24. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
TRAVIS
I wake up to the sensation of something rubbing my chest.
No, not something.
Someone.
Brenden.
I don’t need to open my eyes to know it’s him, and not just because I remember what happened last night and whose bed I slept in.
It’s also because somehow, in such a short time, his touch has become that familiar to me.
He lightly drags his fingers through my chest hair, charting his way across my muscles and gently sweeping a thumb over my nipple, coaxing it to harden for him.
His touch is soft, likely not meant to wake me.
But for how aware I am of him, he might as well be branding his fingerprints into my skin.
I don’t think I’d mind that.
In fact, I think maybe he branded himself on me a long time ago.
All those small touches, all those smiles.
They stay with me after he leaves.
And over the years, he’s managed to become a part of me.
Maybe it’s okay that I’m grumpy on the outside, because I’m carrying his happiness inside of me.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
That’s some sappy shit.
I can’t do this.
My feelings for him have been manageable all these years.
I was able to suppress them enough in order to be his friend.
Now suddenly, all those suppressed feelings have broken free, rushed to the surface with an intensity that’s impossible to ignore any longer.
But how can I be the man that he needs me to be for him?
I’m not boyfriend material.
I’m not that guy.
Faking it is one thing, because I’m able to play a role, to be someone else.
What if he expects me to be that person all the time?
What if I disappoint him?
“Your heart is racing,” a soft voice says.
When I open my eyes, his face is right above mine, and his calm blue eyes immediately soothe my doubts.
This connection between us is so strong it makes me feel like I can do anything.
Like I can love him, and take care of him, and make him happy every day from now until forever.
Shit, did I say love?
He presses his palm over my heart, branding himself on me once more.
And yeah.
I think I fucking love him.
So I lean up to kiss him, because what else can I do?
He kisses me back, but keeps his mouth closed, and when I lick at the seam of his lips to coax him to open for me, he pulls back.
“I have morning breath,” he mumbles.
“I don’t care.”
“Oh,” he says softly, like that’s something to marvel at.
But really, who the fuck cares about a little morning breath when you’ve got someone’s warm naked body against your side?
When you’ve already been inside them?
Then he smiles and presses his mouth to mine, lips parting, tongue licking into my mouth.
I wrap my arms around him, pulling him down until he’s half on top of me.
One of his legs finds its way between mine, and the weight of his thigh is a steady reminder that this is really happening.
It’s just like my fantasies, except even better.
Because it’s real.
He’s really here with me, in my arms, tangled up, turning my fantasies into something more.
Into something that looks an awful lot like a future.
“Thank you for last night,” he says when we come up for air.
And I’m not sure what he’s thanking me for, since I didn’t pay for the dinner.
All I did was show up.
So I kiss him again.
Because I can.
Because I want to.
I always want to.
We kiss until he grows hard against me.
But when I reach down to take him in my hand, he rolls himself off me.
“I should get to work.” He sounds regretful, but also like something else I don’t understand.
I won’t push him though.
I let him slip out of bed and watch him tug a pair of pajama pants over his legs, skipping underwear.
He tells me he’s going to take a shower, and I’m tempted to get up and join him, but it didn’t sound like an invitation.
Then he says, “You’ve got to get to the diner, right?”
I nod, although I really don’t need to go yet.
I made sure Benji would open this morning, because I knew I was going out with Brenden last night.
Even if I never expected the night to end the way it did, I figured I’d be tired.
Before I can work up the nerve to ask if something is wrong, he comes back over to the bed, leans down, and kisses me confidently.
Pulling away, he says, “Last night was wonderful. I’ll see you later.”
All I can do is nod again and watch as he disappears into the bathroom.
Then I get up and find a T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts in his drawer where I’ve still got some of my clothes.
A long run might help clear my head so I can figure out what’s going on here.
Because I woke up thinking I’d just gotten what I’ve always wanted, and now I’m questioning if I misread the whole thing.
If Brenden doesn’t want this the same way I do.
He did say it wasn’t real.
But that was before we.
.
.
There’s no way he would have slept with me only as some messed up form of repayment for me playing his fake boyfriend.
Right?
Leaving my truck at his house, I run down the street.
Then I take a left and keep going.
I run my way through town until my legs ache and my lungs burn.
Running is my preferred form of exercise, but I’ve been slacking lately, and my body is making me regret that now.
But I keep going.
I only stop when I realize I’ve run all the way to Shaw Family Farm.
Connor is there, crouched down in one of the orchards.
Leaning against the short white fence to rest, I call out, “Hey!”
His head whips around, and he smiles when he sees me.
He stands up, wiping his palms on his jeans as he heads over my way.
“Hey, man. What are you doing out here?”
“Just went for a run,” I tell him, still catching my breath.
He raises his eyebrows as he sets one boot on the lowest rung of the fence.
“All this way?”
“Kinda got lost in my head.”
“Oh yeah?” he says.
And I realize I shouldn’t have said that.
He knows I’m not the sharing type, but now I probably piqued his interest.
“It’s nothing,” I say quickly.
“Well, that nothing has got you dripping sweat, which means maybe it’s something.”
Stepping away from the fence, I mutter, “I guess.”
“You feel like telling me about it?” he asks.
“Don’t you have work to do?”
He grins.
“There’s always work to do, but the beauty of owning your own farm is you can take a break whenever you want. No harm in pausing to enjoy this nice weather.”
I should come up with an excuse to leave—tell him I need to get to the diner, which is not that far off from being the truth.
But as I scuff the toe of my sneaker into the grass and he continues smiling at me, waiting me out, I make a decision.
A couple weeks ago, he told me about his sexuality.
If there’s anyone besides Brenden who I can talk with about this, it’s him.
So I take a deep breath, and then I say it.
“I’m... gay.”
It seems to take him a moment to process my words.
When he does, his eyes grow wide.
“Wait, what? You are? But how?”
“ How? ” I say irritably.
Because what the fuck.
“Oh, shit! Damn, no.” He shakes his head.
“I’m sorry. Fuck! I did to you exactly what I don’t want people doing to me. You caught me off guard, that’s all. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him.
“No, it’s not. I hate how everyone has always just assumed things about me, but I did the same with you.”
I shrug, because whatever.
I told him.
I told somebody.
And if I have to come out to the whole damn town, I need to expect this kind of shock and disbelief, at the very least.
There are worse reactions, aren’t there?
But am I really thinking about coming out?
“How long have you known?” he asks after a minute.
“A long time.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“Only... someone,” I say.
He studies me carefully, and I’d sort of prefer if he just buried me in the dirt like his crops so I could hide.
“Uh, huh,” he says.
“And I take it this someone is who’s got you distracted enough to run all the way out here?”
“Maybe,” I admit.
Then I realize what’s really been nagging at my brain this whole time.
The reason I just came out to him.
“I’m worried that me being in the closet is going to ruin what I’ve started with this guy. Who wants to be in their thirties and having to hide a relationship? We’re fucking adults. I should be able to take him out in public. I want to show him off, I want everyone to know he’s mine and they can’t touch him. We should be able to move in together when the time comes. But it’ll never come if I can’t even do something as simple as introduce him to my dad.”
“Woah,” Connor says when I’m finally finished.
I think that might be the most I’ve ever spoken to him at one time.
And I didn’t entirely mean to say all of it.
It just came out.
Because it’s the damn truth, and if I don’t want to lose Brenden, I need to face it.
It’s very possible that this is what caused him to pull away from me this morning.
And I refuse to lose him.
So maybe.
.
.
“Have you come out to your family yet?” I ask.
“My parents,” Connor says.
“I haven’t figured out how to explain it to Mason yet, and I don’t plan to make a big declaration to the town or anything. But I’m not going to worry too much about hiding it either. My parents were super chill about it. They were surprised, but they said it could never change how much they love me.”
I try to imagine myself getting that reaction from my dad, but I can’t.
Because even if I’m wrong, and he’s not homophobic at all, he and I don’t really talk about how much we love each other like that.
Neither one of us is good at that stuff.
“Are you worried about coming out to your dad?” Connor asks, reading my mind.
Reluctantly, I nod.
He frowns.
“That’s tough. I don’t think your dad’s a bad guy at all. But obviously I don’t know him like you do, so I don’t want to give you the wrong advice here.”
“It’s complicated. I don’t think he’s a bad guy either. I just also wouldn’t call him progressive or anything.”
“People can change. That’s what progress is. Maybe he’ll learn to see things differently if he finds out about you.”
“Maybe,” I agree.
Maybe.
I’ve spent too long with these what ifs taking up space in my head.
Maybe I was wrong in assuming that not knowing was better than knowing something terrible.
Maybe it’s time I find out what my dad really thinks, and then I can go from there.
Because I want to be with Brenden.
I’m so fucking lucky to get the privilege of him looking at me the way he does.
Sometimes he looks at me like I’m the greatest thing he’s ever seen.
I need to live up to that.
And when it comes down to it, if my own dad can’t be happy for me when I’ve found someone I care about this much, then that’s his problem.
“I should start running back. I’ve got to be at the diner soon.”
“Let me give you a ride,” Connor says.
Shaking my head, I tell him, “I’ve got a lot more thinking to do. But this helped. Thanks, man.”
I’m about to head off when I turn back to him, not wanting to be a shitty friend.
“Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask how you and Mason are doing.”
Tomorrow is Mother’s Day, and with Emma recently leaving the two of them, I’m guessing this is going to be hard for them.
I know Brenden’s having conflicted feelings about May celebrating with her grandmother.
And I know I’ve hated the holiday since my mom left when I was a kid.
It sucks how a day that’s supposed to be nice and make people happy can make some people feel like shit.
“We’re good,” he says.
“Not looking forward to tomorrow, but I’m gonna try to keep Mason busy with some fun stuff, so hopefully he won’t have to think about it too much. I don’t want him to feel like he’s missing out on anything because he’s only got me now.”
“Well, this might not mean much,” I offer, “but coming from someone whose mom left him around the same age... it does get easier. You eventually learn that what you’ve got with the people who stay is worth more than what you’re missing with the people who choose to leave.”
He gives me a small, sad smile.
“I’m hoping I can be everything he needs.”
“You already are,” I tell him.
Because I know Connor, and I know what kind of guy he is.
And because I know firsthand that one good parent is enough.
My dad proved that.
Brenden’s proving that every day.
Of course, all of this is what makes my decision to come out to my dad harder.
One parent is enough, but I’m not ready to have none.
Still, I need to figure out a way to tell him.
Because Brenden is worth it.
Mother’s Day is the busiest day of the year for the diner.
The spike in profits is great, but by two o’clock, I’m beat, and I’ve reached my limit on being polite to people.
Luckily, the place has mostly cleared out and probably won’t get busy again for a couple hours.
Benji’s already cashed out the last two tables, although the families are still lingering, and now he’s going through the credit card receipts to calculate his tips while I wipe down the counter.
The bell on the door makes me flinch.
I swear, one day, I’m going to rip that stupid thing off.
But when I glance up, I get a fluttery sensation in my chest.
I didn’t expect Brenden to come in this early today, if at all, since he was hosting that big brunch at the inn.
So this is a nice surprise.
After the morning I had, I couldn’t be happier to see his face.
My happiness quickly fades, though, when I realize something’s off about him.
He’s not smiling, which is probably why he doesn’t quite look like himself.
In fact, he sort of looks like he got hit by a train.
Not physically—his work outfit is perfectly coordinated and clean.
He looks like he got hit by an emotional train.
Shit.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, moving around the counter and rushing toward him.
He’s just standing there, two steps inside the door, glancing around like he’s never been in here before.
Like he’s lost.
Blankly, he says, “Hi.”
I grasp him firmly by his upper arms and search his face for clues.
“Brenden. Are you okay?”
He shakes his head as if coming out of a daze.
“Oh. Yeah. I’m fine. I just...”
When it becomes clear he’s not going to finish that sentence, I lead him over to a stool at the end of the counter and encourage him to sit.
Then I run behind it to pour a cup of coffee.
I slide it in front of him, but he shakes his head again, eyes downcast, and doesn’t touch it.
And that’s when I really worry.
I’m aware Benji’s watching us, and the last few customers probably are too, but that’s the least of my concerns.
Bracing my forearms on the countertop, I lean all the way into his space so that he’s pretty much forced to either look at me or deliberately turn away.
He doesn’t turn away.
“Baby,” I say quietly.
“Please tell me what happened so I can fix it.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath from my right.
Benji.
But Brenden still doesn’t speak.
I don’t know how to make him talk to me, because I’m not good at this shit.
All I know is that seeing him obviously distressed is making me crazy.
I want to grab coffee mugs off the tray and smash them on the floor just to do something, but I can’t look away from him.
Then his chin starts to tremble and his eyes well up with tears.
He whips his head around the room like he’s panicked, and I immediately understand that he doesn’t want to cry in front of these people.
Probably not in front of me either, but I’m the one his desperate eyes lock back on to.
It’s a silent cry for help.
And even though I still don’t know what’s going on, my protective instincts for him kick in.
In a flash, I’m back on his side of the counter.
I wrap one arm around him, and when he tucks his face into my chest, I bring my other hand up to the back of his head, shielding him from the world the best I can.
As I lead him toward the back area of the diner, I shoot a glance at Benji.
“Can you please stay for a bit?”
He’s staring at me like he’s rapidly figuring out some stuff about me, but he says, “Of course. Take as long as you need.”
I nod.
Although really, I’ll take as long as Brenden needs.
I don’t care if I have to close the diner.
We walk through the back, past the kitchen on one side and the stockroom on the other.
Brenden has wound up here in the employee space a few times for various reasons over the course of our friendship.
But he’s never been beyond the closed door that leads upstairs to my apartment.
The soft, “ Oh ,” he lets out as I gesture for him to head up the narrow stairwell reminds me of this.
Even before the fake dating scheme, I spent time at his house, but he’s never seen my apartment.
That goes to show how much of a private person I am.
How I keep to myself as much as possible.
And after spending so much time these last couple weeks with Brenden and May and May’s grandparents—sharing dinners and movie nights, sharing a home —I’m realizing that surrounding yourself with good people you care about might just be a better way to live.
By the time I step inside the apartment with him, his cheeks are wet.
Holding his face in both hands, I use my thumbs to gently wipe them dry.
Then I lean in and kiss him, softer than I knew I was capable of.
I hope the barely there press of lips is enough to let him know that I’m here for him.
That I’d do probably anything for him.
But first I need him to tell me what it is I can do.
He still doesn’t say anything, just sags into me.
And when I wrap my arms around him to hold him up, I can feel the relief in his body.
Standing in the middle of my small apartment, I rub his back, run my fingers through his hair, and whisper to him assurances that everything will be okay.
Finally, he pulls away.
He gives me one long look, then sighs.
“Honestly, it’s nothing. I’m overreacting, and I know it. It was just the brunch, Mother’s Day...”
As he trails off, I lead him over to the couch to sit.
“I know it’s hard for you.”
“It’s always hard,” he agrees.
“That’s why it’s crazy that I’ve made it through so many years of this perfectly fine, and now this time, I decide to have a breakdown. But seeing May at the brunch with Elise, having someone to celebrate with for the first time... I’m happy for her. I swear I am. I’m so happy that my daughter’s happy. And that’s what makes everything else I’m feeling so confusing.”
He scoots a bit closer, and I open my arm to him as the well-worn couch cushions cause him to fall against my side.
“My head’s all jumbled up in dealing with stuff. I know May isn’t trying to replace me with her grandparents, but it kind of feels like that’s what’s happening anyway.”
“That’s not what’s happening,” I insist.
“I know!” he yells, though I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean to.
A remorseful look crosses his face, followed by one of defeat.
“I’m sorry. Like I said, I know I’m not being rational. And I’m so sorry I bothered you at work.”
I tighten my arm around him and pull him in closer so I can kiss the top of his head.
He still smells like sunshine and happiness even when he’s sad.
But I fucking hate that he’s sad.
“You aren’t bothering me. I want you to come to me if you’re upset, and I’ll do anything I can to make it better.”
His hand lands on my thigh, and when he looks up at me, something shifts in his eyes.
He squeezes, then runs his fingers up the inseam of my jeans, higher, higher.
I hold still, not sure if I want to stop him or spur him on.
I know what I should do, obviously.
But I did just tell him I’ll do anything to make him feel better.
It becomes clear that he doesn’t want to talk anymore when he kisses me roughly, like he’s trying to swallow my mouth.
The next thing I know, he’s climbing onto my lap, hands grabbing at me aggressively, teeth biting down on whatever skin they can reach.
This is really not what I imagined happening when I brought him up here, though I do nothing to stop him.
If this is what he wants, he can have it.
“Please, please, please,” he chants in between kisses and bites.
Getting a good grip under his ass, I manage to stand, hefting him up with me.
He wraps his legs around my waist and works on sucking a mark on my neck while I carry him to my bed.
But after I lay him on it and crawl on top of him, he seems suddenly uncomfortable, whining and trying to squirm away.
I panic, rolling off him to give him some space.
Did I read him wrong?
Did he not want to go this far?
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“No, wait.” He rolls onto his side and reaches for me.
“Don’t stop. I just need...”
“What do you need?” Please tell me.
He lets out a frustrated groan as he gets on top of me, straddling my thighs.
He drags his nails down my chest and stomach over the material of my shirt, then slides his hands under it to travel back up.
“I don’t even know. But I don’t want to be passive right now. I need to do something, have control. Because it feels like my life has been spinning so far out of control lately.”
Before I can come up with a solution for him, he pops open the button on my jeans and yanks down the zipper.
“Let me ride you. Or can I—” He cuts himself off.
“Let me ride you. I just wanna be on top. I need to get out this frantic energy, and I don’t know what else to do with it.”
Having him ride my cock sounds like a fucking dream.
And the fact that I’m lucky enough to have him begging me for it is insane.
But there was something else he wanted to ask for.
I sit up enough to get my hands around his nape, then pull him back down with me.
We kiss some more.
He turns it hard and aggressive again, stroking his tongue into my mouth, biting my lip.
He’s grinding his hips as he does this, and my cock hardens in no time.
He must feel it, because he goes back to tugging at my jeans.
“Please,” he says again.
“Whatever you want,” I tell him.
“If you wanna ride me, baby, I promise I’ll love every second of that. But you were going to ask for something else. What was it?”
Shaking his head, he says, “No, it’s not—It doesn’t matter.”
“Anything that would make you happy matters to me.”
His eyes search mine like he’s trying to make sense of that, but fuck, I thought it was obvious by now.
I grab his waist gently.
“Tell me what you want.”
A blush blooms on his cheeks, spreading rapidly down his neck.
But he doesn’t sound shy at all when he says, “Can I fuck you?”
Oh, hell yes.
I almost laugh at something as simple as this being the thing he was hesitant to ask for.
If he didn’t, I would have asked for it eventually.
When he starts to look nervous again, I realize I didn’t give him an answer out loud, so I hurry to correct that.
“Yes. Fuck yes, baby. I want that.”
“You do? But have you ever...?”
“Yeah, I have. I’m vers. I’m sorry if I should’ve told you that right away. I just thought we’d figure things out as we go.”
A grin slowly spreads across his face.
And while I haven’t forgotten that he came to me upset, and I still want him to talk to me about it more, I’m taking this as a small victory.
Putting that look on his face makes me feel like I did something right.
Even if all I did was offer him something that I want just as much as him.
“Wow,” he says around a tiny, pleased laugh.
“I can’t believe this.”
“Why not?” I ask, rubbing a circle over his hip.
“I know bottoming isn’t for everyone, but what made you think I wouldn’t do it?”
He cringes.
“I don’t know. I guess I suck for stereotyping. But most guys I’ve dated who look like you usually scoff or laugh at me when I ask to top them.”
The thought of him with other men makes the feral beast hiding inside me rise up.
I resist the urge to take him and claim him right now—only because he wants to do the taking.
“Well, I’m not them, am I?” I tell him.
“It sounds like you’ve been with the wrong guys.”
And hopefully you won’t be with anyone but me from now on , I add silently.
The look he gives me is filled with awe and want and need.
He leans down and our mouths come together again.
This time, rather than yanking at my clothes, he works me out of them purposefully while I do the same to him.
He said he needed to get his frantic energy out, but it doesn’t seem frantic anymore.
It feels laser-focused on me now.
Once we’re both naked, he slides down my body and takes me in his mouth without using his hands.
His nails dig into my hips as he sucks and licks.
Then he pulls off my cock and uses one hand to hold it up and out of the way as he moves his attention down to my balls.
It’s all I can to do to keep my hips on the mattress, to not wrestle to get him under me.
I want this, and I’m more than happy to let him have me however he wants me.
But the anticipation is killing me.
“Come on, more,” I urge him, bordering on demanding it.
His head pops up to shoot me a look that’s clearly meant to remind me he’s the one in charge this time.
So I lie back and enjoy the torture.
Thankfully, he doesn’t make me wait any longer before he starts massaging my hole.
He pushes at the back of one of my thighs, and I bend my leg for him, giving him better access.
“Lube,” he says.
I jerk my head toward the nightstand, and when he opens the drawer, he lets out a surprised gasp.
It takes me a moment to realize what he must have found.
He holds it up, eyes darting gleefully between me and the thin prostate massager.
“Oh my god.”
Unabashed, I tell him, “Hope that proves I like things in my ass.”
With a sexy little growl, he drops the toy onto the mattress and lunges for me, kissing me like his life depends on it.
“You’re perfect,” he mutters between kisses.
“Fucking perfect.”
The praise lights me up inside.
That’s never been my thing before.
But then again, I’ve never had Brenden Sanderson telling me I’m perfect before, have I?
“Can I?” he asks, grabbing the massager again.
I spread my legs wider for him in answer.
He gets the lube and a condom out of the drawer, then shimmies down the bed again, resituating himself between my thighs.
He starts with one finger, which I take easily, so he soon adds a second one.
Then he asks, “More?” And he barely waits for my nod before he’s got three fingers buried inside me, fucking me roughly with them.
My aching cock is begging for some relief, so I reach down and wrap a hand around it, stroking myself slowly.
I almost expect him to stop me, but all he does is fix my cock and hand with an intense stare.
“God, you’re so hot.”
I groan in response and squeeze the base of my cock to hold off my orgasm.
Probably realizing I need him to hurry this along, he lubes up the massager and carefully slides it inside me until the curved head hits just the right spot.
A jolt of pleasure shoots through me, making me arch off the bed.
He grins and slides the toy almost all the way out before pushing it back in again.
In and out.
In and out.
I’m practically panting by the time he settles it against my prostate and presses the button on the base to turn on the vibrations.
He ducks his head between my legs to suck on my inner thigh as he pushes the toy into me a fraction more.
The pressure has my toes curling, and I resume stroking myself, faster this time, hurtling my way toward an explosion.
“Don’t come,” he warns.
“Not until it’s me inside you.”
“Then you need to stop,” I tell him huskily.
“So I can come on your cock.”
He moans in what sounds like approval and turns off the toy, pulling it swiftly from my hole.
I work to catch my breath as I watch him jack himself a few times before rolling on the condom.
Then he says, “Turn over,” and the breath rushes out of me again as I hurry to comply.
He tugs at my hips, and I let him pull me onto my hands and knees.
And then his cock is there, nudging at my hole.
I relax and bear down as he slides in steadily inch by glorious inch until his hips are flush against my ass.
“ Fuuuck ,” he whispers.
I could say the same.
I thrust backward against him, silently urging him to fuck me.
And he does.
He starts out slowly, but it doesn’t take long for him to grab my hips for leverage and begin slamming into me at a punishing pace.
I love it.
I fucking love it.
I love the shape of him behind me, of him filling me.
I love taking him.
I love that I can give him something he so desperately wants.
I love.
.
.
Draping himself over my back, he keeps one hand possessively on my hip and brings the other to the top of my shoulder.
Then he bites down on my upper back, and I cry out, and he licks over the spot.
I shouldn’t be surprised by anything he does at this point, but it’s still amazing to experience him like this.
So in control but also wild, possessive, almost feral.
“I’m not gonna last,” I tell him.
“Me neither. Fuck. Me neither.”
When he wraps one arm around my body and grips my cock, I know I’m done for.
It takes barely three strokes before I’m shooting ropes of cum across the sheets.
“Yes!” he shouts, fucking into me a couple more times.
Then he stills, giving in to his release.
A moment later, my arms give out.
I collapse to the mattress, managing to move sideways enough to avoid landing in my own mess.
Brenden clings to me, falling on top of me with a quiet grunt.
“Am I crushing you?” he asks.
“Not at all.”
“Good.”
He seems either too lazy or too content to move, and while I’m not ready to be separated from him, I do want to see him.
So as soon as I regain strength, I roll over underneath him and adjust us both until I’m on my back and he’s only half on top of me, his face close to mine.
I run my thumb along the shell of his ear and gently ask, “Did that help?”
He beams.
“That was fucking fantastic. And I feel much calmer now, not like I’m going to crawl out of my skin.”
“Are you ready to talk more?”
“I don’t need it,” he says, shaking his head.
“Not right now. Maybe I’ll want to talk about stuff later, but I don’t want to ruin this feeling.”
I guide him in for a short kiss, glad to know I helped him in some way.
But I’m aware that talking about the things that are bothering him is a healthier method than trying to fuck the feelings away.
“Promise you’ll talk to me later when you’re ready. I don’t want you to keep holding everything in.”
He pulls back, eying me uncertainly.
“Since when do you want to talk about feelings?”
Since you.
“Since now, I guess.”
Reaching for my hand, he threads our fingers together, then rests our joined hands between us.
“I promise.”