Chapter 18
Rolling onto my stomach, I tucked my arms under the pillow and burrowed my face into the cool cotton.
I’d just had the best night of sleep in probably my entire adult life, and I wasn’t ready to surrender to daylight’s invasion.
And maybe I was afraid that everything I’d shared with Atticus the previous night had been nothing more than a delicious dream.
Intrusive thoughts were an enemy I refused to battle before coffee, so I squeezed my eyes tighter and inhaled deeply.
Atticus’s scent was everywhere, stirring a growl in my chest and a different rumbling below the belly button.
I snaked an arm out from under the pillow and reached for him but only found cool, empty sheets where a warm body should be.
My brain registered alarm a half second before it detected freshly brewed coffee.
Lifting my head off the pillow, I scanned the loft as apprehension hummed under my skin.
The noise quieted as soon as I found Atticus curled up in a club chair with a throw blanket around his shoulders.
He lifted a mug to his lips, blew softly, then sipped his coffee while looking out the windows.
It was early, maybe around six in the morning, so the sun hadn’t risen yet, but there was already plenty of activity on the river.
The lights on the smaller vessels looked like fireflies hovering over the black water.
The sky was just beginning to lighten at the horizon, a mere hint of promise or pain, the outcome yet to be determined.
I’d fallen into the latter camp for so long, viewing each new day as nothing more than a tragic reminder of all I’d lost. Now, the silvery ribbon of light represented persistence and pushing against the darkness to let the light in.
It would grow bigger and brighter, unwilling to be denied or ignored, like the feelings I’d developed for the beautiful man in my loft.
I rolled onto my side so I could observe Atticus as he watched the world come alive.
He pulled the throw blanket tighter around his shoulders as if he were chilly and lifted the coffee cup to his mouth again.
Then Atticus set the mug on the end table and swiped a hand under his eye.
It was too dark to tell if he was crying, but the slight sniffle gave him away.
Panic momentarily paralyzed me as I wondered what had happened.
Did I have a nightmare and scare him? They were rare these days, but maybe my intense emotions for Atticus triggered one.
But I didn’t feel the lingering disorientation I typically experienced after a nightmare.
Atticus wiped his face again, breaking me from my frozen state.
I whipped back the covers and leaped from bed, moving before thinking and taking the stairs buck-ass naked.
Atticus looked in my direction when I was about halfway to the first floor. His eyes widened in surprise, but then his mouth curved into the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. “Hey,” he whispered. “Did I wake you?”
I dropped to my knees on the rug before Atticus, cupping his face. “What’s wrong?” I husked.
“Nothing is wrong.” Atticus turned his head to kiss my palm before opening the throw blanket in invitation.
I slid both hands under his ass and lifted him in the air so I could sit down with him on my lap.
The leather chair was cold, and I shivered before Atticus’s blanket-wrapped body could warm me.
“Something is wrong if you’re crying. Did I have a nightmare or upset you?
” I brushed back the hair from his face and worried that he’d gotten scared or felt trapped without transportation.
Any of the guys would’ve taken him home with no questions asked, but Atticus wouldn’t have known that.
Then a different concern hit me. “Was I too rough last night?”
Atticus wriggled so he could see my face.
“God no. These are tears of joy.” He laughed as more tears sprang to his eyes.
“I can’t seem to turn them off.” Swallowing hard, he said, “I woke up feeling happy and hopeful for the first time in so damn long. Maybe the happiest and most hopeful I’ve ever been in my life.
And it hurts.” Atticus rubbed his sternum as if that would ease his discomfort.
“And that’s not all I felt.” Atticus waggled his eyebrows and said, “I also woke up horny. You were sleeping so soundly, and I didn’t want to wake you up, so I came downstairs and woke you anyway.
Was it the coffee? I tried to be quiet when I made it. ”
I ran a thumb over the lips I was dying to kiss again. “I woke up when I realized you weren’t in bed.”
“Sorry. Guess I can never leave it again.”
“Works for me,” I said. “But rewind a minute. Tell me about these happy tears.” I lifted my hand and brushed a fresh cascade off his cheeks. “Something about happy and hopeful.”
Atticus wriggled on my lap, pressing his sweet ass against my hardening length. “Don’t forget horny.”
I recognized a diversion tactic when I saw one and couldn’t let it slide. “I haven’t forgotten that, and we will circle back to it.” Kissing Atticus’s temple, I said, “Tell me what hurts.”
“This hope,” Atticus replied with a chuckle.
“You’ve given me something so beautiful and miraculous, and I’m afraid of messing up.
I’m scared to believe in myself.” He twisted on my lap to face me better.
“I love the way you look at me. You make me feel important and valued, and I want to look at myself with the same level of affection.” Atticus took a deep breath and swallowed hard.
“I need to get my shit together and prove something to myself. That’s what I’ve been thinking about as I watched the boats go by.
” Atticus pressed a quick kiss on my lips.
“You’ve set a new standard for me and raised the bar.
” He dropped his gaze lower and wriggled his eyebrows again.
“You upped it high, and it’s scary. And then I feel foolish because you’re so brave. ”
I tightened my arms around Atticus, and he rested his head against my shoulder.
The blanket fell away from his neck on one side, and I caressed the delicate skin there, smiling when he shivered and nestled closer.
I wrapped him up again and rubbed his back through the blanket.
Atticus had made himself completely vulnerable to me, emotionally and physically, and I wanted to do the same.
“I’ve spent a lifetime being afraid of something.
I just learned to mask the fear at an early age. ”
Atticus raised his head and looked at me. “How young?”
“Thirteen,” I replied. “That’s when my mom died, and I went into the foster care system.”
“Oh no.” Atticus somehow maneuvered his body to straddle my thighs without getting tangled in the blanket. Cupping my face in both hands, he said, “I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“Single mothers take the jobs that pay the bills and put food on the table,” I told him.
“My mom worked at a factory in Florida where improper ventilation systems exposed the employees to deadly chemicals. She, uh, developed what she thought was a terrible cold, but it kept getting worse. We both knew her condition was severe when she started coughing up blood, but neither of us expected her to die within a few months from an aggressive form of lung cancer.”
Atticus gasped so softly that I barely heard it. He nestled as close to me as he could get. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “God, that’s so unfair.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s the kind of devastation that changes you forever.
I went into foster care, which isn’t easy for a thirteen-year-old kid who was already wrestling with surging hormones and confusion about his sexual identity.
Throw in devastating grief and depression, and it could’ve been so much worse than it was.
But I ended up in a group home run by an ex-marine who ran the place like it was boot camp. ”
Atticus stiffened in my embrace, so I ran a hand over his back and kissed the top of his head to soothe him.
“It was what I needed,” I told him. “And Sarge was a strict man, but he wasn’t without kindness. He gave me outlets to burn off my steam by teaching me how to lift weights and box.”
“Sounds like a recipe for disaster,” Atticus said. “He could’ve turned your grief and confusion into aggression.”
I considered his point for a few seconds. “It would’ve been a big risk without proper guidance,” I replied. “Sarge—”
Atticus sat up and looked at me. “He made you call him that?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “His name is Henry, but the kids called him Sarge. It was the most passive-aggressive thing he permitted from us.” Brushing my fingertips over his cheeks, I said, “He also taught us about service to others, especially our community through volunteering.”
“You mean he volunteered you?” Atticus asked with a wry smile.
“Of course. No teenager offers to get out of bed early on weekends to mow grass at local parks or shovel dog shit from kennels at animal shelters.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a point there.” Atticus curled up against my chest again and tucked his head under my chin. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Enjoyment is a stretch,” I said. “But I felt a sense of pride from a job well done. I liked it when Sarge praised us for our work. I wanted to make him happy with me.”
Atticus jerked back up and looked at me with an ornery expression. “Was he hot, this Sarge?”
I laughed, picturing the grizzled older man with a gray buzz cut, steely blue eyes, and leathery skin from too much time in the sun without SPF.
“Not at all. Sarge was just a reliable, positive presence in my life when I needed it most. Making him happy or proud felt like the best way to thank him.”
Hazel eyes softened and grew suspiciously damp again. “You’ve known a lot of loss.”
“I have,” I agreed. “But each time, someone has helped stitch the pieces of my tattered heart together. There was Sarge after my mom died, and then there were my guys when I lost Javi.” But if something happened to this beautiful, sweet man in my lap—
Atticus kissed me before I could complete the thought.
Had he known where my mind had gone, or did he just want to comfort me?
I wrapped my arms around him and sank into the moment instead of worrying.
The blanket fell away from his shoulders, and he shivered.
I tried wrapping him back up, but Atticus whipped off the blanket and pressed his bare chest against mine.
He moaned, wriggled on my lap, and deepened the kiss.
My dick went from soft to semi-aroused in a flash.
I pulled back from the kiss and cupped his face. “Careful, you’ll get something started.”
Atticus arched a brow. “And?”
“You’ve got to be sore after last night, and I only want to give you pleasure.”
Shaking his head slowly as if I were the densest person on Earth, Atticus said, “We can stick to handsy and mouthy things today.” He gripped my biceps in both hands. “Then I’m going to put these to use.”
That got my attention. “You need me to do some heavy lifting?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Can I have a hint?” I asked.
Atticus slid from my lap to land on his knees at my feet. “And scare you off before we do handsy and mouthy things to each other?”
I wanted to push for more information, but Atticus wrapped those lush lips around my dick, and I was a goner.