Page 13 of Studs Up
He twitched and rolled toward me. His hair flopped askew, and his eyes were shut so tight that his forehead was creased.
He’d be late for training if he didn’t get up now. Letting him be late didn’t seem like the nice thing to do, so I leaned over and nudged him. Nothing.
I nudged him again and got a hand swatting me away. He rolled over and burrowed deeper. It felt like a crime to wake him up. I didn’t want to.
“Hey,” I said. “Get your ass up.”
His face pained, pinching tightly, and he tried to push me away. I bet his mother loved this job in the mornings.
“Monroe,” I said and bent over him, considering yelling in his ear. I nudged him again.
His eyes opened, and he bolted upright and grabbed me. Gasping for air, Monroe’s fingers clawed into my back, grasping onto me like I was his lifeline.
Suddenly, I was holding a man who had woken from a nightmare. I didn’t mean to hold him back. It just kind of happened. Lowering myself onto his bed, I let him cling to me.
I cupped the back of his head and held him to my shoulder. His silky hair feathered through my fingers, and the urge to stroke and soothe surged.
I resisted, mostly because I was trying to figure out where that urge came from. For a long few seconds, I didn’t move as Holden sucked in air.
I didn’t know what to do or say because what usually came out of my mouth wasn’t considered comforting to most.
From his chest to mine, his heart pounded into my bones. Beating so hard, his heart was trying to force its way out. I needed to say something. Whatever terrible nightmare I had awoken him from was consuming him. He gulped in heaving breaths of air and burrowed his face into my neck. Warm and terrified.
I held him tighter and pressed my cheek into his hair. I had never been particularly affectionate or physical with people, not even past girlfriends, but this was different; I didn’t want to let go.
“Easy,” I murmured. I wanted to say more, but what does one man who hates the other man say in a moment like this? And then my hand did begin to stroke through his hair. I’m not sure why it thought that was okay because my brain certainly didn’t give the command.
Holden’s breath slowed, and he swallowed. His fingers dug into my back, and then relaxed.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.”
He pushed me away, and I let him go without protest. Holden’s skin was as pale as his eyes, ghostly grey.
He was clearly not okay. I maintained my spot on his bed and tried to adapt a tone that conveyed he didn’t have to worry.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said. His voice was broken with sleep and haunted by the lingering turmoil inside him. He wouldn’t meet me in the eyes and shifted back on the bed, creating distance between us.
“You don’t look fine.”
“I’m fucking fine!” He shouted. It wasn’t anger but embarrassment that I had witnessed a weak moment. I didn’t want to make it worse by pushing.
“I tried to give you as much time as possible,” I said.
“Stop helping me.” He shoved me with his foot, and I got up so he could get ready.
“You would have slept through breakfast,” I said, crossing my arms.
“Why the fuck do you care?” He got up, pushed past me to the bathroom, and slammed the door. My cue to leave.
I was forced to consider there might be more to Holden Monroe than just his ego.
He avoided me all day. Not even a glance. But my eyes were on him. I let my obsession get the better of me and tracked him all day. He was very good at covering his exhaustion. He didn’t yawn or rub his eyes. He didn’t even look tired. That must be what all those little potions were for.
To anyone who didn’t know about last night’s trip to the gym and the way he woke up, they wouldn’t know a thing.
I couldn’t help but wonder if this was what held him back. His talent and potential drove me insane, but he never seemed to reach for it.
