Page 81 of To Have and To Hold
He thought about Slade’s drunken rambling in the truck. He could still hear the man’s tormented words.
Do you love him? Because I do. I love him. I shouldn’t, but I do.
Atticus wasn’t entirely sure Slade had been talking about him, but the words had done weird shit to him. Made him feel things he swore he would never feel for anyone. Whether he was the object of Slade’s affection, Atticus had secretly hoped he was. It was stupid. This whole situation was stupid. He should not be entertaining the notion of being with Slade and Carson. It wasn’t fair to Slade. Hell, it wasn’t fair to any of them.
Slade’s grip loosened, and his hand fell away when he drifted off again. Atticus took a step back when he heard the front door open. Carson appeared a moment later with a small white bottle. He opened it, shook out two pills, and held them out to Atticus.
“You should do it,” Atticus told him, feeling a little unsteady.
Carson’s confusion was evident by the angle of his eyebrows, but he came around to Slade’s side of the bed.
“Hey,” Carson said softly. “You need to take these. It’s just aspirin. You’ll thank me in the mornin’.”
Atticus watched as Carson managed to get Slade awake enough to take the pills and down them with water. As soon as he did, he passed out again, mumbling incoherently.
“If he’s lucky, he’ll sleep it off,” Carson said quietly. “If you need anything, you know where I’ll be.”
Atticus turned to leave the room with Carson when Slade shifted on the bed. “Don’t go, Carson.”
Carson looked at him as though he might be hearing things. Atticus shrugged because, honestly, Slade’s request surprised him, too.
“We’re gonna let you sleep,” Atticus told him.
“Stay,” Slade said, patting the mattress beside him. “Both of you.”
Atticus shook his head, although Slade wasn’t looking at him.
“Please,” Slade whispered.
“Sleep, Slade. You’ll feel better in the mornin’.”
Atticus started to turn but didn’t make it but one step when Slade’s tone became more urgent. “Please. I know you hate me, but don’t go.”
“No one hates you,” Atticus assured him.
“Then stay.”
“Not a good idea,” he said, returning to Slade’s side of the bed. “You need to sleep. You’re gonna hate yourself in the mornin’ if you don’t.”
“I already hate myself,” Slade muttered, fumbling for Atticus with his eyes closed, once more grabbing his arm and tugging him closer.
“I know how to share. Promise.”
The man sounded far more lucid than he was. Even so, Atticus knew he had no idea what he was suggesting.
Atticus looked at Carson. He was watching them, and there was that familiar gleam in his eyes.
“It’s okay,” Carson said softly.
Atticus plucked Slade’s hand from his wrist. “Fine.”
“Both of you,” Slade repeated.
“Okay.” Atticus cocked an eyebrow as he glanced at Carson. “But only to sleep.”
Honestly, Atticus had expected Slade to argue. That was the only reason he said it. He thought for sure it would be enough to get Slade to let this go tonight. Instead, Slade shifted on the bed, moving closer to the edge to give them more room.
Atticus sighed, but he was too tired to argue, so he tugged off his boots, pulled off his shirt, then unbuttoned his jeans as he was walking around to the other side of the bed. He stripped them down his legs, leaving them on the floor, and crawled into bed wearing only his boxers. He moved to the middle, leaving room for Carson.
