Who was shaking?
Sawyer didn’t care. All he cared about right then was Ciaran. “I saw you,” he said, lifting his hand out of the blankets. “The other you. The real you.”
Except his hand was trembling, and his voice sounded raspy and reverberated. Sawyer realised far too belatedly that his teeth were chattering so hard, he could barely speak.
“Get him inside. Now,” Kellan barked. “Into bed. Again. Jesus Christ.”
Then he was being carried within strong arms and against a warm body. And the scent. Everything that made him feel right.
Whole.
His body felt wrong, though. Strung too tight and far too cold. He was shaking so hard, it hurt, but in his mind, he was right where he needed to be.
His heart was too.
He was back in the police station, then inside his small flat. His clothes were being ripped off him, and then he was in his bed, and he was about to protest—because what the actual fuck was happening to him? Why was he letting this happen to him?—but those strong arms were around him again, that perfect scent...
But then the pain crept in, along with the realisation that his body really fucking hurt.
Sawyer was so cold. He’d never been so cold.
“I got you,” a deep voice whispered.
Ciaran.
Oh, thank god.
He was pretty sure he heard Ciaran asking someone to turn the heat up and having a conversation without him, but Sawyer could only hear the murmur of his voice from where his ear was pressed against Ciaran’s chest.
The heavy weight of the blankets felt good, and there was the strangest thrum of heartbeats echoing. His mind was playing tricks on him, no doubt.
Ciaran was warm, and his strong arms held him so tight.
So right.
Then he was drifting off, dreaming that he was underwater in a galaxy silent, glittering, and heartbreakingly beautiful. Where there was nothing but an inexplicable sense of peace, strong arms, and copper-coloured eyes.
Sawyer woke up,heavy and hot. Disoriented.
He was groggy, and he had no clue what time it was or even what day it was.
It took him a moment to realise he was not alone.
Christ. Was he drooling?
The broad chest his face was plastered to rumbled and vibrated with quiet laughter.
Sawyer sat up and wiped his mouth, looking back to see...
Ciaran.
Shirtless, propped up on Sawyer’s pillows, arm folded behind his head, smirking, and sweet mother of god, Sawyer had never seen anything so beautiful. “Good morning.”
Sawyer squinted his eyes closed and reopened them to check if he was dreaming.
Nope.
Still there.
