Chapter Forty-Nine Zig
Walking back home—home—with Si felt unreal. Zig had been so certain he’d never come this way again. Never see the witchy window display of Esme’s shop, dark now but ready to be lit up come morning. Never again climb these stairs, weariness in every limb.
Si made him go first, like maybe he was worried Zig might bolt again given half a chance.
Zig couldn’t blame him for that. He was wrong, though.
Leaving once, although it’d seemed the only way to keep Si safe, had been hard enough.
Zig wasn’t gonna even think about leaving again. Not now he had hope.
And friends, maybe? “Are they really gonna do it?” Zig couldn’t help asking, as Si opened the door to the flat.
“Who’s doing what?”
“Your mates. Are they really gonna stand up to Dad and Trent? They don’t have to. It ain’t their fight.” Zig hesitated on the doormat.
Si pulled him inside and put both arms around him. “Course they are. And course it is. We’re mates, ain’t we?”
Zig sank into that warm embrace, wondering how he’d ever thought he could do without it. “Don’t think I’ve ever had that kind of mates. And yours don’t like me.”
“You’re growing on ’em.” Si chuckled. “Sasha wouldn’t have nicked your shoes if she didn’t want you hanging around, would she?” His voice softened. “And hey, did you miss the bit where Adam was defending you to me?”
“Still can’t believe he did that. I mean, why would he wanna? It’s not like I ever did anything for him.”
“What, he can’t count you making his best mate the happiest he’s ever been?”
“Really?” Zig looked up at Si’s face, desperate to find the truth in it.
“Really,” Si confirmed. Then he frowned. “Course, not gonna lie, I was pretty bloody ecstatic the day I got me Harley—” He broke off laughing. “Your face!”
“Git. Dunno why I love you.” And that was the biggest lie yet in a lifetime of fucking whoppers.
Si grinned. “Want a refresher course?”
Without waiting for an answer, he swung Zig up into his arms, bridal-carry style.
Zig burst out laughing. “You bastard!”
“Your bastard,” Si said with a knowing look. “Now, the doorways are a bit narrow, so mind your head. Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times.” He carried Zig swiftly into the bedroom, thankfully without any collisions.
“Gonna throw me on the bed and make me yours?” Zig asked.
“Well, only if you want me to,” Si said politely.
Zig was gonna laugh again, but somehow his eyes were prickling. “I want. I’ve always wanted you.”
Si smiled fondly. “That’s all right, then. You got me.”
He didn’t throw Zig on the bed; he laid him down gently.
And that was the fucking word of the day: gentle.
His hands were tender as they stripped Zig of his clothes, and soft as they caressed him.
His lips didn’t take; they gave, but then that was Si all over, wasn’t it?
Zig had to tell him Get on top of me, because he needed that solid weight on him, grounding him.
Even then, Si was careful, and it drove Zig wild with love and desire and fucking thankfulness he hadn’t thrown all this away.
It spurred him on to turn the tables and take control; to make sure Si felt every bit as loved as Zig did right now.
Si was the best man he’d ever known, and Zig planned to spend the rest of his life making sure he knew it too.
God alone knew how long it was before they were lying under the duvet, cuddled up together, coming down from a high so bloody stratospheric it had to be a danger to satellites.
“I’m never getting out of your bed.” Zig sighed happily.
“Our bed,” Si insisted. Then his stomach gave a loud rumble. “And while the spirit’s willing, the flesh is bloody famished. Gonna see what I can rustle up.”
He stood, and Zig took a moment to admire the solid bulk of him as he pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms, before jumping up himself and grabbing his jeans. “I’ll give you a hand.”
“You don’t have to. Stay there if you want.”
Zig smiled. “What, without you? Fuck that. The bed’s dead to me now.”
Despite Zig’s complete failure to keep his hands off him, Si made short work of cooking up a quick veggie chili, and opened a bottle of red wine.
Yeah, Zig felt like celebrating too.
“You know your mum wants us round for Christmas dinner?” he remembered to say as they carried their plates into the living room.
“What?” Si asked.
“Bumped into her on the street when I was having a wobbly about it all. She thought I was hungover.” Zig paused. “She said she thought I made you happy?” Despite everything, he couldn’t stop it coming out like a question.
Si looked at him askance. “Course you bloody do, you muppet. Didn’t I tell you? Now sit down, eat your chili, and stop asking daft questions.”