Chapter 13 #2
I thread my fingers through his hair and give it a gentle tug to lift his head. Those green eyes lock with mine, and I smile.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi.”
With my fingers still buried in his hair, I gently pull his head closer so I can kiss him. He melts instantly, parting his lips and greeting me with his tongue.
“How was the rest of your trip?” I ask when we finally pull apart.
“It was okay. Kenny started in net last night, which was the plan all along, but I still took it personally.”
“Did you manage to speak to the psychologist?”
He nods, his fingers fiddling with the strings of my hoodie. “We’re going to set up a meeting, but need to figure out when it’ll work best in case it messes with my head before a game.”
I rub my hand up his back in smoothing strokes. “That’s good. I am sorry for bringing it up the way I did. I feel like an asshole.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. I read up about it on the plane, and so much of it made sense.
I found this thread of people who were diagnosed as an adult, and there was this one thing people kept bringing up from when they were at school.
Their teachers always told their parents if they applied themselves better and paid attention more, they would have better grades, and my teachers used to always say that about me.
It’s like I struggled in a lot of my classes because things didn’t make sense to me.
” He sighs. “As I was reading through all the comments, I was like yeah, that’s me. Yep, I do that. And that.”
He ducks his head, almost in embarrassment. But I won’t have him beating himself up over this.
Taking hold of his chin, I tip his head back up. “El, you know there’s nothing wrong with how you are, right? The only thing that’s wrong is you didn’t get the support you needed growing up.”
He chews on the inside of his cheek, his eyes full of worry. And I hate that I put that there.
“I’m glad you’re taking the step to speak to someone about it. Even if it just gives you some validation, then you can start finding the tools to help you with the things you struggle with and get a better understanding. Sometimes being aware of it can take away the element of self-punishment.”
“That makes sense.”
I brush my thumb over his lower lip. “I’m proud of you.”
His mouth twitches in a small smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, I am. I can only imagine how exhausting it’s been for you, both mentally and emotionally, over the years.
And then I turn up, run my big mouth, and you just…
take it all in your stride. You didn’t hesitate to reach out to someone, and that takes immense bravery. You should be proud of yourself too.”
The tops of his cheeks flush, and when he lowers his head this time, I let him. I kiss his forehead and wrap my hands around his waist, resting them on the base of his spine.
“Are we done talking about me? Can we make out now?” he asks, a shy smile playing on his lips.
I grin. “Thought you’d never ask.”
“How much further?” Jason asks through the earpiece.
“Just over this peak,” Zed replies.
Sweat pours down the back of my neck as I crawl through the sand.
It’s the middle of the night, and the dry heat is still ridiculous.
We’ve been monitoring our target via drones for three days now, and tonight is when we strike.
We’re in the middle of the desert, and the only way I’m able to see is through the night-vision goggles attached to my helmet.
We make our way up the dune, keeping low to the ground. When we reach the edge, I take a stealthy glance over the edge, only our target isn’t there. Instead, there’s a midnight-blue Jeep at the bottom of the pit, engulfed in flames.
“Fuck,” Jason mutters, but I tune them out. I need to get a better look. I disable the night vision to get a clearer look, and my heart stops cold the second I see the face of the person in the driver’s seat, screaming.
“Elliot!” I shout, but the words are silent. I try to shout again, but nothing comes out. I scramble to my feet, unable to get traction due to the shifting sand beneath my boots as I launch myself over the edge and run down into the pit toward the vehicle, my weapon still in hand.
Why is he here? He should be in Chicago. He shouldn’t be here.
I keep shouting his name, but it’s like my voice is broken. The sound seems to be getting stuck in my throat.
As I get closer, I wince at the heat radiating from the vehicle. I shout for him again, but then I’m thrown back into the sand as the vehicle explodes.
I bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath.
His name is still stuck in my throat. The sheets are tangled around my legs, sticking to my damp skin.
I tear them off me with shaky hands, anger simmering through my veins.
It takes a moment for me to register I’m in a bed, not crawling through the sandy desert.
I glance around, neck tense and fists clenched.
My eyes slowly begin to adjust to the darkness of the room.
The TV must have gone off. I frantically pat the bed beside me, only to find it cold and empty.
Fuck. Where is he?
Tossing the sheets to the floor, I jump out of bed and rush out of the bedroom.
My feet pound against the hardwood floor as I all but run toward where there’s light coming from the living room.
When I get to the end of the hallway, the TV lights up, where Elliot has the contents of his pantry laid out on the countertops.
He spins around, his mouth open in surprise. He’s clutching a packet of something to his chest as worry fills his gaze. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
I shake my head, unable to speak. I close the distance between us, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him against me so tight, the packet of cashews he’s holding bursts between us.
“Wow, you’re hot,” he mumbles into my damp skin. I’m dripping with sweat. Hair sticking to my face. “And I don’t mean in a ‘wow, you’re hot’ attractive way, even though you’re that too, but you’re hot, as in hot hot. Like you’re sweating hot.”
I tighten my hold on him and lift him up until he’s sitting on the kitchen island. I bury my head into his neck, and without me saying a word, he loops his arms around my back and his legs around my waist, anchoring me.
“Hunter, are you okay?” he whispers, threading his fingers into the hair on the back of my head. He scratches lightly against my scalp. “Your heart is going really fast.”
I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut.
Fuck, I haven’t had a nightmare in a while. Having those thoughts of Elliot at the scene this morning must have triggered something in my conscience.
“Do I need to call an ambulance?”
Wordlessly, I shake my head again.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, me holding on to him with all of my strength. Elliot doesn’t let go. He continues to massage my head with strong fingers, and I focus on the feel of his heart beating against my chest, counting the beats and using the gentle thump to ground me.
When I feel the edge wear off, I slowly loosen my hold on him, but I don’t let go completely. He takes my face between his hands and looks at me with worried green eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“I…” My voice comes out in a sharp rasp, so I clear my throat.
“Sometimes, I have these really vivid nightmares. They feel so real. Like I can smell and taste things as if I’m there.
” I swallow roughly, but my voice still cracks when I say, “You were there, but I couldn’t get to you…
” I trail off, not needing to go into detail.
“Then I woke up, and you weren’t in bed. ”
His face falls as understanding dawns on him.
“I’m sorry. That sounds awful. I’m okay, though.
I mean, you know that. I’m here.” He presses several quick kisses to my lips.
“I was organizing the pantry because I woke up thinking about how I don’t have a system, and now you’re coming over more, I should have a system and be more organized.
I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. ”
I can’t help but let out a small huff of laughter. “You don’t need to do anything for my sake. Just being here is enough for me.”
“But what if you wanted something and you couldn’t find it because it was in the wrong place?”
“Is there a wrong place for anything in a pantry?”
He thinks about it for a moment. “No, I guess not. But I see all these videos online of people who organize their pantries and fridges, and it looks so satisfying.”
Elliot runs his hands over my bare shoulders. I’m aware I was drenched in sweat when I tugged him into my arms, so I’m not surprised to see his chest and arms glistening.
“Can I do anything for you?” he asks quietly.
“Will you shower with me?”
“Yeah.” He nods.
I take a step back, letting him jump down from the countertop.
He leads me down the hall into the bathroom but doesn’t turn on the overhead light.
One thing I’ve learned is that Elliot doesn’t like overhead lights in any room.
He flicks on the dimmer switch, and a soft glow comes on from behind the large mirror.
I take a moment to take him in. The low light illuminates him in a gentle way, hiding the slight shadows under his eyes that weren’t there before his road trip.
He kicks off his pajama bottoms, then reaches into the shower to switch it on.
When the water is up to temperature, he turns around to face me.
“Can I take care of you?” he asks. “You always seem to know what I need before I do, and I wanna be that for you. I might not get it right or pick up on some things, but I want to be the same kind of comfort to you as you are for me.”
My heart swells in my chest. If tonight has made me realize anything, it’s that he might need me, but it turns out I need him more.