“I don’t think you’re supposed to sleep up here,” he whispered but Murphy apparently didn’t give a shit because he walked around Thad’s feet, made a little circle, then settled into the crook of Thad’s bent legs.
There wasn’t really much Thad could do about it, since he’d left the bedroom door half-open, allowing light from the lamp in the living room to spill in.
Thad reached down to pet the dog. He got a lick to his fingers in thanks.
He settled his head against the bed again, inhaling Graham’s scent and trying to breathe out slowly like his therapist hadtaught him. It was supposed to help his system figure out it was safe enough to go to sleep but some nights, it didn’t really work.
Sometimes Thad wondered what he’d be like now if he’d never gone to prison.
If he’d made it to the NHL and was merely some player like Graham. Some dude without all the fucking baggage.
Of course, he might have ended up withotherbaggage. He certainly wouldn’t have been as free to fuck men if he’d been playing pro hockey.
Not as openly, anyway.
Not until Boucher came out, which probably would have been toward the end of Thad’s career or even after it, depending on how his body had held up to injuries and when he’d retired.
So … maybe there had beensomewhatof an upside to being an anonymous, ex-con nobody. The kind of guy no one gave a shit about. No one cared who the busboy or the barback went home with as long as he showed up more or less on time for his shifts and wasn’t too hungover.
No one had cared about his sexuality at the print shop or at the startup either.
Thad would have fuckinghatedhaving to second-guess every touch. Every look.
Honestly, it was amazing Graham didn’t havemorehangups about being bi or whatever. Then again, he’d only come to this realization about his sexuality recently. And Graham had still been incollegewhen La Bouche came out.
Ugh. Thad stifled a groan at how old that made him feel.
He started to roll onto his back before he realized he’d crush the dog if he did.
So he lay there, staring blankly at the wall of windows across the room as he tried to slow his breathing, calm his thoughts, push away the panicky feeling of being trapped.
Thad did everything he was supposed to do while Graham slept beside him, oblivious, the light filtering in through the half-open door not even bothering him.
Eventually, Thad couldn’t take it anymore and carefully shifted, thankfully only earning a sleepy grumble from Murphy and a soft exhale from Graham.
Thad pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes, trying to will away the twitchy, restless feeling in his limbs.
He fucking hated this. He was supposed to be sleeping.
He’d hated it when he slid out of bed last time and took the solitary ride home to his apartment. Hated leaving Graham and feeling like a shitty boyfriend.
But hehadslept better there. Back home in his shitty studio apartment, on his sagging mattress with the bargain-priced sheets and lumpy pillow, he’d passed out and slept hard until his alarm went off.
But in Graham’s far more comfortable bed, with the high thread count sheets and perfectly fluffy but supportive pillows, Thad felt like he’d accidentally dosed himself with speed.
Ask him how he knew what that sensation was like.
You can fucking do this, Thad chanted silently in his head.You can fall asleep next to the guy you’re dating and wake up with him in the morning. You can have a totallynormalrelationship.
But the crawling sensation under his skin told a different story.
After an hour, Thad finally gave up.
He carefully wiggled out of bed, intent on not disturbing GrahamorMurphy.
For a moment, Thad stood beside the bed, staring down at Graham’s sleeping face and ached, because all he wanted was to stay.
Yet the instincts in his body telling him to run were too strong and, with a sigh, he picked up his clothes and dressed. He ordered a ride, left a note for Graham, then went downstairs to wait for the car.
