He smooths my hair back from my forehead, focused, careful.
It’s… not nothing.
“Skip?” I whisper.
His thumb pauses against my cheek. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
“What did you mean… when you said I belonged to you?”
Skip stills. Only for a heartbeat. But I feel it.
Then he leans down on one knee beside the bed, close enough that his breath ghosts over my lips.
“I meant exactly what I said,” he murmurs. “You belong to me, Eli.”
My heart jumps into my throat.
“I’m not saying that to rush you,” he adds softly. “I’m not saying it to scare you. But I’m done pretending I don’t feel what I feel.”
My chest tightens. Warm. Overwhelmed. Confused. Hopeful.
He reads every emotion on my face like a book.
“If it’s too much,” he whispers, brushing my cheek with his thumb, “I’ll slow down.”
He leans forward just enough for his forehead to rest against mine.
“But don’t doubt…not for a single damn second…that you and I? We’re going to be something.”
My breath trembles. He’s said those words to me before.
Skip presses a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead, then pulls the blanket up once more.
“Sleep now, pretty boy,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right here.”
And somehow…despite my emotional battle raging between my head and my heart…I fall asleep in seconds flat.
Chapter Ten
Skip
A war is coming.
That’s the first thought rattling around my skull as I sit beside Eli’s sleeping form, elbows on my knees, watching the rise and fall of his chest.
A war is coming…and I’ve brought the most delicate man I’ve ever known right into the middle of it.
He’s curled on his side, fist tucked under his cheek, lips parted as he sleeps. He looks breakable. Too breakable. The kind of man the world should handle with care. Wrap in bubble wrap, slap afragilesticker on, and instruct everyone within a ten-mile radius not to breathe too hard.
And I dragged him into the fucking Shadows world where we’re stuck right in the middle between the Italian Mafia and the Mexican Cartel.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I scrub a hand down my face and lean back in the chair that’s already killing my spine. None of it matters. I’d sleep on the bathroom floor if it meant I could see him breathe.
There’s a part of me…some warped protective instinct…that wants to go out tomorrow, buy him a house in the middle of nowhere, set it up with groceries, guards, and every damn comfort he could ever need… then lock the world out.
Let him rest. Be safe. Live.
