Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Zach
The first rays of morning light filter through the blinds, casting stripes of gold across the bedroom. I’ve been awake for almost an hour, lying perfectly still to avoid disturbing Xavier’s sleep. In the soft dawn glow, I study him curled against my side, committing every feature to memory.
Xavier’s face looks younger in sleep, the perpetual tension around his eyes smoothed away.
His dark lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, lips slightly parted with each slow breath.
A faint bruise still marks his jaw from the bar fight, the sight of it stirring something fiercely protective in my chest.
Seven years. Seven fucking years of watching from a distance, and now here I am, in Xavier’s bed, his head nestled against my shoulder and one leg thrown carelessly over mine. The weight of him feels right, like something missing has finally clicked into place.
I lift my free hand, hesitating before allowing my fingers to hover just above Xavier’s cheek. I don’t touch, don’t want to wake him. Instead, I trace the air along the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the fullness of his lower lip.
A strand of dark hair has fallen across his forehead. This time I can’t resist. I brush it back with featherlight fingers, my chest tightening when Xavier sighs in his sleep and presses closer to my side.
The trust of it, of Xavier sleeping deeply beside me, vulnerable and unguarded, hits me like a physical blow. When was the last time anyone had trusted me this way? In my world, people sleep with one eye open, that is if they sleep at all.
My phone vibrates silently on the nightstand. Carefully, I reach for it, angling the screen away. Three messages from Tiana, checking in. One from my VP, about club business that can’t wait. My jaw tightens. The real world intruding already.
I type a quick response to my VP, then set the phone aside. The club can wait a few more hours. This moment, with Xavier warm against me, the quiet sanctuary of this room, is too precious to cut short.
Xavier stirs slightly, mumbling something unintelligible, before settling again. His hand slides up to rest on my chest, directly over my heart. The simple, unconscious gesture makes my throat tighten with an emotion I’m not ready to name.
Outside, a car alarm goes off briefly before falling silent.
In the kitchen, the refrigerator hums. I catalog each sound, each sensation, the weight of Xavier against me, the scent of his shampoo, the warmth where our skin touches.
I store them away like treasures to revisit during the cold nights that might lie ahead.
Because this, whatever is happening between us, complicates everything. The hospital administrator’s threats, the club’s business, the enemies who would use any weakness against me. Xavier represents a vulnerability I can’t afford. A target on his back.
And yet, looking down at Xavier’s sleeping face, I know with absolute certainty that I wouldn’t be able to walk away. Not again. Not after finally holding him, tasting him, feeling the way our bodies fit together like they were designed for each other.
Whatever comes next, whatever price I have to pay, would be worth it. I’d protect Xavier with everything I have. My influence, my strength, my life, if necessary.
Xavier shifts again, eyelids fluttering as he begins to wake. I hold my breath, wondering what I will see in his eyes. Regret? Awkwardness? The polite distance that would suggest last night had been a mistake?
Instead, he blinks up at me, sleep-hazy and soft, before his lips curve into a smile that hits me like a punch to the solar plexus.
“You’re still here.” His voice is rough with sleep.
My hand moves of its own accord, cupping his cheek. “I said I would be,” I reply, my voice gravelly with emotion.
His smile widens, eyes crinkling at the corners. “What time is it?”
“Early. Just past six.”
“Mmm.” Xavier stretches against me, all lean muscle and warm skin. “You been awake long?”
“A while,” I admit, not specifying how long I’ve been watching him sleep, drinking in the sight of him like a man dying of thirst.
He props himself up on one elbow, studying my face with those perceptive eyes that seem to see too much. “Everything okay?”
No point lying since he’d see through it. “Got some messages. Club business.”
A shadow crosses his face, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it. “Do you need to go?”
“Not yet.” My hand slides to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through the short hair there. “They can wait.”
His expression softens. He leans down, pressing his lips to mine in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens into something hungry. When we break apart, both breathing harder, I note his eyes have darkened.
“I should brush my teeth,” he says, though he makes no move to leave.
I tighten my grip slightly. “I don’t care.”
He laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. “Well, I do. Give me two minutes.”
With obvious reluctance, he untangles himself and slides from the bed. I watch him pad to the bathroom, admiring the way his sleep pants hang low on his hips, the shift of muscle beneath his t-shirt.
Alone for the moment, I reach for my phone again. The message from my VP is more urgent than I’d initially thought. There is trouble brewing with a rival club, territory disputes that could escalate quickly. I need to handle it, preferably before it turns bloody.
The water runs in the bathroom sink. I type a quick response that I would be at the clubhouse by noon. Not ideal, but the best I can offer. Today belongs to Xavier, at least for a few more hours.
I set the phone aside as the bathroom door opens. Xavier emerges, hair damp at the temples where he’d splashed water, looking more awake now.
“Your turn,” he says, gesturing toward the bathroom. “Spare toothbrush is on the counter.”
I nod, sliding out of bed. As I pass him, I can’t resist reaching out, catching his wrist and pulling him close for another brief kiss.
“Be right back,” I say against his lips before releasing him.
In the bathroom, I catch sight of myself in the mirror and pause. The man staring back looks… different. Less hard around the edges. There is something in my eyes I haven’t seen in years, a lightness, a spark that had been missing for too long.
I shake my head, turning away from my reflection. Better not to examine it too closely. Better not to name the feeling expanding in my chest, making it hard to breathe whenever Xavier smiles at me.
* * *
Xavier
As Zach disappears into the bathroom, my eyes linger on the closing door. The soft click of the latch feels like a personal challenge. I take a half step forward, then stop myself, heat rising to my cheeks at my own thoughts.
What am I thinking? Trying to peek at Zach in the bathroom? I’m not some horny teenager. I am a grown man. A doctor, for Christ’s sake.
But the image of Zach—all that tattooed skin and lean muscle fully revealed—makes my mouth go dry. The sound of running water from behind the door only intensifies the mental picture forming in my mind.
“Get a grip,” I mutter to myself, forcing my feet to move away from the bathroom door. I busy myself, straightening the rumpled bedsheets, trying to focus on anything except what is happening on the other side of that thin door.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, a welcome distraction. I grab it, glancing at the screen to see a text from my dad.
Morning, son. Free for lunch today? Haven’t seen you in weeks. Your old man misses your face.
I have amazing parents. My mother is so kind and gentle, and my father is soft toward us but an asshole to the rest of the world, but he has to be since he is a cop.
I was scared to tell my parents that I think I was gay. My dad was immediately worried; not because I liked men, but because people are assholes in this world and it’s not easy being gay.
I didn’t understand what he meant by that until I graduated high school and someone on the police force that worked under my dad made a comment about him raising a fag.
I never saw my dad so pissed in my life. He almost killed the guy right in front of the whole police force, and no one else uttered a word since.
My mom, who is against all violence, encouraged my dad. She is tiny and fierce just like my sister Samantha.
I type a quick response to my dad, smiling to myself.
Sorry, Dad. Have plans. Dinner tonight?
The reply comes almost instantly.
Dinner works. Mom’s making her lasagna. Bring an appetite. And maybe that guy you’ve been seeing?
The bathroom door swings open and my train of thought crashes to pieces.
Zach stands there, hair loose around his shoulders and wearing nothing but boxers.
Morning light catches the tattoos inked across his arms and chest, highlighting every defined muscle.
A jagged scar along his left side, the same one I’d traced with my fingers last night, makes my pulse stutter.
“See something you like, Doc?” he asks, that half smile playing at his lips, doing dangerous things to my heart.
“Maybe,” I manage, voice embarrassingly rough. I clear my throat. “Coffee? I think I have some somewhere.”
Zach closes the gap in three easy strides. He cups my face, thumb brushing my jawline. “Coffee can wait.”
My heart thunders against my ribs as he leans in, claiming my mouth in a kiss that starts gentle and quickly deepens. He tastes of mint toothpaste and something darker, something entirely him, and my head spins. My hands find his waist, fingers digging into warm skin as he backs me toward the bed.
My knees hit the mattress and I sit abruptly, breaking the kiss. Zach hovers between my legs, his gaze intense. Heat pools in my stomach.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this.” His voice is low and husky. “You, in your bed, looking up at me like that.”
I swallow hard. “Like what?”