fingers as I struggled to get to the skin beneath.
My hoodie followed, peeled off in one fluid motion that left my skin prickling with goosebumps.
We left a trail of discarded clothes from the entryway to the couch, each layer abandoned without care. Water from his hair dripped onto my collarbone, tracing cool paths down my chest.
Alex shoved at me suddenly, palms flat against my sternum. For a second, I thought he was pushing me away—perhaps he'd come to his senses and realized what a mistake this was. Instead, he pressed his fingers into my skin, pulling me closer.
I responded by capturing his wrists, pinning them against the wall on either side of his head. His breath caught in his throat, and his pupils dilated until his eyes were mostly black, rimmed with green and amber.
"Tell me you want this," I growled as I ground my hips against his. He was already rock hard, and I needed to hear it—I needed the certainty of his consent.
"I want you. I have since the moment I saw you on the beach."
I released one wrist and tugged on the other, leading us to the couch, stumbling in half-removed clothing.
We fell onto the cushions in a tangle, neither caring about wet hair or damp skin. His weight pressed against me, solid and real. I ran my hands up his back, exploring the ridge of his spine and the muscle flex beneath his skin.
He moaned against my neck. "I shouldn't want this, but I can't stop thinking about you."
I closed my eyes, letting his confession wash through me. "I know," was all I could manage. I understood deep in my gut.
I'd tried so hard to forget him and convince myself that what happened in Tahiti was only a moment of island madness.
We shoved our jeans down, and they tangled around our ankles. While his thick, erect cock pressed against my thigh, I fumbled in the side table drawer, fingers closing around a foil packet and a small bottle of lube.
Alex watched me, his breathing turning rapid and shallow. I rolled the condom on with unsteady fingers while he shifted beneath me. His legs parted in invitation, one knee braced against the couch cushions, the other hooked around my hip to pull me closer.
I gripped his hips hard enough that my fingerprints would remain afterward. He didn't flinch at the pressure. Instead, he arched up, pressing against me.
"Are you sure?" I asked, the words barely audible over our ragged breathing.
His answer was to reach between us, wrap his fingers around my shaft, and guide me to where he wanted me most. "I've been sure since Tahiti."
I pressed into him with one long, deliberate thrust, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. His eyes widened slightly initially, but he quickly adjusted to the sensation. I paused, buried deep inside him.
"Move," he commanded, fingers digging into my shoulders.
I withdrew nearly completely before driving back in, setting a pace that was far from gentle. Alex met every movement with equal fervor, his hands exploring my back with desperate greed.
He pulled me down for a kiss with more teeth and breath than finesse.
"I wanted to forget you," I admitted against his throat. "Tried to pretend Tahiti never happened."
He laughed. "How's that working out for you?"
I answered by driving my cock deeper, forcing a moan from his lips that I captured with my mouth. His legs wrapped tighter around me, heels digging into my lower back, urging me on faster and harder. It felt like he was trying to pull me deeper into his body—and maybe into his life, too.
His body tightened around me as he moved close to the edge, muscles tensing. I slipped a hand between us as his cock left a slick pool of precum on my abs. I wrapped my fingers around him, stroking in rhythm with my thrusts.
When he came, he shouted my name, "Michael!" It wasn't a whisper. It was loud enough to echo off the walls.
The sound was enough to push me over the edge seconds later. My orgasm tore through me, and my body shook uncontrollably.
I collapsed on top of him, bracing my weight on my forearms. We stayed that way for what felt like an eternity, bodies tangled together, both of us breathing like we'd run miles. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a reminder that I was alive despite everything.
Alex's chest rose and fell beneath mine, breathing gradually slowing. Our urgent heat cooled, but neither of us moved to separate. His skin was warm against mine, slick with sweat where rain had dampened it earlier.
Without speaking, his hand found mine where it rested against the couch cushion. He threaded his fingers through mine, squeezing once as if to confirm I was actually there. I squeezed back harder than I meant to, like I could somehow transfer everything I couldn't say through the pressure.
We lay in silence long enough for the world outside to fade into the background. Our afterglow was fragile, and I wasn't ready to puncture it with words. For those few stolen moments, there was no Tahiti, Lars Reeves, or administrative leave—only Alex's body against mine.
He finally spoke. "What are we doing, Michael?"
I had no reassuring answer. "I don't know, but I couldn't tell you to leave."
He shifted slightly beneath me, not pulling away but adjusting to see my face better. His eyes searched mine. "It's not only about what happened in Tahiti anymore."
"No, it's not."
He weighed his next words carefully. "They're watching me—actively monitoring my research. Someone accessed encrypted files on my laptop." His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around mine. "I think I found something about Reeves they don't want known."
I tensed against him as reality crashed back into the room, propping myself up on one elbow to better see his face. "Tell me."
"Project Asphodel. Military applications and defense contracts worth billions. And a woman named Evelyn Shaw who abruptly left the company, too."
I flinched, and my protective instinct rose inside me. "You need to stop digging. These people—"
He shook his head, cutting me off. "I can't. Not now." He rested his free hand against my cheek.
While I stared back at him, I remembered the final words from Reeves: "Tell her the deal's off." Could Alex have uncovered her?
I spoke quietly. "I know you can't." The simple statement acknowledged both the danger and his determination.
Outside, Seattle continued its slow-motion drowning, rain washing everything clean. Inside, we clung to each other like survivors pulled from the carnage, both too wrecked to guarantee the future—but neither of us willing to let go.