Warmth spreads through my chest, down to my limbs as I watch them go up the stairs. Something as simple as watching a movie with him shouldn’t feel so damn monumental, but it does after all the time we’ve spent avoiding each other for so long. And especially after what we shared last night. That wasn’t just sex. It was so much more. There was an intensity and a passion that I’ve never felt before. It felt like my chest was cracked open. Like his essence wrapped around the beating organ in there that’s on full display for him, for the taking. The way we moved together as one, the way we looked at each other, the way we kissed…it was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It was unlike any feeling I even believed existed.
There is no going back to who I was before Boone. It’s impossible. I don’t know what to do with that, though, because it’s still wrong. I’m still betraying my sister. Still lying to her and hiding this huge, earth-shifting secret from her. What does that say about me?
Fifteen minutes later, Boone bounds down the stairs, and I have some movie turned on that I’ve never heard of but has great ratings. “Want a beer?” he asks, passing behind the couch, ruffling the hair atop my head as he goes.
A smile spreads on my lips before I can stop myself. “Sure. Thanks.”
The movie ends up being boring as hell, but I can’t even find it in myself to be annoyed by that. The entire time we’re watching it, we’re sitting close enough that our thighs aretouching, but we behave ourselves and don’t cross any lines. Not while we’re in the living room. His closeness and the way his body heat warms me up makes my heart thunder behind my ribs. It’s wild how natural it feels to do everyday things with Boone. As soon as the movie ends, we both get up, stretch, toss our beer cans in the garbage, and head to my room as if this was an everyday occurrence.
How I wish it was.
With the lights off, we watch each other as we undress down to our boxers. Then we climb under my covers, and before I even have a chance to second guess what I should be doing, Boone pulls me into his chest, wrapping his big, strong arms around me, and he buries his nose in the strands on top of my head. A shiver races down my spine as I hear him inhale softly, a barely-there groan rumbling from his throat. I nuzzle my face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in also, feeling dizzy and intoxicated all at the same time.
“I love holding you,” he murmurs so quietly I almost miss it. The admission sends goosebumps all over my flesh.
“You do?”
He nods, pressing a kiss to the top of my head before reaching down, hooking his index finger under my chin, and forcing my head back until our eyes meet. “It feels right,” he croaks. Then he kisses me. Slow, unhurried, and so,sodeep. Boone kisses me until my blood is boiling and my lungs cry out for air. He kisses me until we’re both aching and hard and panting, but neither of us does anything about it. Tonight isn’t about that. It’s unspoken, but I can feel it. It’s about finding comfort and solace in each other and the silence. It’s about pretending things are different and what we’re doing is okay. Tonight is about telling each other how we feel without breathing a word.
And for tonight, I let myself indulge in the delusion because, right here, in his arms, feels like where I’m supposed to be.
33
Boone Stanton
The next three nights pass in a similar fashion, with me unable to sleep and finding my way into Grady’s bed. Being in there, wrapped up in him, with only the two of us around, shouldn’t feel as comforting as it does. I can’t explain it. Neither of us has brought up the elephant in the room, even though we both can feel it. It’s almost like in the middle of the night, when it’s just us, we can pretend what we’re doing is okay. We can pretend we won’t hurt anyone when the truth comes out. Pretend that things won’t change. As unhealthy as that is, I think I need that more than anything right now. And I think Grady does too. The comfort in his eyes when he opens his door at night and sees me standing there, the way he looks at me when we make love, the way he holds on to me afterward…I see it, I feel it. He needs me as much as I need him.
But then, the morning comes, and it’s like everything we shared the night before—the things we talked about, the way our bodies made us feel, the connection we shared, the way we liedwrapped up in each other’s arms—vanishes. Grady puts up his wall, and it’s like nothing ever happened.
How can he pretend he feels nothing?
Unless he really does feel nothing. Maybe it’s just sex for him.
But it can’t be… Iseethe way he looks at me.There’s no way it’s purely physical.
As I park my truck in front of Colt’s parents’ house, I shake my head free from the spiral I’m about to send myself down, and I climb out before unbuckling Suzy from her car seat and getting her out too. Colt got home from the hospital two days ago, but this is the first time I’m getting to see him since he’s been discharged. The first day his mom said he mostly slept, and then yesterday they had family over.
His dad, Max, is standing on the porch as I approach. Suzy runs up the stairs, standing on her tiptoes as she wraps her arms around him. “Papa Max!”
Crouching down, he pulls her in for a proper hug. “You’re getting bigger every time I see you.”
“I do have a birthday soon,” Suzy states matter-of-factly. “So, I am getting bigger.”
Chuckling, I say, “Your birthday isn’t for another few months. Not exactly what I’d call soon, princess.”
Max stands up and reaches for the screen door. “Nana’s in the kitchen, and I think she could use some help,” he says to Suzy, and her eyes light up before she runs inside without a backward glance.
The Bishops, while not blood related, have always been like family with the Stantons. Suzy has called Max and Trish “Nana and Papa” since she learned how to talk, and Colt has always been her uncle. Same with Shooter and Cope, but she definitely has a preference for Shooter. Probably because he spoils her rotten.
Tipping my chin at him, I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “How’s he doing today?”
Colt suffered shoulder, wrist, and rib injuries from the accident. He had to undergo shoulder reconstructive surgery on his left side for a torn labrum and a torn rotator cuff, his wrist on his dominant side is fractured, but luckily, he didn’t need surgery on that, and he cracked a couple ribs when the bull stepped on him. All in all, he’s pretty beat up, but he’ll be okay in the long run, which is all that really matters.
“Been pretty grouchy all morning, but that’s to be expected,” Max says, pulling out his pack of smokes and lighting one. “He’s pissed about it all, and I can’t say that I blame him.”
If anyone understands what Colt’s going through right now, it’s Max. During his career, he suffered far worse, career-ending injuries that almost killed him. He was in his prime, a name known around the world, when an accident changed everything for him. From what Colt’s told me in the past, it was a hard time in their household after the accident. Colt was little, not even six, I don’t think, but Max fell into a pretty deep depression that was hard to climb back out of. I can’t imagine going through something like that, and he wasn’t much older than Colt when it happened.
“Is it okay if I go in there?”
