Chapter 22 #2
Jack is sitting up when I turn toward him, sliding down to lie on my side facing him.
He watches me, the fingers on his left hand fiddling with the sheet he pulled up to his lap.
I wait, not wanting to rush him. He’d said before that he was nervous, but there’s a distinct difference with how Jack projects that emotion.
When he was in the locker room, or on the ice, his nerves had a physical presence to them—a shadow of fear butting up against the anxiety and nudging him toward panic.
There’s the low, simmering sort of discomfort that is as much a part of him as his red hair and amber eyes.
And then there is this, the uneasiness slipping through in the form of restless fingers and eyes that reach everything but mine.
He's not scared, though, and that’s the important thing to me. It’s understandable that he’d be on edge. As long as that doesn’t teeter over into panic or alarm, we’ll be okay.
He slides down next to me eventually, huffing a soft laugh and reaching below the blankets to fix the legs of his sleep pants.
I’m pleased, and a little surprised, that he’s left barely a foot of space between us.
We’re mirror images of one another—a pair of apostrophes with the blanket stretched between.
Jack slides his arm under the pillow, scrunching it beneath his cheek, and smiles at me.
It’s a smile that makes me hurt a little bit to see it—relaxed and happy and content in a way that Jack so rarely is.
“I’m pretty proud of myself for being here,” he tells me, the words strong even beneath the embarrassment for having said that out loud. “I’ve never done this before.”
“It’s strange,” I agree, shifting a touch closer to him, “to sleep in the same bed with someone for the first time. Sometimes, it keeps being strange even after that first time.”
His low laugh brushes across my cheek in a puff of air. With the lamp behind me, his face is illuminated perfectly for me to enjoy it. The light washes him out a bit, throwing the freckles into sharp relief and making his eyes look nearly gold. Lovely.
“You don’t think Parker will mind?” he asks quietly. I almost laugh.
“Oh no. He’ll be glad to see we’re no longer ‘being weird.’ Apparently, you and I have been boyfriends for a long time, and it was strange for us not to be sleeping together.”
Jack flushes, full bottom lip disappearing as he presses his mouth together. I assume it was the “sleeping together” comment that’s to blame for the embarrassment, until he overcomes it and smiles shyly.
“Boyfriend,” he repeats happily, scrunching the pillow a bit, and turning his face into it.
“Sure. Or partner. Whatever you prefer.” I think about it for a second. “I suppose I’m probably too old to have a boyfriend.”
Snorting, he uses the grip on his pillow to slide it a couple inches toward mine. He’s closed at least three inches of the distance that we’d started with between us, and he’s not being particularly sneaky about it.
“You’re not old. And even if you were”—Jack slides his hand across the bed and pats my forearm in a conciliatory manner—“old people can have boyfriends too.”
I snort, channeling my inner Parker and rolling my eyes. Jack grins as me, and leaves his hand right where it is. For someone who was nervous about being in this bed with me, he’s doing a hell of a job being bold.
“Parker called you my boyfriend, so it’s been carved into my brain.”
“Carve it a little deeper,” he requests, grinning cheekily. I smile back, everything peaceful and easy in our little pocket of warmth. I’m used to Jack being visibly more comfortable here, but I’ve never seen him quite this calm.
His smile slips a bit under my scrutiny, expression becoming more contemplative.
I hadn’t meant to stare so hard at him. Jack’s hand, which has remained stationary on my forearm since he placed it there, rotates slightly, as he adjusts his grip.
After a few moments, I feel the press of his thumb, circling lightly.
It would be so easy to fall asleep like this, with Parker tucked safely into his room and Jack here safe in mine; so easy to become attached to that freckly face being the first thing I see when I open my eyes.
I’d hate to wish the night away, but damn if I’m not eager to see what he looks like in fresh morning light.
“Glad you’re here,” I tell him. It’s a pretty incompetent way to tell him, but if the words exist to describe the soul-deep ache that’s soothed by his presence, I don’t know them.
“Me too,” he agrees. Dropping his voice, he adds, “I’ve been thinking about this pretty much nonstop, ever since we were on the beach and you were talking about cuddling.”
“Any man who gets excited by cuddling is my kind of man,” I reply seriously, making Jack chuckle.
Mimicking the way he’s got an arm tucked under the pillow, I lift my face a little bit, wanting to have a better view of his profile.
His eyes are the precise color of sunlight shining through a jar of honey.
He’s also evidently sleepy, if the way he’s fighting a yawn is any indication.
I roll over and check my phone, sighing when I see just how little of the night is left.
“We’d better get some rest,” I tell him sadly. Sleep seems like a distinct waste of time. Particularly when the hours could be better spent by lying here staring at him; hearing the rumble of his voice.
“Yeah,” he agrees, sighing in a way that makes me think I’m not the only one who’s bummed.
Replacing my phone, I turn off the light. Jack is perfectly still as I turn back around to face him, trying to wiggle myself back into the nest I’d created.
“Desmond?” he whispers, voice so low I almost miss it under the sounds of me trying to get comfortable.
“Yeah, Jacko?”
“Do you think it would be okay to…do you want to…” He trails off, the dark room concealing the blush I’m sure is gracing his cheeks.
“Yeah, Jack, that’s fine,” I tell him, equally as softly, knowing exactly what words he’s trying to force out. “Lie back.”
The mattress moves as he complies with a relieved sigh that I’m not going to force him to put the request into words. I wait for him to stop moving before I slide over, unable to see him at all in the pitch-black room. My blackout curtains are working a little too well, right now.
Luckily, he’s not too far away and it requires little searching to find him.
My hip nudges his arm and he raises it immediately, for all the world as though he does this all the time.
The caution returns when I rest my cheek on his shoulder, evident in the long pause before he tentatively wraps his arm across my shoulders, barely touching me.