“I can’t, even though I know I should. Now, let’s get the hell out of here.”
Chapter 23
Stone
Ican’t believe after all the years I spent trying to keep him safe, I’m the one who’s going to cause Hanlon’s downfall. If one person runs their mouth to my boss, my job is done. And if my boss runs his mouth to the board of the American Avalanche Association, Hanlon’s internship will probably come to an end as well, which will leave him unable to graduate.
Yet, despite all of that, all I want is to hold him in my stupid, selfish arms.
“It’s my fault, you know,” Hanlon says from his position on the couch with his head in my lap. “And I’m really fucking sorry.” He hiccups as he says the last part.
“Yourfault?” I take his glass of ginger ale and set it on the coffee table. Hanlon and I still have to work tomorrow, although we don’t have to start until eight because we aren’t blasting, but after the events of the night, we both switched to something non-alcoholic when we got home.
We left the party shortly after being caught. Our excuse wasthat Hanlon wasn’t feeling well, and as his mentor, I needed to make sure he got back okay.
Logan was nowhere to be found as we said our goodbyes.
“Yeah,” Hanlon confirms. “I’m the one who told you to follow me downstairs. I’m the one who couldn’t stand someone else touching you for afew hours. I never should have risked getting caught like that. Yourjobis on the line, Stone,” he laments as I continue playing with his hair.
“And if I hadn’t wanted to do it, I wouldn’t have, Hanlon. We’re both at fault,” I point out, refusing to allow him to accept all the blame.
“This is a bit of a clusterfuck, isn’t it?” he laments.
“Enough wallowing,” I decide, tapping his shoulder, making him sit up. “We knew the risks. Even if we hadn’t been caught at the party, we knew this was a bad idea, but I want to do it anyway, Hanlon. Doing this withyou,of all people, may not make sense, but when I’m with you, everything else does. And that’s not something I’ve ever felt before.” Hanlon’s head jerks back like I slapped him. I guess sometimes the truth can feel that way. But he stays quiet, and dread fills my stomach. “Han? Say something.”
“I’ve fucking missed you,” he says, choking on a sob as he sits up and launches himself onto my lap.
Every time I wrap my arms around him, I feel more at peace than ever, because when Hanlon is pressed against me like this, I know he’s safe. I can gather all the information I need and take action if something’s wrong. I can gauge his stress by the tightness in his muscles; I can tell if he’s too cold or too warm; I can feel his chest rising against my own; and I can count his respirations, which clue me in to his anxiety level.
Right now, Hanlon’s breathing is even, his muscles are loose, and he’s not shivering or sweating. He’s perfectly content despite the situation, and that makesmeperfectly contentas well.
“Stay with me tonight?” I ask, allowing my insecurity to poke through just a little.
Hanlon and I haven’t slept in the same bed yet. I think we both felt like once we do, we can no longer pretend we’re just fooling around, getting off, or that this is him trying to educate me on my options. Sleeping in each other’s arms is intimate. It’s whatcouplesdo.
It’s what Ineed,and tonight, I fear that if he’s left alone in the dark with nothing but his thoughts, he’ll change his mind about this. After tonight, the possibility of losing him feels more like aprobability, and I find myself holding on tighter.
Oh, the irony.
“You’re sure?” he asks, searching my face.
“I’m sure.”
The feelingof someone staring at me makes my eyes blink open. The sight I’m greeted with causes a sleepy smile to spread across my face.
Hanlon is lying on his side, palms pressed together, tucked under his cheek.
We fell asleep holding onto each other last night. Neither of us made a move to take it further than that, which was actually really nice and made this thing between us feel multi-dimensional and not just about constantly getting off.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says, not sounding tired at all.
“How does your breath smell like spearmint already?” I ask, rolling onto my back, stretching my arms overhead.
“Because I’ve been up for an hour and a half, had my coffee, and brushed my teeth.”
“What time is it?”
“Six-forty.”
