Chapter 13

Thirteen

Ezra

“ H ey…” Something soft plays in my hair. “We have to go soon.”

DG .

“Already got a shower, tried to let you sleep,” he murmurs.

Oh shit! The hospital! I grab his hand, bring his palm to my mouth, brush my lips against it.

Then I let his hand go, make myself sit up. Shit, I’m sore—like I’ve been in the same position for the whole damn weekend.

“Did I sleep all night?” I frown around his room.

“Just about,” Mills says. “You stirred a time or two, but no real waking up.”

“Damn. I don’t remember waking up.” Is that really possible?

“That’s good,” he says softly.

I allow myself to look up at Mills. Blue eyes under a mop of wavy, dark brown hair…freckles on his cheeks…those soft lips that I like to lick and nip. My dick twitches, which makes me laugh—an awkward, husky soun d.

Is this shit real?

Mills drops down beside me, wraps an arm around my back, and presses my face to his shoulder. Warm Miller . I wait for him to say something, or do something, but he doesn’t. He’s just holding me against him. Letting me wake up.

“You smell good,” I whisper.

“It’s just soap.” I hear him smiling.

I kiss his throat. He kisses my lips—a little brush of his mouth on mine. I kiss him back and deepen it, because I love the way his tongue feels. Kissing him is so much better than I ever knew it would be.

He pulls away to smile at me and whisper, “You’re an amazing kisser.”

I feel my ears burn. “You are.” Then I get up fast, before this goes too far. “I’ll be back.”

I shower quick and throw on black jeans and an old Johnny Cash T-shirt with some black chucks. My hair is still damp when I walk into his room, finding him lying on his back on the little brown love seat beside his dresser.

He sits up when he sees me, giving me a small smile.

“Ready, Millsy?”

He gives me a funny little narrowed-eyed look, like he’s jokingly objecting to the nickname.

“What? I can’t call you Millsy?”

“I don’t know.” He gives a quiet sigh as he gets up. “I guess I’ll accept it.” He means to tease, but his energy is too downbeat for that. He’s quiet as he gets his keys and wallet off his dresser, scoops his phone off the duvet.

Shit, I guess he must be feeling down.

Of course he is. Fuck.

“Let’s get some lunch on the way,” I say as we start down the stairs. “What do you like?”

“No lunch.”

I look back at him. “How come? ”

“I have to get an MRI…or I might? My mom forgot to tell me, or maybe she didn’t know. I got an automated text last night, though. Telling me don’t eat.”

Well, shit. “You ever had one before?” I ask.

“Yeah. It’s been a long time, though. I don’t remember it well.”

I should tell him I’ve had one. That they’re not so bad.

“I think they’re not too bad,” I say as the sunlight from the skylight slats over my face. “My mom had one once. It’s just lying down on a table, and the table slides into this machine. It’s loud, but you wear headphones. Then it’s over.”

“Seems like they might put me to sleep for it,” he says. “If they don’t want me to eat.”

I look back at him, trying to fight the somersaulting feeling in my stomach. “You ever done that? Gone to sleep?”

He nods as I open the front door for him.

“Broke my ankle when I was a kid,” he says.

“They had to surgerize it?”

“Surgerize?” That makes him laugh, which makes my chest feel less tight. As we approach my car, I really want to fucking hug him before we get in. But I can’t bring myself to do it. Even when he’s sad and pensive, DG is so fucking good. He’s way too good for me, in every way. I can fuck around with him for a while, ease us both for right now, but he’ll never really be mine.

Something hits me as I reach for the passenger’s side door. “Hey, you wanna go in your car instead? So it feels like home?”

He gives me a cute, squinty-eyed smile with his nose scrunched. “I don’t think so. Your car smells like Bubble Yum.”

“Then Bubble Yum it is.” I open the door, and DG climbs into my Jeep. For a second, my Chucks are pasted to the ground as I drink in the way his body moves. How bulky he is. Sturdy. Still somehow elegant. He’s beautiful and so fuck hot it nearly kills me .

Last night we sucked each other’s cocks and fell asleep together…

I rip my thoughts away from that and blink at him here in the moment. He’s got on a lime green Polo and khaki cargo shorts with white Jordans. He’s looking sharp as shit.

I can’t help telling him that, even though it’s better if I don’t act like a boyfriend. “Lookin’ good, man.”

As I walk around the Jeep, I wonder if he’s dressing for the doctors. A lot of them are judgmental as fuck, and they have a whole damn lot of power. I feel sick at that thought as I slide behind the wheel. Mills should never have to see a doctor. All the pain that people go through—it should skip right over him. I’d take some of it if I could. Fix that karma for us.

I crank the Jeep and try to give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. He smiles back. It’s strained, though.

We start off the drive with gum, which helps with the tight-chest feeling I get when I don’t smoke right after waking up. I notice Mills is mostly looking out the window. Shifting around in his seat like he’s not comfy. He’s nervous. I can feel it. I don’t know what to say about it. Probably don’t need to mention it directly.

I could always suck his dick on the way. Just pull over somewhere…

I’m sort of zoned out, driving local roads toward the highway that will take us down to Birmingham, when DG lets out a laugh.

“Dude! What’s going on there?”

I blink, and I realize I’ve got my hand on my dick. And I’ve got serious wood. I cut a wide-eyed look at him and try to tuck the thing between my legs.

He snickers. “You’re like… driving , dude.”

“With you . Got those legs all stretched out in my front seat. Smelling like that fuckboy soap.”

“What?” He’s laughing his ass off, just like I hoped he might. “Dude that shit is fucking Dial .”

“It’s not real Dial. It’s some get-your-dick-up Dial.”

He throws his head back laughing, and my gaze laps at that smooth, tanned throat. His Adam’s apple. Fuck, I’ve got a thing for thick necks. That’s not gonna help the problem in my pants.

“I can’t believe my soap gets your dick up,” he laughs.

“I think I said it was your legs.”

“I can’t believe my anything gets you up.”

“I know.” I swallow, breathing slowly in through my nose. “Because I was…how I was with you. You’re too good for me.” It comes out rasped.

“C’mon, angel. Don’t do that. If you’re doing that, you must be scared. And if you’re scared, you shouldn’t be.”

My chest feels too tight, because I don’t know what I can say—to make him understand where I am. What’s at stake for me.

Maybe it doesn’t matter.

I catch his gaze before turning left onto the highway, and I decide it doesn’t. Nothing matters but him—being in this moment with him. At least until I can’t anymore.

Josh

He’s wearing sunglasses, so I can only really see his mouth. The way he bites the side of his cheek, then chews his lower lip. His hands move on the wheel, flexing and gripping and repeating.

There’s something going on with him. I guess he’s stuck in his head, although I can’t guess why. He’s such a prickly porcupine, and so closed off, maybe it’s a big strain for him to be as close with someone as he was with me last night. I tell myself not to worry, just focus on snapping him out of it.

I tap his upper arm. “Give me your hand.”

Ez hesitates for just a second before reaching toward me. He sort of hits me in the pec, which means he’s got his eyes locked on the road; I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to look at me.

I wrap his hand in both of mine. “Does that feel good?” I ask him softly.

“Yeah.” It’s raspy.

“This is the football hand, huh?” I turn it palm up and run my fingertips over its callouses. “Does it get sore sometimes? Strained or whatever?”

He nods.

“What do you do for that?” I massage the palm, and he gives a soft groan.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Maybe that.”

“Yeah?” I rub between his thumb and forefinger.

“Damn, man.”

“A little tight?” I whisper.

“Always.”

I massage, and he breathes deeper. I don’t keep it up for long, because it might be hard for him to drive while I do it. I bring his hand down to my thigh and put mine over it.

My hand almost covers his. I trace the veins on the back side of his hand; one runs between his knuckles.

“I love your hands.”

There’s a beat of silence before he answers—a beat in which my heart flip-flops with fear that he’ll back out of all this, leave me to fall on my face again. When he speaks, his voice is soft. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Relief . “The knuckles and the veins. Hands…legs, throats. Those are my thing.”

“Things,” he says, and I’m relieved to see the twitch of a smirk.

His hand spreads out on my quad, squeezing lightly. “This is one of mine,” he says. “So damn thicc . ”

I want to ask if he’s ever been with anyone but me. Not because I think I have a right to know—but so I’d have something to grab hold of. I feel like I’m falling through thin air alone. I’ve felt like this for so long with him. Even though last night was a damn dream, the fact that he’s acting cooler today scares me.

“Whatcha thinking, Millsy?”

I laugh. “I’m scared of you, too, you know.”

His face sobers. “You should stay away from me.”

“Why?” I can’t say it louder than a whisper.

He smiles at me. It’s the saddest smile I’ve ever seen from anyone. It feels gentle, like he’s giving me bad news with only his lips and cheek.

“Because I’m not a good guy.” He smiles again, this one just a fraction better. “I’m not like you.”

“Dude, I’m not a good guy either. I’m just normal.”

“I am sorry,” he says. His tone is heavy, musing, like he’s mulling over his regrets. “I’m sorry I was such a fucking dick to you. If I could, I would go back and change that.”

“Could you, though?” It’s the kind of stupid, pseudo-philosophical question my brain churns up all the time. Could he—in a hypothetical, time-machine scenario—change how he acted?

He looks pensive. “That depends, I guess. On what else I could change.”

“Do you have a lot of stuff you’d want to re-do if you could? In this hypothetical time-machine scenario?”

“What do you think?” he says flatly.

“I don’t know. I don’t know all that much about you. Even though I want to,” I add.

He gives me nothing. This is why I’m so off-kilter. I watch as he adjusts his grip on the wheel and navigates into the middle lane of traffic. He grabs his phone off his lap and frowns down at it. “Get off here in twelve more miles. That sound familiar?”

“Yeah. You don’t need the GPS, though. I can get you there. ”

He nods once and stares out at the road for a while. “Feel free to play some music.” He hands me the plug-in for an iPhone.

Just like that, the conversation’s over?

I try to stay chill and fuck around on my phone. I don’t know exactly what music he likes, beyond classic rock, and I don’t want to just play something random. I scroll Instagram to have something to do. Looking at it in the car makes me tired.

“You falling asleep?” he murmurs. “Put your seat back.”

I force a smile. “Okay, Dad.”

He reaches over and runs his hand up into the back of my hair. “Get some rest. I’ll go slow.” A moment later, his hand reaches for mine. “I’ll go with you. If you want.”

I shut my eyes so I can feel his hand around mine. “You don’t have to.”

His hand tightens on mine. “I will.”

Somehow, I can’t bring myself to look up at him. Embarrassment, I guess. And all my desire for him. I’ve been tripping over my feet around Ezra since the first day he got here—even during the times that I felt like I hated him. He’s so magnetic. His hand around mine right now makes my heart beat faster. Not a bad thing; he just supercharges me.

I keep my eyes closed until I feel him changing lanes, and then I open them, confirming that he’s exiting. I let his hand go. We’re getting close.

“Whatcha thinking?” he asks softly.

“Nothing.”

His hand comes back to my leg, rubbing briefly before he needs it to drive. We’re turning left into the parking lot now…driving by the big, red and blue hospital sign.

He parks in the deck and walks around to my side of the Jeep. When I get out, he takes my hand and squeezes. “You’ve got this, dude.”

“Thanks. ”

He lets my hand go, but we walk mostly in step with each other on the sidewalk toward the entrance. As we step into the revolving door, his hand goes to my lower back. Then we’re in the lobby. Colorful and tall and open. I’m hit by the memories of this place—of coming here with my mom. A woman pulls a kid by in a red wagon—they have these wooden wagons kids can ride in—and my throat cinches.

Ezra’s hand is at my back again. “Where we going, brother?”

Oh yeah. “Second floor.”

In the elevator, he steps close to me and wraps an arm around me, pulling me up against him so my face could touch his chest if I wanted. His hand rubs a big, firm circle on my back as his lips brush over the top of my head. “Over soon,” he tells me. “When we go, I want a milkshake.”

“Me too.”

We sit in the waiting room together. He shows me some memes on his phone. When they call me back, he asks if he should go, too.

“You don’t have to.”

“You want me to stay out here?” His brows draw together, and I can’t bring myself to ask him to go back with me.

“For now, I guess so.”

I go back, and all the old stuff. Weight check, blood pressure, blah blah. They do the EEG, and I don’t really like the nurse. She seems too chipper. The thing comes back normal.

“We’ll just do an MRI,” she says, like it’s no bfd. “We don’t have you down for general anesthesia, just IV sedation. Is there someone in the waiting room you’d like us to get?”

“My stepbrother.” My voice wavers a little on it. Maybe it’s not a good idea to bring him into this.

I think of his hand on my back when we moved through the revolving door and shut my eyes as a nurse swabs the top of my hand for an IV.

“Just a quick stick,” she says .

I grit my teeth, but she’s right. It is quick. Nearly painless.

“This will run for ten or twelve minutes,” she says, putting her hand on the bag. “Then we’ll unhook you and send you back to MRI, and afterward, someone will need to meet you in the waiting room.”