Even though I’m probably making him wait far longer than I should, Desmond doesn’t move that hand until I tentatively touch my fingertips to his. He smiles at me, gently threading his fingers through mine and pressing our palms together as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. It feels ridiculously brave—us walking across the campus, hands linked, right out in the open where anyone could see me. For one of the first times in my life, I feel proud of myself.
When we get to the car, Desmond squeezes my fingers before letting go. I’m grateful for the dark interior of the car, hiding my blush as I attempt to stay calm in the wake of hand-holding and the fact that I’m going to be spending the night with Desmond. With my boyfriend. Nate would tell me to relax and not worry, but those two things are a direct opposition to every facet of my personality. Unable to control the worrying, I focus instead on the relaxing, working through a few rounds of Desmond’s breathing and muscle-relaxation exercises he gave me so long ago.
It helps. By the time we’re parking in front of their apartment building, my pulse has simmered down from the “medical emergency” territory it had been hovering in. I can dothis. All we’ll be doing is sleeping, and even if we weren’t, I’ll be with Desmond. Desmond, who has only ever treated me with compassion and understanding; who is endlessly patient with not just me, but everyone I’ve ever seen him interact with. Desmond, who has known me long enough now to knowme, and wants to hold my hand anyway.
That awareness feels like a warm blanket being wrapped around my shoulders, as cozy and welcoming as Desmond himself. I can do this. I can put enough trust in him to relax; to leave my worries at the door, instead of bringing them into the sanctuary their apartment has become. I have, in some ways, been invited into the family, and I’ll never forgive myself if I ruin that by being ruled by fear.
“Go get ready for bed,” Desmond instructs Parker as we all kick off our shoes by the door. Parker doesn’t argue as he’s nudged toward the hallway, raising an arm to yawn into his elbow.
“Can I shower?” he asks.
“Quickly,” Desmond confirms. “Then, teeth brushed and bed.”
“All right,” Parker agrees. He starts to leave us, but turns around before he reaches the hallway. He comes back and gives Desmond a one-armed hug, before surprising me by doing the same to me. “Night, Jack.”
“Night,” I echo, voice low as I put a hand on his shoulder and provide a half-hug of my own. Desmond looks so pleased, his face is practically lighting up the room.
He waits until the door to Parker’s room clicks closed, before turning and smiling at me. I smile back, wishing I was brave enough to close the foot of distance between us and kiss him.
22
Desmond
ShouldI have invited Jack to spend the night? Probably not. Do I regret it? Absolutely not. It feels like every time we’re together, he becomes more and more comfortable. The blushing remains, but the somewhat fearful way he used to look at me is long gone. There’s no discomfort or awkwardness left in the way he moves around the apartment, and he only paused for a minute before holding my hand tonight. He might not feel wholly comfortable with anyone else, but the rest of the world isn’t my concern. I want him to feel comfortable with me and Parker—safe and content and relaxed.
I have a feeling it’s not all anxiety that keeps Jack separating himself from others; from being comfortable with affection. I imagine, after a childhood like his, that it would be easy to convince yourself that bodies are meant only for pain; that maybe it’s all he deserves. Jack, in my opinion, has experienced more than his fair share of stress and anxiety, and the caretaker in me is burning forthe opportunity to show him something better. To show him a relationship built on compassion, and absent of fear.
Flicking on the light above the oven, I grab two glasses from the cupboard as Jack leans his butt against the edge of the dining room table. Filling the cups in the sink, I hand him one.
“Parker was okay?” I ask him, watching the fingers on his left hand clench and release around the strap of his backpack. I wonder if he even knows he’s doing it, or if his body naturally moves with nervous energy.
“He was great.” Jack smiles, cheeks tinged pink. I mimic his pose, leaning back against the counter and taking a sip of water.
“Good, I’m glad. Thank you for sitting with him.” He shrugs, but looks pleased. The hand drops away from the strap of his bag. “He behaved at your dorm?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, smirking slightly. “Definitely nosy, though.”
Snorting, I shake my head fondly. “Incredibly nosy. We’ve been over to Nico and Anthony’s a couple times for dinner; it’s like he can’t help but open closed doors and peek into drawers. Drives me mad.”
“It’s okay, I really didn’t mind,” Jack replies on a laugh, relaxing even further and resting his bag down on the floor. “He was in such a good mood all night.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Also, glad you came over.”
He immediately flushes, eyes dropping to the floor, but lips twitching upward into a tiny smile. I read the expression as an even mixture of pleasure and nerves, and hope the tension doesn’t begin to outweigh the other.
“Tired?” I ask, voice dropping so the question is for usalone. His light eyes meet mine, cheeks still rosy above all the freckles.
“Yeah,” he agrees, voice low.
It’s dark outside, and mostly dark in here; the moment feels like a safe, comfortable bubble around us. I don’t want to ruin the integrity of it by talking loudly. Jack surprises me by taking the lead and rising out of his recline against the dining table.
“Want to go to bed?” I ask, interpreting the gesture.
He nods at the floor, hiding his face as he bends to pick up his bag. I wait until he straightens before turning off the oven light. We use the hallway light Parker left on to guide us, Jack shadowing me as we go to my bedroom.
Even I’m a little nervous as he steps inside and I close the door behind him. Not being an overly sexual person, bringing people into my bedroom has, historically, been a bit of a shit-show. But while feeling on edge around a new partner is pretty common for me, I don’t think any sort of unease is necessary around Jack. He’s so open with his emotions, and he’s simply not the kind of man to force anything onto another. I know I can trust him with Parker, which means I can also trust him with myself.
“Do you want to shower?” I ask him, stepping away from the door and pulling off the tie I’d been wearing. I’m desperate to get these damn clothes off.
