Chapter Eleven You Tell Me What You Need #4
to switch positions, he pats it, a gentle invitation to come and lay his head on Jacob’s lap.
He shouldn’t.
But he wants to. Really badly.
It’s not even the THC that’s running through his system; he wishes that he could blame the weed, but he can’t. This is all him.
Owen turns carefully, too aware of the pain, then lowers his head to the pillow slowly with Jacob’s help. It’s a familiar
comfort that takes over Owen as he settles against Jacob and the warmth of his solid body.
“How’s that?” Jacob asks, as if the question doesn’t mean anything at all.
Owen wishes he could read Jacob’s mind, figure out what exactly is going on in that head of his, what game it is he’s playing.
Then Owen has to wonder if there’s any game at all, if maybe it’s unfair to think that Jacob must have some ulterior motive.
“Nice,” Owen tells him. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Jacob seems to relax, which tells Owen that this is okay.
Perfectly and completely okay.
Just for tonight, Owen thinks to himself. He wants to get what he wants.
He doesn’t stop Jacob when his hand comes to rest on the side of his head, nor does he stop Jacob when he starts to play with
his hair, his fingers massaging through it slowly, lulling Owen further down, down, down . . .
Until he stops fighting the urge to keep his eyes open.
His heavy lids closing, he falls into a comfortable slumber.
A gentle nudging wakes Owen.
He recalls his dream for a moment—something about a snake bite, and maybe RuPaul—but by the time he remembers one fading detail,
the rest of it slips away from him. And then he remembers where he is, the shadows being cast inside the suite almost changing
the shape of the room.
“Owen?” Jacob’s voice is quiet.
“Hmm?” Owen rubs his knee, stretching his legs. There’s a new tightness from where he’s been lying on his side.
“The lights,” Jacob says, a little louder this time.
“What are you talking about?” Owen grumbles, only half the words intelligible thanks to his exhaustion.
“Let’s go look!” Jacob nudges him again, helping Owen to sit upright before he stands up himself, offering a hand to Owen.
Owen stares at it, like Jacob’s hand is some foreign object he’s never seen before. He wants to blame the slowness of his
reaction on his fatigue, the painkillers still calming the worst parts of how he feels.
But it’s not just that.
Taking Jacob’s hand feels . . . feels like so much, and also nothing at all. It feels like another boundary, a cliff that
Owen is standing on the precipice of.
And what if he wants to fall?
He takes Jacob’s hand carefully when he motions again, their palms sliding together, the calluses on Jacob’s hand grinding
against Owen’s smooth skin as he helps Owen stand. Unfolding his cane in case it’s needed, Owen lets Jacob lead him around
the couch. Before either of them step outside, they can see the lights glowing in the sky. Streaks of green and purple flow
like the waves of the ocean they’re lighting up.
“Whoa . . .” Owen gasps, steadying himself as Jacob opens the sliding doors to the balcony. A cool breeze blows Owen’s hair
away from his face, salt air filling his lungs as he breathes in.
“Look at that,” Jacob says, stepping next to him, his hand still wrapped around Owen’s. Owen has a sneaking suspicion that
it’s no longer a method of support; Jacob probably just wants to hold his hand.
Can’t he just let this moment be? Enjoy this pocket of time where nothing really has to matter except the two of them witnessing this once-in-a-lifetime view? He looks over at Jacob, staring at the sky with a gleam in his eyes.
“Beautiful,” Owen murmurs.
“Yeah, it is.”
Perhaps he shouldn’t think that, maybe that’s a step too far. But tonight he doesn’t care. He wants to look at Jacob, to appreciate
the fine lines of his face, that straight edge of his long nose, and those full lips. He wants to study the shape of those
eyes, the faint creases in the corners from when Jacob would rather squint to read something than wear his glasses.
There are so many words that Owen could use to describe him.
Gorgeous, handsome, pretty, stunning, precious, exquisite.
But no other word seems more accurate than beautiful.
“What time is it?” Owen asks.
“Uh . . .” Jacob eyes his watch. “Fifteen minutes past midnight.”
“We missed the countdown.” Owen half pouts.
“You missed the countdown,” Jacob corrects, smiling at him. “Snored right through it.”
“You could’ve woken me up!” Owen adds.
“You were too cute,” Jacob says, looking back toward the sky. “Just sleeping there.”
Oh. Owen pauses, sure his cheeks are heating up. Jacob’s are.
“Sorry,” Jacob says, ending the hold he has on Owen’s hand so that he can rub at the back of his neck.
“Stop apologizing, Jacob. Please.”
“Okay.”
Owen turns back toward the ocean, watching as the lights dance along the starless sky.
“What?” Jacob asks, able to tell that Owen is thinking too hard about something. Because no one has ever known Owen the way that Jacob has.
“Nothing,” Owen says, clearing his throat. “Happy New Year, Jacob.”
“Happy New Year.” He says the words with a smile that rolls Owen’s stomach.
Jacob stares down at the water. “Can I say something? You might get angry at me, but I want to say it.”
“What is it?”
Owen watches Jacob’s throat bob up and down as he swallows. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
“Huh . . .”
“But that’s not the smart thing to do.”
Owen’s mouth goes dry, staring at this man that he gave so much to, that he’s taken so much from. The breeze blows Jacob’s
hair away from his face, like he’s a prince in a fairy tale, come to rescue Owen from his tall tower.
“I’ve got to admit, Jacob . . .” Owen starts to say, the words heavy, because he knows what he wants right now, even if he
shouldn’t. “I’m sick of doing the smart thing.” There’s an unfamiliar boldness to Owen’s words, one that he’s not sure he’s
ever recognized in himself before.
All at once, he loves and loathes it.
Owen starts to close the distance between them first. It’s almost instinctive as he leans in, closing his eyes and tilting
his head so that he can finally get what he wants.
Just once. Just for one night.
Then the door to the suite swings open so quickly that the doorknob would’ve certainly left a gaping hole in the wall were it not for the stopper.
“Helloooooooooooo, homos!” Kaitlyn sings.
Owen flinches as he pulls away, eyes wide as he takes in the shocked expression on Jacob’s face.
Shit, Owen thinks.
“Where are you guys?” Abigail asks loudly as she stumbles into the suite behind Kaitlyn, obviously drunk. “Oh! There you are!”
Kevin comes in behind them, carrying a half-empty wineglass between his fingers, his shirt untucked and wrinkled. Owen steps
away, forgetting his cane before he doubles back for it.
“Hi, hello!” Owen greets them, surprised to see everyone back so early. “How was the rest of the party?”
What was he thinking?
“Good. They brought the DJ back out after you guys left. He played a lot of LMFAO and Sean Kingston?” Kaitlyn says with a confused expression, but Owen, knowing Kaitlyn’s music taste, doubts that
she minded. “Abby got drunk enough for the both of us.”
“Open bars are dangerous,” she slurs. “I’m gonna go to bed.”
Kaitlyn leaves her purse on the couch, taking in the scene in front of her. “What did the two of you get up to?”
“Oh, nothing,” Owen tells her, hoping that his nerves aren’t obvious. They are. “Watched a movie.”
“Did each other’s hair?” she says, eyeing the hair-care products that they left out and the small pile of Jacob’s knots still
on the table.
“Owen gave me a hand with some grooming,” Jacob says, finally following him back into the living room. “Apparently I needed
it.”
“Did you guys see the lights? Aren’t they stunning?” Kevin downs the rest of his wine, filling the glass with water from the tap before he gulps that down too.
“Yeah, yeah. They were something.” Owen stumbles through the words awkwardly. “I’m pretty tired. I’m going to go to bed, I
think.”
“Oh!” Kaitlyn and Jacob both seem surprised. “Okay,” Kaitlyn continues. “I should probably get in there and make sure Abby
doesn’t fall asleep in her pants.”
“Yeah,” Jacob says. Owen can tell how nervous he is. “I’m gonna pass out too.”
Without realizing it, Owen’s fallen in step behind Jacob. And since their bedrooms are right next door to each other, there’s
no other choice for Owen except to follow Jacob down the hallway. They walk in silence for a few precious seconds, Owen reaching
his bedroom door first. And just as his hand wraps around the doorknob, he says the words, unable to help himself.
“Happy New Year, Jacob.” The words sound so much sadder this time.
Jacob pauses at the door, barely turning to face Owen. “Happy New Year.”
Owen shuts the door behind him, and he falls against it, staring at the darkness of the room, wondering just how he could
be so fucking stupid.