And for the second time that day, my chest ached so hard I had to grip something—this time the back of his gloved hand. He started, then threaded his fingers through mine without a word, and the tightness in my chest eased.
We reached the alley behind our stores, still laughing, still linked arm in arm. And then he gasped and dropped my hand.
“Oh my god!” he exclaimed, voice breaking on the word. “Ru!”
My gut tightened. Someone was crouched on the back step to his place, huddled into a coat, shivering inthe shadows. I automatically stepped closer, angling myself between Wes and the figure. Was this some guy out to hurt him? And why was my first instinct to think of danger? This wasn’t a dragon, and I wasn’t a hero.
We stood in the dark a beat too long until Wes stepped close to my door and waved at the auto light, flooding the alley with a dull glow. That was when I got my first look at whoever thisRuwas.
Wesley went to a crouch, and the man looked up, red-eyed, dark hair curling around his face. “Wes. I’m so fucking cold.”
Wesley stood, trying to help Ru stand, but he was bigger than Wesley and clearly not well, so I went in to assist. Between us, we got him inside the bookstore and sat him on the first sofa we came to. The man was shivering badly, and for a moment I hovered, unsure what to do, confusion twisting in my chest. Was I supposed to help, to comfort, to question? Before I could decide, Wes kicked into survival mode. He stripped Ru of his coat, flicked on a small heater, and then wrapped one of his colorful blankets around Ru’s shoulders.
“What happened?” Wesley asked gently.
I got my first real look at this oddly named Ru. It was obvious this was a younger, but taller and wider version of Wesley. Theyhadto be related. My mind skittered with questions—was this one of the brotherswho’d caused Wesley pain? Did I need to get angry? Or worse, call for paramedics?
With shivering and stutters, Ru whispered, “I… I had no-nowhere to go,” Ru began, voice trembling. “I hitched here.”
“That’s so dangerous!” Wes was sharp with Ru, who winced and ducked his head, “Why didn’t you call me?”
Ru coughed and shivered some more, and Wesley pulled him into a close hug. I stood awkwardly nearby, confused whether I should be in fight or support mode before Ru’s voice cracked and he began to cry. Was I intruding on something I didn’t understand?
“I like w-women, and m-men, Wes.”
And all Wesley could say, over and over, was, “It’s okay, Ru, it’s okay.”
He threw me a glance that spoke volumes, and I nodded, then headed upstairs to Wes’s kitchen and made teas and coffees and grabbed cookies and brought everything down on a tray. Wes had already wrapped him in another blanket and helped him out of damp jeans, tucking a third around him with brisk efficiency.
“Do we need to call 911?” I asked softly.
“Not yet,” Wes said.
“I’m o-okay,” Ru said at the same time.
“Okay then, well... the tea isn’t too hot; it should warm you from the inside,” I murmured.
Ru took it with shaky hands, Wesley supporting him, and then inserting himself on the sofa and pulling the man close.
“Th-tha-thank you,” Ru managed to say to me, and snuggled down into Wesley’s hold, the tea tipping dangerously close to spilling before Wes rescued it.
“This is Hunter, he’s…” He glanced at me, probably unsure what label to give me. I was his, and that was the end of it.
I think.
“…he owns the coffee shop next door.
“Hi,” I said with a wave, and Ru managed a shaky smile.
Then Wes turned to me. “And this is my little brother, Rupert.”
Chapter 18
Wesley
Ru was fallingasleep on me, and guilt sliced through me. We’d been close when he was tiny, closer than anyone, but when I had to leave home, he was twelve—and fuck, I’d left him behind. The weight of that mistake pressed down as heavily as his head on my shoulder. Hunter and I managed to get him upstairs to my bed, and I tucked the blankets around him until only his dark hair showed above the quilts. He wasn’t shaking anymore; his words were clear, no mumbling. He just wanted to sleep.
His damp hair clung to the pillow, strands curling as they dried, and I smoothed one back from his forehead. The faint smell of cold night air still clung to him, sharp and metallic, a reminder of how far he’d walked to reach me. Under the quilts, he looked smaller than ever, fragile in a way that scared me morethan the shaking had—as if I looked away too long, he might vanish. I whispered a promise he couldn’t hear; I wasn’t leaving him again.
