Page 123 of Flare

He pulled me onto his lap and I practically purred, curling my arms around his neck and cuddling into his chest. “Because we’re going to get through this,” he whispered into my hair. “Because I’m going to try not to be such a jackass, get some therapy myself, and you and I are going to get through this towhereverit takes us,whateveryour goals are. Those bastards in the club don’t get to win.”

No, they fucking don’t.

“And I made mistakes too,” he confessed. “Alot.I have a habit of wanting to leap in and solve stuff for people I care about. Stuff that’s not mine to solve. When all you really needed was for me to listen. I have to change that. Iwillchange that.

“People you care about?” I tipped my face and studied his face.

“Yes.” He brushed noses with me. “People I really,reallycare about.”

“Me too. Except...” I took a deep breath and ignored the frown that suddenly replaced Beck’s smile, ploughing on. “I realised something tonight, or rather it crystallised in my thick head tonight.”

“Am I going to like this or hate this?”

I put a finger to his lips. “Let me finish. We might’ve only known each other a couple of months, Beck, but some days I feel like I’ve been old for a long time and I know what I’m feeling. I’m in love with you, and I think that’s why I ran. I wanted this too much and I could see it all falling apart. I’m sorry if it’s too soon or if you don’t think you can feel the same or trust me because I acted like such a jer—”

“I’m in love with you too.” He rested our foreheads together, his breath warm against my lips. “And I’m hardly a kid, either. I’m forty years old and I know I want you, however much work you need me to do. I want you, every part of you, no matter how that looks, no matter if nothing changes.”

I ignored the urge to kiss the fuck out of him and instead chose my words carefully. “But can youreallydo that?” I pressed. “Eyes wide open here, babe.”

He pulled back a little and met my gaze.

“What if I can never give you what you want in bed?”

“What Iwant?” He brushed a thumb over my cheek and took my hands in his. “Rhys, baby, you already give me that and a lot more. I’m not used to being cared about like you do for me. I’m not used to feeling important in someone’s life, not the way you make me feel. Everything about you fills my heart, and I just want more of it.”

“You say that now. But things can change.”

“Of course they can. But that applies to all relationships. The universe could fuck with either one of us—change everything about our lives in an instant—an illness, an accident, anything. Sex is something wedo. It’s not all of who we are. We’ll work it out. There are a million paths to an orgasm, sweetheart, and at forty, I’ve travelled most of them. Love is a much rarer treasure, and if we have that, we have a head start on the rest.” He kissed me gently. “So, yes, Rhys, I knowexactlywhat I want.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fucking poets. You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy. I know that. But I’m also not scared of it.”

“I know you’re not.” I leaned my head on Beck’s shoulder and he stroked my hair. “But maybe I am. I want to change. For me. I want things to be different. I want you to... fuck me.Iwant that. It might take months, years, but it might also never happen.”

“And I’ll still be here.” Beck pressed a kiss to my forehead.“‘I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, / How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me, / And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart.’”

I turned to lose myself in his eyes. “Damn, who wrote that?”

“Walt Whitman. It’s called ‘Song of Myself’ and was written in the nineteenth century as part of hisLeaves Of Grasscollection. Some like to think this is about a mystical union, but it’s been argued for a long time that Whitman was gay. Either way this is about love, and I can’t help but think of you when I read it.”

I hummed a little. “I love you too.”

He side-eyed me. “Since we’re talking about possible wrinkles, you do realise I come with a ready-made family. One angst-ridden sixteen-year-old with a tiny bit of baggage, a sister in prison, and probable looming unemployment. Plus, that’ll make all four of us in therapy in some form. You sure you love me enough for all that?”

I laughed. “It actually sounds pretty damn perfect.”

He shook his head. “Then you’ve certainly lost your mind.”

“Without a doubt. Now if you could stop talking for a moment, maybe you could kiss me, properly, because I think I might like that.”

“I’d like that too.” He tucked me into his side and his mouth covered mine in that easy sexy way that happened when two bodies knew each other and there was no rush, just pleasure in the meeting. And when we’d sated our hunger to reconnect, I set Valentino up in the laundry, and Beck led me upstairs, past the dark silence of Jack’s room, and into his bedroom.

We stripped in the shadows and slipped under the covers, his back to my front, my arm around his waist, a whole world of possibilities in that simple embrace. Maybe I’d sleep through the night. Maybe I wouldn’t. But for the first time in a long while, it didn’t matter as much as it had.

I pushed the fire from my mind as best I could—fretting wasn’t going to change it or make it easier. But with my arms full of Beck’s warm body, there didn’t seem a lot we couldn’t handle. We were in this together. I was in his bed, and we were in each other’s hearts. Fuck the rest. Life would go on and we’d roll with it. It was the closest anyone ever got to a promise, anyway. The rest was never more than a leap of faith, and if I wanted to live, I had to learn how to jump.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX

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