"Yes, you are." He reaches out and puts his hand on my chest, right over my heart, his palm warm even through my shirt. "You're still in there. You just forgot for a while. But you're still the same person who held me in the dark and made me feel safe. You're still the person who broke your arm protecting me. You're still my Jay."
My Jay.
I can feel the heat of his palm through my shirt, burning like a brand. My heart is slamming against my ribs, and he can definitely feel it. I want to kiss him so goddamn bad. I want to close the distance between us and press my lips to his and finally know what it feels like. I want it so badly my hands are shaking. I've been wanting it since I opened the door last night and saw him standing there.
But I can't kiss him.
I can't do that to him. He doesn't know I'm attracted to him. And if I kiss him and he doesn't want it, if I ruin this thing between us before it even has a chance to grow. I step back to break my spiraling. Ivan's hand falls away from my chest.
"We should head out," I say. "There's more to see. I could take you to this place I like to ride. This spot outside town, up on a ridge. You can see for miles. The whole valley spreads out beneath you."
Ivan looks at me as if he wants to say something, then he nods. "Okay. Sounds good. Show me."
I cover the Triumph back up and lead him out of the shop, locking the door behind us. My hands are trembling slightly, and I shove them in my pockets so he won't notice.
Shit.I almost kissed him.
I almost ruined everything. I have to keep this under control. I have to remember that he's here for his foster brother, nothing more.
But when we get back on the bike, and his arms wrap around my waist again, and I feel him settle against my back, I don't know how much longer I can pretend.
How much longer can I hide how I feel?
Chapter 21: Ivan
Something odd happened in the shop.
I don't know exactly what, but something shifted between us. One moment Jay was showing me the Triumph, his hands gesturing as he explained the wiring, and then, I stepped closer. I put my hand on his chest and he pulled away from me.
Not dramatically, not like I'd hurt him, but definitely away. Deliberately. And there was a weird look in his eyes—something raw and scared—that disappeared before I could figure out what I was seeing.
I don't understand what happened. Or why he jerked away. Or even if he did, and I'm imagining things. I was just trying to tell him that he mattered. That he was more than he thought he was. I wasn't trying to—hell, I don't know what I was trying to do. Maybe that's the problem and he knows it.
Now we're back on the motorcycle, and I'm pressed against his back with my arms wrapped around his waist, and I can't stop thinking about the moment in the shop. The way my hand felt on his chest—the warmth of him through his shirt, the solid muscle underneath. The way his heart was pounding under my palm, fast and hard. Like he was terrified.
Why was his heart beating so fast?
Is he scared of me? Or is he going through some kind of withdrawal?
Fuck, I don't know what's happening.
I keep holding on tight and he keeps driving. The houses thin out, replaced by trees and open fields. I press closer to his back. He's warm and solid in front of me, and I can feel the shift of his muscles as he guides the bike through the turns.
I've never been this physically close to anyone for this long. At the Reyes house, there are hugs, sure. Rosalyn pulls me into her arms whenever I come through the door after work. Mitchell claps me on the shoulder. Caleb sometimes climbs onto my lap when we're watching TV.
But this is different. This is sustained contact, intimate in a way. My chest pressed against his back, my arms around his body, my thighs alonghis hips. Every breath, every heartbeat, I can feel it. We're connected from shoulders to knees, moving together, breathing together.
I don't want it to stop.
I don't want to arrive wherever we're going because that means separating our bodies, putting space between us again. I want to stay like this forever, wrapped around Jay, feeling the rumble of the engine underneath us and the wind whipping past.
What am I feeling?
I've never thought much about attraction. Never had time for it, never had space in my life for it. At the group homes, you didn't think about that kind of thing—you thought about surviving the day, avoiding the bullies, getting enough food. And then with the Reyes family, I was so focused on building a future, on getting through school and trade school and my licensing exams, that relationships seemed like a luxury I couldn't afford. Something for later, when I had my life together.
But this physical pull toward Jay, this awareness of his body, this desperate need to stay close—it's not something I can ignore or push aside.
It demands attention.
