Page 56 of Yours to Keep
A tight ache settles beneath my ribs. Seeing him finally at rest feels like holding something fragile in my hands.
Every night since he arrived, I hear him wake. Hear the screams. The panic tearing through the walls. More than once, I’ve stood outside his bedroom door with my hand on the handle, wanting to go in, pull him against me, and hold him until whatever haunts him stops breathing.
My fingers would shake every time. The urge to cross the threshold battling with the fear of pushing him too far.
I never do.
Instead, I sit on the cold floor outside his room until pain bites into my back, refusing to move. Being close is the only thing that feels right. I hear him sob. Hear him beg it to stop, andthere’s not a damn thing I can do. Every plea feels like a punch I can’t block.
So I stay anyway. Night after night.
The only thing I can give him is my presence, even if he never knows it’s there. I tell myself I’m a barrier between him and whatever follows him into sleep. It’s a lie, but it’s one I cling to. It keeps me from breaking. If I can’t stop the nightmares, I can at least stand in front of them.
I mute the television and watch the flickering light spill across the room while Eli sleeps against me. His scent drifts up with every breath: Soap, wood, spice, and something deeper underneath that’s just him.
God help me, this is becoming dangerous.
I shift slightly onto my side, and Eli follows without waking. The movement steals the air right out of my lungs. His trust is unconscious, instinctive, and it hits me like a physical blow.
I go still. He inches closer anyway, his nose brushing my chest before he settles in completely, his face tucked against my neck like it’s where he’s always belonged.
Heat spreads across my chest. I tighten my hold before I can stop myself. He fits against me too easily, like the shape was already there waiting. On the bike. In my space. In the quiet parts of my life I don’t usually let anyone near.
It feels less like he arrived, and more like he was always meant to be here.
Today has been good. Really good. Eli opened up to me a little, not enough to explain everything, but enough to show me trust is starting to form beneath the cracks. He let pieces slip. Small truths he didn’t mean to give away.
Eli doesn’t know it, but Deck and I are keeping watch for Adrian. Eli needs space and time to heal without worrying about the monster that is hunting him. So we watch, and we wait.
I close my eyes and breathe him in while colors from the TV wash over the room. And then it hits, hard, sudden, clean.
My heart isn’t just involved anymore. It’s gone.
The realization lands brutal and absolute. I don’t fight it. I couldn’t even if I tried. Somewhere between his quiet smiles, his nervous laugh, the way he looks away like he’s apologizing for existing, and now this, his leg draped over mine, his arm around my waist, his breath warm against my neck, this beautiful, broken man worked his way under my skin and never left.
I close my eyes again and let myself drift with that truth sitting quietly in my chest.
* * *
I wake with Eli sprawled on top of me, wrapped around me like a koala. His soft breath brushes against my skin, making my cock harden between us. I go still, every muscle tight. The reaction is instant, uncontrollable.
Fuck.
Carefully, I try to shift just enough to give us both a little space, and fail. Eli tightens his grip instinctively, like even in sleep he refuses to let go. A small, unwilling smile tugs at my mouth. Of course he does.
Then, he stills.
I feel it immediately, the subtle shift from sleep to awareness.
He’s awake. I glance down as he looks up at me.
“Morning,” he mumbles, his voice rough with sleep but soft around the edges.
Realization lands a second later, slow, then all at once. Exactly where he’s ended up, how close he is, and how hard I am beneath him.
His breath stutters. Mine does too. The air between us thickens.
His hold doesn’t loosen straight away. It lingers between instinct and awareness. I keep my voice low and even. “Morning.”
