This would probably end up being James’s room. It was halfway between the master bedroom and the main staircase. Kit figured Darius would want one of the downstairs bedrooms, because he still needed more space sometimes. But James liked being in the middle of everything.
Usually. Right now, James just needed Kit. Knowing someone so well was eerie. The pressure hurt Kit’s heart.
Closing the door shut out the rest of the world, and Kit didn’t know what to do next. James needing him was one thing. Figuring out what that meant was another.
Normally Kit would try sex—tried, tested, excellent distraction. But if James wanted sex, he would already be shoving Kit against the wall. Every other idea seemed stupid. Hot bath? Scented candles? Foot massage?
How did people comfort each other without orgasms?
God. Only one thing to do.
“What do you need from me?” Kit asked, feeling horribly, awkwardly sincere. He must really love this man, if he was willing to use his words.
“I want to lie in bed holding you for at least five hours,” James said, like he’d planned this out. “If you need the bathroom, now’s your chance.”
Kit rolled out his neck and shoulders. “I can do that.” He tugged James toward the bed. “Let me… let me take your shoes off.”
“You don’t have to,” James started, but he must see Kit’s desperation to do something. Without further protest, he slumped on the edge of the bed.
Kit knelt. The moment his knees hit the floor, he felt right. As he unlaced James’s boots, he recalled the first time he knelt for James. In the limousine, letting James fuck his face, after Kit helped him kill a man.
That day led them here. To James achieving his revenge. To Kit loving him—and hardest of all, admitting it to himself.
Kit slid James’s left boot off. If he was into feet, this would be great, the way James’s foot was all warm in its sock. Kit wasn’t into feet, but he didn’t mind because it was James. Just like he wasn’t into murder. But he didn’t mind when it was James. Or the others.
He moved to James’s right boot. “Is it weird that I wish I’d been there?”
“Kinda weird, babe.” James pulled Kit up by the elbows. His grin was brighter than the sunset. “But I love that about you.”
They tumbled into bed, where they fit perfectly together. Kit’s back pressed against James’s chest, and James’s arms looped around him like a straitjacket. Being there for the deathblows would have been nice. It was such an important moment for James, and Kit selfishly felt excluded by being left at home.
But being here for this was better. The moment after—and the moment before. The rest of James’s life was about to begin.
When Dad got convicted, Kit had thought he was at a similar moment. Everything was handled and Kit could move on. That lasted for about three days, before elation shattered into fear shattered into numbness.
Maybe if Kit had killed Dad instead of turning him in, moving on would be easier.
James kissed the back of Kit’s head. “I’m going to lie low for a few weeks. Put some face time in at the office. But after that… I want to visit my family at the cemetery. Would you come with me?”
Kit squeezed James’s hand over his chest. “I’d like that.”
Sometimes love hurt. Just like Kit used to fear. But it was better than being numb.
Bacon and pancakes called Kit to the kitchen the next morning. The scene was bizarrely adorable. Holden and Darius sat at the kitchen table, Holden scrolling on his phone and Darius reading an actual physical newspaper. A pitcher of orange juice presided over the syrup and butter.
“Look who’s finally up,” James said, sliding a platter of pancakes onto the table.
Kit rubbed his bleary eyes. “It’s seven in the morning, you fucking psychopath.”
Kit and James got in a solid several hours of weird grief cuddling last night, then stayed up late with the others reviewing events. The warning assignment from Felicity. Darius’s insistence on acting fast and acting alone. Preliminary cleanup status.
Only the smell of bacon had dragged Kit from his empty bed.
“Busy day ahead,” Darius commented over his newspaper. “I’m meeting Bishop to continue the cleanup.”
“Can I come?” Holden asked eagerly.
Kit dropped into an empty seat, the one with a steaming mug of coffee waiting for him. “Don’t you have class today?”
