Page 52 of Alphas Like Us
My good hand rises to the back of his neck, our breaths slowing together. I murmur, “Cicero said,‘The life of the dead is placed on the memories of the living. The love you gave in life keeps people alive beyond theirtime.’”
Farrow almost smiles. “That one is justokay.”
I eye him. “What’s your favorite then?” I’m sure he can recall whatever he fuckingskimmed.
He leans closer, kisses me—and I kiss back stronger, my lips swelling beneath the pressure. Until he has to pull away so I won’t fuck up myshoulder.
His chest rises and falls heavily, his thumb stroking my cheekbone, and he finally tells me, “Dum spiro,spero.”
I circled that phrase in my paperback. I know he took Latin in college, but I ask anyway, “You know what thatmeans—”
“‘While I breathe,’” he translates, “‘Ihope.’”
It overwhelmsme.
Hope.
Him.
Love.
Pain.
I inch closer, but a knock sounds at the door. We both rub our wet faces, and as our bloodshot eyes meet again, I know and he knows that what we share is greater and stronger than whatever the world has to throw atus.
We won’t endhere.
9
MAXIMOFF HALE
Anesthesia fogs me,especially after my surgery. I can’t recall how I ended up back at my townhouse. Maybe I apparated or a teleportation power kicked in. I do know that I slept most of theday.
At 7:56 p.m., I’m more coherent, but I’msweating.
I kick down my orange comforter. A red sling braces my right arm to my chest, mostly secured by a cross-body strap and a wide band velcroed around my upperabdomen.
Noise booms from downstairs. Music mixed with tons of chatter—it echoes off the brick walls of my small attic bedroom, but I’m alone uphere.
I sit up more—the room spins three-sixty-degrees. So damn lightheaded. Breathing through my nose, I move to the edge of the bed. My bare feet hit the floorboards, but I don’tstand.
Dear World, you should know this is the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Worst Regards, a painedhuman.
Every muscle screams at me, sore from the crash. But sharp stabbing radiates in myshoulder.
I’ve broken my ribs before, and I had a minor ankle fracture when I was thirteen, sliced my palm pretty badly on a rock, and I’ve torn myhamstring.
None of those required a metal plate and screws. None of those immobilized me this badly. I want my shirt off, the white fabric drenched insweat.
So I reach back and try to unwrap the sling’s band. I’m struggling when the dooropens.
My mouth falls. “Yourhair.”
Farrow subconsciously combs his inked fingers throughbleach-whitestrands which contrast his brown eyebrows. He looks beyond fucking sexy. His Third Eye Blind V-neck molds his muscles and reveals his neck, throat and chest tattoos. Black pants fit snug on his legs andpackage.
And I’m sitting on the edge of my bed. Sweating my assoff.
But I also notice the concern that grips his eyes while he studiesme.
