Will
I’ve been watching Nolan sleep like a total weirdo.
It’s four in the morning, and I’m lying here, listening to him breathe, running my fingers through the curls in his hair, feeling the weight of him resting against my chest.
I can’t sleep.
My brain won’t stop reminding me of everything I’ve done to this man.
I laughed in his face when he told me how he felt, even though that must have been hard to admit.
I kissed him and told him it meant nothing.
I led him on, using him however I wanted until I hurt him so bad he didn’t want to be in the same room as me.
I acted like I didn’t want to when I agreed to go on a date.
And last night, the cherry on top, I sat there at the dinner table on his birthday and made a complete ass of myself the way I always have.
I made him cry.
On his birthday.
He stood there in that hallway and asked me why I hurt him. Why I hate him.
And the worst part is, I did hate him. It’s wired into my brain. Fuck Nolan Murphy. He’s an asshole. He ruined my life. Stole my parents.
The first time we kissed, I hated him.
When he took my cock in his mouth, I thought I did.
He hasn’t done anything to deserve that. He lost his parents young, and my family took him in, and that’s great. I want that for him. I never want to see him sad, or lonely, or hurt. But I’ve spent the better part of my life making all of that harder for him.
For—
For the man I love, I admit to myself for the first time.
He deserves better than me. But for some fucked up reason, he wants me, so I’m going to spend the rest of my life making up for all the damage I’ve done.
Starting right now, with breakfast.
I ease out from under him around six, moving his head from my chest to the bed as smoothly as I possibly can, and thankfully, he doesn’t wake up. I find my boxers from last night and head downstairs to the kitchen.
Nolan never makes time for breakfast. Probably partly because he can’t cook for shit, but partly because he always has something to do.
Well, he’s not doing anything but me today.
Ha.
I start going through the fridge before I got a problem in my pants, thinking about letting him fuck me next time. He sure was good with his fingers—
Anyway.
They have bacon and some eggs that expire today, but I’m sure they’re fine. I fry the bacon and scramble the eggs with cheese the good way that Mom showed me, and toast the bread with butter and a fancy jam from the farmers market.
When I reach for a plate, trying to think of the best way to do this, I hear footsteps on the stairs. Nolan is standing at the bottom of the stairs in yesterday’s pajama pants and t-shirt, his hair still a disaster from sleep, and my hands.
And looking all sleep-rumpled, he’s so damn cute I almost forget what I’m doing.
“Hey,” I say, getting my brain back online.
“I was gonna bring all this up to you.” I nod at the various plates of food on the island.
“Breakfast in bed. That’s what boyfriends do, right?
” I say the words without thinking, and I cringe, but sometimes when you love somebody, that’s how it’s gotta be.
“So go back upstairs, and I’ll be there in a second. I just need to—”
“Will—”
“Get the milk—”
“Will.”
The serious tone in his voice stops me.
And my stomach drops when I look at him properly, without getting distracted by his appearance.
His eyes are red and shining. Nothing like they looked last night. But that’s not even what gets me. It’s the way he’s looking at me. I recognize that look. I’ve seen it plenty of times over the years. It’s the one that means he’s about to tell me to leave. That I’ve done something wrong and—
“What?” I ask, so quiet you can only hear it because the house is silent.