My hand finds its way to the pulse point on his neck, and Kit sucks in a breath, looking between my eyes. He must be able to see enough, because his own hand moves to my face. “Boe,” he whispers right before I seal my lips over his.
I'm possessed by the need to claim. To hold onto every second I get to feel this. Feel him. We're sweat and nails and whispered pleas. We're past and present. Two broken men who are trying to banish guilt and fear and outrun the ghosts of who we used to be. Trying to deal with a future that feels too scary to consider, because I know what life is like without him.
I know how hollow it is. I know what it's like to wake up every morning not knowing where he is, what he's doing or if he's okay. I know the anxiety of looking at a blank phone screen, expecting it to light up with a call any minute, telling you he's gone.
Kit moans under me, gripping my hip as I move inside him. I move in slow, shallow thrusts. Not willing to part my chest from his. I lace my fingers with his other hand, and he wraps his legs around me. We're as tangled together as we could possibly be, and it's not enough.
I want him to tell me he's mine, and mean it. I want him to tell me he's not leaving. Never leaving.
I don't know how I would survive it.
I know he's gone before I even open my eyes. I can sense the cool sheets before I even rub my hand against them.
It smells like sex in here. Sex and Kit, wrapped up in me. I'd be smug as fuck about it if my bed wasn't empty beside me.
The bathroom door is open, light off. I force myself to take a piss, wash my hands, and look at myself in the mirror. Faint red trails cover my shoulders and down my back. Visible proof that he was here.
His bedroom door is cracked, and it creaks on its hinges when I press my knuckles into it. No Kit there either. No banging around in the kitchen, or him curled up on the couch.
That's when I hear a laugh that's familiar but feels out of place here now. The morning sun is bright against my tired eyes, but I see them through the window clearly. Pat Meyer is holding a tool up for Kit, who is scrunching his nose and shaking his head. Pat laughs, pats Kit on the shoulder and goes back under the hood of Kit's van.
I didn't think he would be here so soon. I thought we had more time.
Kit looks back over his shoulder at the cabin, and I quickly pivot out of view.
Fuck.
Kit
This man, the one who’s been brooding on the porch stairs for the last twenty minutes, is not the same man who woke me up with desperate kisses in the middle of the night. Cannot possibly be.
He walked out a little while ago, freshly showered in a loose t-shirt and joggers, pressed a mug of coffee and a strawberry Pop-Tart in my hands. Then, he gave my dad a hug, which included the hard back pats men love to do. My dad told Bowen he was looking good, and Bowen asked about Fiona. They talked wire harnesses and spark plugs for a few minutes. Then Bowen basically shoulder-checked me in his haste to hurry up and glare. From all the way over there.
I guess I didn't consider having a conversation about what we would tell our families. It all happened so fast. Was it really just yesterday morning that I woke up alone in the cabin?
“I've got a friend willing to tow it closer to home. It should be good as new in a few days,” Dad says, wiping his dirty hands on an old rag he pulls out of his toolbox.
I hope he doesn't take offense to the weak smile I offer up. It's about all I can manage. I didn't expect this today. To see him, to have to figure out what the hell I'm doing. Bowen and I haven't had the chance to talk about any of it.
And now he's being a dick.
I threw on one of his hoodies when my dad called earlier, and the sleeves are much too long. I bunch the extra fabric in my fists and turn towards Bowen when my dad starts walking that way.
“Your Mom will be so happy, Kit. You've got no idea. It will be the best birthday gift for her today to finally have you home.” He ruffles my hair, and I force another pained grin. Dad continues up the steps, telling us he'll be right back.
“What's wrong?” I ask, and add, “Boe?” When he doesn't look up at me. His arms are resting on his knees, and he's twisting one of his rings around and around. Every second he's silent is a second closer to my dad coming back out and ending our chances at a conversation.
Just say something!
“Bowen,” I snap, harsh but quiet. Finally, fucking finally, he looks up at me. No softness there. Just the same icy blue eyes I got used to from the moment I woke up on the dock that first day, to him standing above me.
We hear the crunching tires in the drive at the same time because we both turn our attention to the black car driving down like it's done it a hundred times before.
My stomach drops down to hell when it stops, the driver's door opens, and none other than fucking Delaney Von climbs out.
Bowen doesn't look surprised to see her. He doesn't look anything.
“Good morning, boys,” she sing-songs, then holds up a white box. “I brought pastries.”
