Chapter Six #3
"I do want you," Cody admitted. "But I also don't want to rush this. We haven’t known each other for very long and even though I accept all this, I still think we need to get to know one another better."
Reid's arms tightened around him. "There’s no rush. I’d wait an eternity for you."
There was a promise in that statement that made a pleasant sensation settle in Cody’s chest—a vow that when he was ready, Reid would be there waiting.
It gave Cody even more confidence that he had made the right decision to accept Reid and accept the bond they shared, even though the implications were immense.
They sat quietly for a moment, Reid's fingers still combing slowly through his hair.
Cody closed his eyes, savoring the contact.
He'd never been touched this way—unhurried, unguarded, with no expectation of anything in return.
It was a new sensation, and it loosened something in his chest that had been locked down tight for as long as he could remember.
"Can I tell you something?" Cody asked quietly.
"Anything."
He swallowed, suddenly nervous. He had never spoken about this with anyone other than Diane, and even then, only in the vaguest of terms. The few interviewers who had tried to mine him for sympathy-bait on the subject had walked away empty-handed.
"I grew up in the system," he said. "Foster homes and group homes.
I was taken from my mom when I was four—she had addiction problems she couldn't shake.
My dad was already long gone by then. No grandparents who wanted to step in.
No aunts or uncles who put their hands up.
" He exhaled slowly. "So I became a case file. "
Reid's hand in his hair stilled for just a moment, then resumed—gentle, steady, listening.
"I was in eleven different homes before I aged out," Cody went on.
"Some of them were fine. One or two were actually great.
There was this couple in Austin when I was thirteen—Marlene and Terry.
They let me pick my own sheets the first day I got there.
Nobody had ever asked me what I liked before.
I still remember that." He paused. "But Terry got sick a few months later, and they couldn't keep fostering, and I went back into rotation.
After that, I stopped unpacking my bag. Lived out of it for the next five years. It just hurt less that way."
Reid made a low, pained sound in his chest—not quite a growl, not quite a word. His arm tightened around Cody's shoulders, tugging him closer.
"I thought if I could just become somebody," Cody said.
"Really somebody. Famous. Wanted. Then I'd never have to feel like that again.
Like a guest in somebody else's house. Like someone who could be sent back whenever it got inconvenient.
I thought if enough people knew my name, if enough people wanted me in the room, I'd finally belong somewhere.
" He shook his head slightly against Reid's chest. "It didn't work.
I've never been more known, and I've never felt more like a stranger in my own life.
The houses I bought never felt like homes.
They felt like places I was staying until someone decided I had to move on. "
For a long moment, Reid didn't speak. Cody could feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the steady thump of his heart beneath his ear.
Then Reid shifted, lifting Cody's chin until their eyes met.
"Listen to me," Reid said, and his voice was low, and rough, and absolutely certain. "You are never going back in rotation. Not ever. Not while I'm breathing, and not after. You hear me?"
Cody's eyes stung.
"What we have—it isn't a foster placement, Cody. It isn't a trial run. It isn't conditional on you being useful or easy or quiet or anyone's idea of the perfect kid. You don't have to earn a single day of it. Do you understand what that means?"
"I—" Cody's voice cracked. "I don't know if I know how to believe that yet."
"Then I'll tell you every day until you do." Reid cupped his jaw, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. "You're home, Cody. Right here. Not a house. Not a ranch. Me. Wherever I am is where you belong, and wherever you are is where I'll be. Nobody is ever sending you back. Nobody ever could."
The tears spilled over before Cody could stop them. He didn't try to hide them. He let Reid see. He let Reid wipe them away with a gentleness that should have been impossible from a man that size.
"I've been waiting my whole life for someone to say that to me," Cody whispered. "And mean it."
"I mean every word. And I'll keep on meaning it. Every day. For as long as you'll let me."
Cody pressed his face into Reid's neck and breathed him in.
Honey and cut grass and warm cotton, Reid had said earlier.
Home had a scent for shifters. Cody wasn't a shifter, but lying there against Reid's chest, breathing in the clean, warm, woodsmoke-and-soap scent of him, he finally understood what Reid had meant.
For the first time in his life, he was somewhere he wasn't going to be asked to leave.
* * *
The following day, Cody went looking for Reid in his office.
He knocked on the door, then entered the room, stopping dead when he realized Reid wasn’t there.
He must have stepped out to check the perimeter again—though why he felt the need to keep doing that, Cody couldn’t be sure.
As far as he was aware, they were safe at the ranch and his stalker had no way of knowing where Cody was, but he supposed Reid was just being cautious.
Cody was just about to turn around and leave when he noticed Reid’s laptop screen was open, and glowing in the dim light.
He hadn’t meant to read what was on the screen.
He’d just been bored and restless. The kind of restless that came from feeling too safe for too short an amount of time, like his body didn’t quite trust it yet and couldn’t fully relax.
On the screen was an email thread from Reid’s brother, Garett.
An email thread about Cody.
Cody debated with himself internally for a moment, then started reading. At first, it looked like nothing. Logistics. Security updates. Dry, procedural language.
Then his stomach dropped.
Unknown IP activity flagged. Attempted access to Cody’s personal accounts. Blocked. Monitoring ongoing.
Cody’s pulse stuttered.
He scrolled.
Second attempt successful through third-party breach. This guy is good. Limited data exposure. Investigating scope.
“What the hell…” Cody whispered.
The cursor blinked at the bottom of the screen.
Another message, newer.
We have a problem. He knows what he’s doing. Obviously has hacker skills. Possible compromise. I haven’t been able to track him.
Cody froze.
“Cody.” Reid’s voice came from the doorway, sharp and controlled.
Cody turned slowly. “Were you going to tell me?”
Reid’s jaw tightened. “I was going to handle it.”
“He hacked me.” Cody’s voice rose. “He’s not just sending letters anymore, Reid—he’s inside my life.”
“It’s being handled. Garrett is good at what he does. He…”
“You didn’t tell me.”
Reid stepped closer. “Because I didn’t want you panicking over something that’s already contained.”
Cody laughed, sharp and humorless. “Contained? He broke into my hotel room and took photographs of me sleeping. He got into my accounts. What part of that feels contained to you?”
Reid stopped a few feet away, every line of his body tense.
“I’m handling it,” he said again, quieter this time.
“That’s not the point,” Cody shot back. “This is my life. You shouldn’t have kept this from me. I have a right to know what’s going on.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then Reid took another step forward.
“You’re right,” he said.
The admission landed heavy.
“I should have told you,” Reid said. “My instinct was just to eliminate it before it reaches you, before it could upset you.”
Cody’s chest tightened. “You can’t eliminate everything.”
Reid’s eyes went amber, a flash of something primal breaking through. “I know, but I’m going to damn well try.”
The intensity in his voice made Cody’s breath catch.
“I won’t do it again,” Reid said. “I promise.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Cody said quietly, “He’s getting closer, isn’t he?”
Reid didn’t answer.
And that was answer enough.