“Forgive me. I’m afraid I lack experience with ‘hotel courtesy.’ ” Everil’s words came out stilted and awkward. Just as he was. He didn’t know therules.Perhaps he should have simply awaited Nimai. At least, that was a known experience. “It’s also been some time since I’ve shared a bed. Please know it’s not my intention to upset you.”
“I know it’s not.” Bo simply sounded tired. And perhaps more careful than Everil deserved. “There’s nothing to forgive. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re right. Sorry. I don’t want to fight. I’m just– I’m going to brush my teeth and sleep.”
“You needn’t apologize,” Everil offered, not wishing to touch further raw nerves. “I will, of course, use the bed if that’s your preference.”
“Wherever you’ll be the least uncomfortable.” Bo crouched by his backpack, unzipping it to remove what Everil assumed to be his toothbrush. He didn’t look at Everil. “Eitherway, top blanket and half the pillows are yours. I’ll get a reservation in the morning to make sure we get a double tomorrow night.”
And that, it seemed, was to be the end of the conversation. Everil nodded, tightly, and strode over to the window. A full parking lot. Glowing streetlights. The mostly empty road.
A few hours ago, Bo had stroked his neck, murmuring reassurances and flattery, while Everil clung to him, still half lost to the river. It’d felt, then, like they understood each other. But it turned out it’d only been the river, wearing rough edges smooth.
There was no bridging this gap between them. Everil was too broken and pathetic to please anyone. Bo included.
Chapter ten
Bo
This fucking sucked.
Bo expected it to. Hedid. Everil got twitchy about touching, grabbing his own wrist more often than not, while Bo still itched to curl close and make the too-tight pull of his skin fade some.
That’s why Bo’d wanted a fucking double.
God, he was tired. Exhausted even when in bed, not enough pillows under his head, and Everil just …thereto touch if either of them shifted. It’d be so easy to reach out to him. Skin to skin, and things would fucking settle.
Instead, they lay curled up, back-to-back, inches and fucking worlds between them. Everil, breathing deep, asleep almost as soon as the lights went off. Bo, staring at the wall, wide awake, replaying their argument with a knot of rejection in his gut.
Fucking sucked, feeling that mild confusion turn to wariness. Everil bracing himself, waiting for Bo to lash out. Shame like stagnant water on Bo’s tongue. Still there, while Everil slept.
Bo was an inconsiderate prick.
Everil’dsaidhe wasn’t good at figuring shit out. Had asked Bo to tell him. Not even a day, and Bo was making him guess. Assuming shit.
Fuck. Felt like no matter what he did, Everil ended up bruised. Bo kept trying not to fight, not to damage, not to make Everil feel bad. Trying and failing.
The bed creaked as Everil shifted, the slight movement paired with a whimpering breath. No words, nothing through the bond that said the kelpie was awake. Bo twisted to see Everil bury his face into the pillow, his hair an ink spill in the mottled darkness of the room.
He looked so fucking small.
Another soft sound, a flinch made with noise instead of movement. A hitched inhale as Bo rolled to face him.
Everil’s shoulders were pulled in tight, his breathing growing more unsteady. And Bo couldfeelit through their bond. Something muted but ugly. Violent enough that Bo closed the space between them. Knee tucked against the back of Everil’s, fingers curled over a bare stretch of freckled arm.
Relief sang through him at the contact, stagnant water turned to a pure, icy stream. Bo stilled, as the itch along his skin faded. Waited for Everil to wake up and go stiff, upset over Bo crossing a very valid, set line.
Instead, Everil shuddered once, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. His breathing deepened, no more flinching whimpers. Just quiet.
Fuck.
Bo wasn’t going to think about the way they fit together or how easy it would be to press closer. Keep it like this. Knees. Shins. Hand to arm. Forehead to neck. Nothing ‘untoward,’ to use an Everil word.
Still. Line fucking crossed, no matter how much it seemed to help. Took the rigidity out of Everil’s spine, the flinching tension that Bo’d put there by letting his stupid feelings get hurt.
(And look at him now. The kelpie had been right not to share a bed with Bo.)
He should let go. Roll back over.
He didn’t.
