by Nell Iris
I open my mouth to speak, but he shakes his head.
“I know you mean well, but this is not the way I…” He sighs and covers his eyes with a trembling hand, and I want to pull him onto the couch and hold him in my arms. But if I do that, I’ll only make things worse, so I stay still.
“When I move in with someone, I want it to be because we love each other. Not because my mom threw me out and I have no other choice. I’m not like my mom.”
I know you aren’t, I want to argue. And you’d have someone who loves you here.
And I know it’s the truth even though I haven’t admitted it to myself before. It’s been the truth for a long time. But this is not the time for confessions like that. And I do get his reasoning, even though I want to tell him he’s nothing like his mom.
So I draw a stuttering breath and run my fingers through my hair. “Okay,” I say, voice cracking. I clear my throat and try again. “Okay. I understand.”
He lets his hand drop and he looks at me with eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you, Ashley.”
“Anytime.”
“I need to…” He points his thumb in the direction of the front door.
My eyes widen.
“No, not like that. Just for a little while. I’ll be back.”
I nod and let my eyes close.
Silence falls over the room, and for the first time ever, it’s uncomfortable. Then his fingers comb away my hair from my forehead and he brushes a kiss on my cheek.
My eyes start to prickle, and I swallow.
“I’ll be back,” he repeats and gives me another kiss. “I promise.”
I lay there, unmoving, listening to him getting dressed and walking out the door. Listening to the loneliness spreading through my house like wildfire.
I trust him. I know he’ll keep his promise and not run away, but I can’t help feeling like I lost something today just because I didn’t think before I spoke.
He’s not back when I go to bed. I lay on my side, facing away from the door, squeezing my eyes shut and breathing deep, trying to relax. But I can’t.
Not until later, when he finally crawls under the covers and plasters himself against me. He’s cold, as though he’s been outdoors the entire time, but I willingly share my warmth.
The adjustable wrench that has squeezed the life out of my heart since he left the house loosens its grip and I can breathe again. I was so scared he would choose to sleep on the couch, so scared I ruined everything before we even had a chance to start.
But now he’s here. In my bed. And I dare to hope again.
“You awake?” he mumbles.
“Mhm.”
“Turn around and kiss me.”
I do.
Chapter 12
I feared things would change after that, but they don’t. Pippin still joins me every morning for my after-work hot chocolate, but now they come with cuddles and sleepy-tasting kisses. He sleeps in my room even when I’m not there, so when I crawl into bed after work, my sheets are still warm and smell like him, and I sleep like a baby.
We grow closer every day, and when I allow myself to think about him moving away, my stomach fills with lead and I want to try and convince him to take me up on my offer.
But his pride would never accept it. Maybe if I had eased him into it instead of blurting it out like an idiot when he’d already had a crappy day, it would have gone better. Or maybe not.
My current strategy is to enjoy him for as long as he’s here and accept whatever happens next. I don’t think he’ll suddenly reject me if he finds a place of his own, but me working third shift, and him juggling two day-jobs will make seeing each other difficult, except for on weekends.
Which is why—when an internal job-listing is posted at work for a daytime position—I apply for it. I probably won’t get it, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. We’ll figure something out.
It’s not as difficult as I feared to be supportive of him in his hunt for a decent apartment. I show him ads and offer to go with him to check them out. I wrinkle my nose and look disgusted when he shows me a picture he took of the biggest cockroach I’d ever seen; he had been looking at a place he described as “two steps below a hovel.” I laugh at his story about the stench coming from the shower drain in one of the other places he investigated, and when he asks what could possibly smell that bad, I give him an entire list of things I’ve encountered in my career and don’t stop until he’s green in the face.
“Is it all right if I keep my stuff here, too, until I find a place of my own?” he asks one morning over cocoa. “I don’t have much.”
“Of course. I got plenty space. As long as you don’t stack boxes on top of my bed, we’re good.”
* * * *
Later the same day, as I’m making dinner, he gets home from a shift at the coffee shop, bringing two boxes with him. I eye the sorry stack in the hallway and ask, “Need help with the rest?”
“This is everything,” he says, sounding all normal, like he just hadn’t packed his entire life in two freaking boxes.
A lump forms in my throat, and I mumble something before I flee to the kitchen. He doesn’t have anything. He will have to spend a lot of money to just buy the necessities if he can’t find a fully furnished place.
“You all right?” he asks as he follows me into the kitchen.
“Sure.” I scratch my neck and decide to be honest. “I was just taken aback over how little stuff you’ve got.”
“Huh. I never thought about it.” He plops onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “Holy crap, I didn’t even think about how much stuff I need to buy. How could I be that stupid?”
“Hey! You’re not stupid. You’ve had a lot to think about, ‘s all.”
His shoulders slump and his mouth sets in a tight line.
“I know a great thrift store,” I say, trying to come up with a way of helping him other than giving him all my stuff or falling to my knees and begging him to move in with me. “The place where I bought your books. They have all sorts of stuff, and I bet you can find most of what you need there.”
He perks up. “Yeah?”
“As long as you don’t need fancy matching china, you’ll be all right. I can take you this weekend, if you like.”
“I’d like that,” he says and flashes me a smile.
* * * *
We go on Saturday, after lunch, and he’s got a long list of things he needs, but when we get there, his heart isn’t in it. He wanders the store aimlessly, looking at things but not really seeing them.
I nudge his shoulder. “Maybe you’ll have better luck if you check your list?”
He sighs and pulls it out from his pocket. We walk to the kitchen department and check what’s for sale. But he just stands there, gaze glued to the list, ignoring the goods on display. His mouth is downturned, his shoulders slump, and even his hair seems listless and depressed.
I grab his free hand, lacing our fingers together. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”
He shrugs and lays his head on my shoulder, shoving the list into his pocket with a deep sigh. “This is real, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“This thing between you and me, it’s real? I’m not imagining things and you’re not humoring me? This is…real? Right?”
I nuzzle my nose into his hair. “Yes. It’s real.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Is that why you’re so down?”
He jerks up his head and scowls at me. “Of course not. Don’t be an idiot.” He walks toward the exit, pulling me along. “I don’t feel like shopping today,” he says as we step out on the sidewalk. “Besides, I don’t know what I’ll need yet. It depends on the place I find.”
“‘Course.”
“Let’s go home and watch a movie or something.”
My heart jumps when he refers to my place as “home,” and I can’t contain a smile. “All right.”
But his weird, brooding mood doesn’t disappear wh
en we get home, and even though he gets to pick the movie, he doesn’t watch it. He keeps my hand in a tight grip as he squirms and wiggles like he’s got poison ivy in his underwear. He opens his mouth several times as though he wants to say something, but never follows through. And he keeps looking at me, trying to be sneaky about it, but doesn’t succeed very well.
After a half hour of his fidgeting, I pause the movie. I turn toward him so I can look at him properly. “You know you can talk to me about anythin’, right? Whatever it is that’s botherin’ you, you can tell me.”
He jerks his head in a nod and rubs his neck. “What will happen to us when I find somewhere to live?”
I take his hand in both of mine and rub the pad of my thumb against his wrist. “Whatever we want, darlin’. We both want this thing growin’ between us, so we’ll find a way to make it work.”
“But how? I won’t be able to afford a car. You work nights and I work all the other hours of the day. When will we have time to see each other if I’m not here in the mornings when you get off work?”
“I’ve thought about that, too. And I…”
“You what?” he prompts when I don’t finish the sentence.
“I applied for a day shift at work. I have an interview on Tuesday. If I don’t get it, I’ll keep lookin’ until I find somethin’.”
He stares at me, his lips parted. “You’d do that for me?”
“I’m pretty fed up with workin’ nights anyway. It was good when Ma was sick, because that way, I could be home during the day when she needed me. And when she died, I just kept goin’.”
I don’t tell him that Dave didn’t like it and was constantly on my case to get a daytime job. Funny how I refused when Dave asked, but I’m so eager to do it for Pippin, even though he’s never brought it up.
“But yes,” I continue. “A big part of is because of you. You’re…you’re very important to me and I wanna do anythin’ in my power to make it work.”
Pippin blinks rapidly, his beautiful brown eyes shiny and full of awe. He wraps his hand around my neck and pulls me closer so he can kiss me.
He’s eager and wet and demanding as he slips his tongue into my mouth. His grip on me tightens and his fingers play in my hair.
I’m panting when he pulls back. His eyes are burning, searing into my very essence, making me squirm. “You’re very important to me, too. The most important person in my life.” His voice is low but clear. Without a trace of uncertainty.
He stands and pulls his sweatshirt over his head, followed by his T-shirt, and then he’s naked from the waist up.
“What are you doin’, darlin’?” I’m unable to take my eyes off his bronze nipples pebbling under my gaze.
“I’m taking you to bed and making love to you.” He holds out his hand.
I take it and get to my feet. “But you said…”
He lets go of me, then unzips and take off my hoodie. My T-shirt follows, and he presses his bare chest against mine. It’s the first time I’ve felt him like this and I’m buzzing. It’s glorious.
“I said I wanted it to mean something,” he says.
“Yeah.”
He lays his palms on my chest; sliding them over my muscles and running his fingers through my fur, making me gasp. “And it will. You and I, Ashley, that will definitely mean something.”
“Yes, it will.” I’m hoarse and my voice trembles, but I don’t care.
I look at him and hide nothing. And when we’re wound around each other in bed later, I let my hands and mouth and body do the talking, letting him know exactly how much he means to me.
When he penetrates me, gaze locked with mine, I see that he understands perfectly. And with his steady rhythm and caressing hands and soft kisses, he’s telling me the same thing back.
Afterward, we lay tangled together. He has his ear pressed against my chest. “Your heartbeat is better than any lullaby,” he whispers. “It’s steady. Never falters. Just like you.”
I tighten my grip on him and let myself drift off to sleep.
Epilogue
The morning after, when we wake up, Pippin has breakfast waiting on the coffee table and the latest video from my favorite YouTube channel queued up and ready to go on the TV. He’s busy and doesn’t notice me at first when I step into the living room.
My heart swells when I see what he’s doing.
He’s unpacking his boxes.
I must have made a sound, because he turns, and the smile he gives me rivals the brightness of the sun outside our window.
“Good morning, Ashley!” He picks up a stack of clothes, jumps to his feet, and brushes a kiss on my cheek when he passes me on his way to the closet.
“I decided to take you up on your offer and stay,” he says when he returns, his tone light, as though he just didn’t hand me the entire world.
And he does stay with me in my house. Until we find a plot of land in the forest a few years later when he was almost done with his degree. We build a little house, adopt the ugliest mutt I’ve ever seen, and raise what seems like a million chickens who lay eggs in every color of the rainbow. Pippin names them all, and cries when we slaughter them for food, until I make him leave the house when it needs to be done.
And it turns out, Pippin was right all along; rainbow-colored eggs taste much better than ordinary ones.
Especially if shared with the love of your life.
THE END
ABOUT NELL IRIS
Nell Iris is a romantic at heart who believes everyone deserves a happy ending. She’s a bona fide bookworm (learned to read long before she started school), wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without something to read (not even the ladies’ room), loves music (and singing along but, let’s face it, she’s no Celine Dion), and is a real Star Trek nerd (“Make it so”). She loves words, poetry, wine, and Sudoku, and absolutely adores elephants!
Nell believes passionately in equality for all regardless of race, gender, or sexuality, and wants to make the world a better, less hateful, place.
Nell is a forty-something bisexual Swedish woman, married to the love of her life, and a proud mama of a grown daughter. She left the Scandinavian cold and darkness for warmer and sunnier Malaysia a few years ago, and now spends her days writing, surfing the Internet, enjoying the heat, and eating good food. One day she decided to chase her lifelong dream of being a writer, sat down in front of her laptop, and wrote a story about two men falling in love.
Nell Iris writes gay romance, prefers sweet over angst, and wants to write diverse and different characters.
For more information, visit nelliris.com.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
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