“Get out of my damned kitchen,” Kian said and reached for a dish towel. He was out of there before Kian could use it on him. He was pretty sure Kian could wield a dish towel better than he could a knife. At least, that’s what experience told him.
He stepped into the living room with a smile stretching his lips, warmth spreading through his body. He looked around the room, at the people occupying it and making it a home. His home. How was he ever going to leave this? All those people together, being their noisy selves, might be too much for some, but it only reminded him of growing up in a house that was never quiet, despite only having one hearing person out of four.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, expecting a funny picture from his brother or a check-in from his fathers, but what he saw was a text from an unknown number that sent a shiver up his spine, leaving him instantly cold and trembling.
Don’t worry. I’ll find you. They can’t keep us apart.
Air became a sparsity. The room closed in on him, and he knew he was on the cusp of a panic attack. He knew he was safe here, and yet here was the last place he wanted to be right now. He didn’t want any of them to see. He didn’t want them to worry.
He shoved his phone back into his pocket and was out the door and almost at Miles’s car before he realized where he was going. He skidded to a halt, a curse escaping him. There was no way anyone would let him leave.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath before turning on his heels.
He came up short, nearly crashing into a wide chest. He tipped his head back, already knowing he’d be meeting green-flecked eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
He contemplated his words for a moment and then sighed heavily.
“I just need to be somewhere else. Just for tonight.”
He was under no illusion that Wilder would let him go anywhere, but for some reason, he always felt like he could tell Wilder exactly what was on his heart. When he dared to.
“Good timing, then. There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to,” Wilder said, his eyes shining brightly in the fading sunlight as he extended a hand toward him. Emmett took it without hesitation, letting Wilder tug him across the parking lot toward his motorcycle.
“And here I thought it was too dangerous for me to go anywhere,” he muttered, shooting Wilder a knowing look.
Wilder shrugged and said, “You’re perfectly safe with me.”
He was so not safe with Wilder, and at this point, he feared they both knew it.
When they reached Wilder’s bike, he noticed a leather jacket lying across the seat. It was too small to be Wilder’s, which meant that he’d grabbed his from the rack inside before coming out after him.
If it were even possible, his heart melted a little more.
He nearly protested when Wilder’s hand slipped from his, but he clamped his mouth shut and waited patiently as Wilder grabbed his helmet. He let Wilder slide it over his head, and not because he couldn’t do it himself. He liked it when Wilder took care of him, and if Wilder let him, he’d love to take care of him, too.
“Phone,” Wilder said, holding out a hand.
Emmett pulled it out of his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it over without a second thought. Wilder tapped on it a few times, and a pling sounded in his helmet. Then Wilder picked up the leather jacket from the seat of his bike and held it up so Emmett could put his arms into the sleeves. Wilder’s fingers skimmed the side of his jaw as he lifted the jacket onto his shoulders, and even just that barely-there touch sent a thrill through him. It was too much and definitely not enough at the same time.
He started zipping up his jacket, but froze when a hand slipped inside. A gasp ripped from his throat, the heat of Wilder’s body at his back making his heart race. Something weighed down the left side of his jacket, and as the hand disappeared, he realized that Wilder had put his phone in his inner pocket.
He wasn’t sure how he was going to survive being around this man for much longer. Not when every single touch or smile had his knees wobbling.
He took a deep breath, keeping his gaze anywhere but at Wilder as he finished zipping up his jacket. He searched the pockets for his gloves but didn’t find them. They had to still be inside, and there was no way he was going back in after them. It wasn’t that cold, anyway. He’d survive.
He looked up to find Wilder already on the bike, head turned toward him. He took a step closer and put his left hand on Wilder’s shoulder, his foot on the passenger footpeg, and then he swung his leg over the bike, settling behind Wilder like he belonged there.
Fuck. He was an idiot. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against Wilder’s back.
He relaxed for the first time since receiving that text when they hit the road, the vibrations of the bike under him and the feel of Wilder’s wide back against his chest soothing in ways he’d never expected. Wilder was… nothing like he’d first expected him to be, and he feared that Wilder might be everything he needed.
“If you want to talk about it, I’m here,” Wilder’s voice sounded through the headset in his helmet. “If not, I’ll still be right here.”
“Hard to go anywhere right now,” he muttered under his breath, a smile teasing his lips at Wilder’s short burst of laughter. Urgh. He liked that sound way too much.
He could tell that they were headed into town, but it wasn’t the usual route to the gym. They slowed down, and Wilder pulled up by a small bridge. There were several rows of tents under it, people milling around in old, worn clothes.
