Shrugging, I guide him back to the couch. He’s letting me support more and more of his weight, and I think he needs to get off his feet. “Maybe. You had meds in there. And what? A hundred bucks’ worth of food? The asshole needed to know what his people were doing. If I overstepped, I’m sorry.”
“No. You were right. I suck at standing up for myself. Or...asking for what I want.”
“Well, practice. With me.” I lean against the arm of the sofa, intentionally putting some distance between us. “What do you want? Right now.”
“I want you to stay.”
The words seem to surprise him as much as they shock me. My brows shoot up, and half the blood in my body heads south, but apparently I have no poker face where he’s concerned, because his cheeks turn a deep red and he holds up his hands.
“I didn’t mean...that. Not tonight. Shit. This is why you should run, Graham. I’m so messed up I can’t even explain—“
I wrap my arms around him and pull him close. “You don’t have to.”
The tension seeps out of him once he’s settled against my chest, his legs tucked up under him. After a few minutes, his breathing changes, and shit. He’s asleep.
What the hell do I do now? Stay on the couch with him all night? We’d both regret it in the morning. Despite how good it feels to have him in my arms.
After half an hour, when he still hasn’t moved, I whisper, “Q? I’m going to take you upstairs, okay?”
He doesn’t answer, and I slide my arm under his knees. Thank fuck for all those jump squats West insists we do every couple of days. Q’s lighter than I expect, but still, it’s awkward as fuck to stand without jostling him awake.
Peeking down the hall into the only other room on this floor, I find workout equipment, so his bedroom must be upstairs.
The large bed takes up most of the space, and I pull back the dark blue duvet and sheet and lay him down before taking off his shoes. I have no idea if I should go any further. Or where the fuck he wantsmeto stay.
The man’s fastidious about his security. Whether I sleep on the couch or in here on the floor, I have to double check all the locks first. Four on the front door, three on the back. When I’m done, I glance at his computer, checking for any motion events over the past hour. It’s all clear.
“Graham?” Q’s panicked voice carries down the stairs, and I take them two at a time to get back to the bedroom. He’s sitting up, white-knuckling the sheets.
“What’s wrong?”
“I...didn’t know if you were still here.” He relaxes slightly, then meets my gaze, the plea obvious in his eyes. “Are you…staying?”
“I was just checking the locks.” Shoving my hands into my pockets, I find the faulty sensor. “I can take the couch. But if you have an extra blanket—”
“The bed’s big enough...”
Fuck. He’s so hesitant. Like he expects me to be angry. Or to refuse. Sitting on the opposite side of the bed, I remove my boots and shove the security sensor into one, and my wallet, phone, and keys into the other.
When I turn back around, he’s wriggling out of his sweat pants, revealing tight blue boxer briefs with pink hearts on them. It’s fucking adorable, and makes me want him even more. One day...I hope he’s ready for that.
“You can...um...” He gestures to my pants and pulls back the blankets.
“Are you sure?”
His eyes go glassy. “I can’t…doanything.” There’s that shame again. The look that tells me he thinks he’s too broken to be worth anyone’s time. “Not tonight. My back hasn’t stopped spasming for hours. But I miss...being held.”
“Then I’ll hold you. All night.” Shedding my pants, I catch the appreciation flickering in his eyes. My briefs are a lot tighter than they were a few seconds ago, but I will myself to calm the fuck down.
I can’t get under the covers fast enough, and when he turns so I can spoon him, I press a kiss to the back of his head. “I’ve got you.”
His little sigh as he relaxes is beautiful, and I reach up and flip off the light on the table next to him.
I think I missed holding someone as much—if not more—than he missed being held. Because this? It feels...right.
Chapter Twelve
Quinton
