by Callie Rose
So I nod against Linc’s chest, taking in a deep breath and letting his coriander scent fill my nostrils. “See you at school tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See you.”
He kisses my hair one more time and then heads for the door, jerking his head almost imperceptibly to River as he goes. The other boy moves to walk him out, leaving me alone in the bedroom. He closes the door behind them, and I can hear their quiet voices fading as they head up the stairs.
I set my backpack down by my suitcase and turn to take a look at the room. It’s big and luxurious—they didn’t cut corners just because it’s in the basement—but it also has touches that are all River. There are a few cool looking art prints on the walls, and a large bed tucked into one corner. On the other side of the room, there’s a couch, an easy chair, and a coffee table arranged around a wide flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
There are two other doors in the room, one that’s halfway open and seems to lead to an en suite bathroom, and one that I’m guessing leads to a closet.
Not quite sure what to do and feeling a little like an intruder, I head toward the couch and sink down onto it. It’s nice, the seat cushions soft but not too squishy.
I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Hunter, wondering if I should mention what happened between me and the kings of Linwood last night. It’s hard to explain though, and it’s definitely not the kind of thing you just tell someone in a text. If we were still living in the same town, this would be a late night, pint of ice cream conversation, where I’d spill all the dirty details and she’d grill me for even more.
It’s not the same by text, or even by phone.
She hasn’t replied yet by the time River comes back. He opens the door and pokes his head in cautiously, like he’s trying to make sure I’m decent before he steps inside. Like this isn’t his space I’m invading.
“Thanks,” I say once his gaze settles on me. “For letting me stay here. It probably won’t be for too long.”
“It can be for as long as you like,” he says without hesitating. Then he closes the door behind him and steps closer, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. “You told him.”
I nod. “Yeah. I hope he’s not mad at you for not saying anything sooner.”
He tips his head back and forth in a noncommittal gesture, and I have a feeling Lincoln definitely gave him some shit for that. But I don’t think it opened up a real rift between them. I already told Linc my reasons for not mentioning my suspicions about his dad before, and he might not like it, but he knows we did this for him.
“Do you really think he’ll be able to keep his shit together?” I whisper, concern filling my voice.
River nods. “Yeah. You played poker with him. You know. He wears his heart on his sleeve, but he can keep shit close to the vest when he needs to. You gotta trust him, Low.”
“I do,” I say immediately.
“And you trust me?”
His gray-blue eyes are serious, and I have a feeling his question isn’t just about the stuff with Linc’s dad, or my mom, or Iris’s death.
It’s both bigger and smaller than that, and it has to with just the two of us.
I hold his gaze, nodding gently. “Yeah. I do, River. I really do.”
The smile that breaks over his face comes out in stages, and I register each one of them until I find myself grinning back at him, unable to contain it.
17
River insists on taking the couch and letting me have the bed, though I put up a lot of resistance. I already feel like a fucking charity case, moving from one house to another with nowhere else to go. If I took the couch, I’d at least feel like I was inconveniencing him a little bit less.
And okay, maybe a tiny part of me wishes he’d stop being such a damn gentleman and suggest we both take the bed. I’m having a hard time looking at him and not thinking about the kisses we shared in the pool last night, in what was inarguably one of the hottest moments of my life.
I pause in the middle of brushing my teeth as heat floods my lower belly, staring at myself in the mirror.
Jesus. I can still feel him. All of them.
Lincoln and I couldn’t get enough of each other last night. We wore each other out, and I’ve been pleasantly sore between my legs all day, but the intense feelings that sparked to life in that pool haven’t abated. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced.
Get it together, Low.
I finish brushing my teeth and splash cold water on my face, trying to banish the flush creeping up my cheeks.
When I step out of the bathroom, River is draping a blanket over the couch. He glances up at me and smiles softly, and I wonder if he feels as strange as I do.
I don’t feel awkward, exactly. I’ve been alone with River before. And we know each other pretty well by now—better than we should for how long we’ve been in each other’s lives, really. But it feels a little weird to be in his bedroom, in my pajamas, having just brushed my teeth in his bathroom. To see him in his soft white t-shirt and dark shorts. So… casual. So at home.
That’s what it is, I realize.
I’m in his home. In his living space.
And it feels sort of like we jumped ten spaces ahead on the board to get here.
Trying to act natural, I cross to the bed and pull back the covers, sliding in between the sheets. They’re soft, and they smell like River, and it makes something in my chest and my core throb at the same time.
River disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes—he let me go first, because of course he did—and I hear the water running as he brushes his teeth. When he returns, he flips the light switch on the wall to turn off the overheads, leaving only the bedside lamp to illuminate the room.
When he walks toward the bed, I swear my heart beats harder with every steps he takes.
“I’m just gonna steal one pillow, is that okay?” he asks in a quiet voice.
I nod and shift on the bed, allowing him to grab one of the pillows that are stacked neatly against the headboard. But before he can turn back toward the couch, I grab the end of the pillow and tug on it gently.
It’s not that I don’t want him to have it. Jesus, they’re his fucking pillows, he can have them all if he wants. But I don’t want him to go yet, and grabbing the pillow seems… safer than grabbing him.
He stops, turning to look down at me, his blue-gray eyes soft and enigmatic. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I release the pillow, half sitting up in the bed. “Just… not very tired.”
He nods, still watching me intently. I’ve gotten so used to this from him that sometimes I can’t tell when he’s watching me to read my lips and when he’s watching me for other reasons. Right now, his gaze seems heavy with unspoken thoughts.
“Did Lincoln tell you anything else before he left?” I ask. “Does he have a plan for what to do about his dad?”
“No. But he’ll think of something. I trust him.” He sinks down onto the edge of the bed, angling his body to face me.
“How long have you guys all known each other?”
I really am curious, but I’m also just anxious to keep him talking, to keep creating reasons for him to stay right where he is instead of crossing back to the couch.
“A long time. Since we were kids. We were all born and raised in Fox Hill. We’ve been going to school together for years.”
I nod. “Yeah, I can see that. You guys all act like brothers, almost.”
He snorts a laugh. “Well, two of us are.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes, smiling as I think of the twins and their strange, almost supernatural connection.
Silence falls between us for a moment, and we just watch each other in the quiet stillness of the room.
When I speak again, my voice is a little lower, a little softer. “Can I ask you a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
He adjusts his position on the bed, hooking one leg up on the mattress so he can turn toward me even more. “Shoot.”
“Have you always had a hard time hearing?”
I can see him hesitate for a second, deciding what to give up, which parts of himself to reveal. I brace myself to hear him say he choses option number two, to not answer, but instead he shakes his head lightly.
“No, not always. Since I was a little kid though.”
“And your parents know, I’m assuming.”
He cracks a smile. “Yeah, they know. And the guys know.”
“And that’s it?”
“No. A few of the teachers at Linwood know. Some other relatives.”
“And Iris.”
He pulls a face. “Yeah. She knew. I don’t know how the fuck she found out. I’m positive Lincoln didn’t tell her. Maybe she just saw something that tipped her off, like you did.” He shrugs lightly, lips tilting up sardonically. “The guys help me when they can. Sometimes I still miss things though. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
“No, you’re really good.” I sit up straighter in the bed, leaning toward him a little. “You’re amazingly good. But…”
When I trail off, he lifts his eyebrows in question, prompting me to continue.
“Why?” I murmur. “I mean, you can obviously function just fine with whatever hearing loss you have. So why does it matter if people know or not? It doesn’t affect the way you navigate through life. It doesn’t hold you back.”
His face goes still, and for a moment, I think maybe I’ve just insulted him horribly. An apology is on the tip of my tongue when he speaks softly.
“No. It doesn’t hold me back. But if people knew about it, they would.” His gaze leaves my lips to focus on my eyes, and I see discomfort churning in the light gray depths of his irises. “They’d make judgements about me before they even knew me; they’d assume I need help or special treatment when I never even asked for it. It’s easier this way. People judge me for who I am, for what I do, not for one thing they think they know about me.”
His words hit me right in the chest, so true and so familiar that I could’ve spoken them myself.
That’s it.
That’s exactly it.
It’s the reason I don’t tell people about my childhood leukemia. The reason only my closest friends and neighbors back in Bayard know about it. As soon as people find out I had cancer, that becomes what defines me for them. I can never shake it. And I fucking hate it.
River is still looking at me, and I don’t know quite why I do it, but I reach up and tug down the tank top strap from my right shoulder.
That gets an immediate reaction from him. Heat and surprise flare in his eyes as he watches the movement, then his gaze darts back up to my face.
I don’t even have to look to find it. My fingers move to my port scar unerringly, tracing the small mark the way I’ve done hundreds of times before.
“Do you know what this is?” I ask.
He watches my lips, then glances back down at my upper chest, his brows furrowing slightly. “A scar?”
I breathe out a small laugh at his simple, honest answer. It’s true. That’s exactly what it is. But in the world I’ve lived in since age ten, the world I’ll always be a part of now whether I want to be or not, it’s so much more than that.
Anyone from that world would know exactly what this scar is from at a glance, and they’d know every moment of fatigue and drudgery and nausea that came with it.
The fact that River doesn’t know all of that means he likely hasn’t had a close encounter with cancer, and that makes me glad.
“It is a scar, yeah,” I say, scooting a little closer to him on the bed, allowing him to see it better.
I wear tank tops a lot, and I don’t honestly think about the scar that often or feel super self-conscious about it. But having his gaze fixed on it makes me feel vulnerable, exposed… and warm all over.
He looks his fill, and when his attention moves back to my face, I continue.
“I got cancer when I was ten. Leukemia. The scar is from something called a port-a-catheter. The doctors used it to administer my chemo treatments and do blood transfusions and stuff. It’s easier than using an IV needle every time.”
Because I’m conscious of his need to see my face as I speak, I don’t turn away or look down like I want to. Instead, I keep my gaze fixed on him, watching the micro-expressions that cross his features as he absorbs my words.
“You had… cancer?” he asks slowly, and I nod. He processes that too before adding, “But you’re okay now?”
“Yep. Cancer free for seven years.” I reach up unconsciously to brush my fingertips over the scar again.
“Does Linc know? Or Dax and Chase?”
I shake my head, the movement a little jerky. “No. It’s like you said, I don’t want people to assume I’m helpless or broken or something. So I usually don’t tell people. I hate seeing the expression on their faces change, you know? They either look at me with pity or with some weird kind of awe, like I’m so special for having beaten cancer.” I shrug, dropping my head a little. “I’m not. Lots of people have done it. And lots of people haven’t.”
River’s fingertips slip under my chin, tilting my head back up even as he ducks his own to keep his gaze on my lips. I grimace, annoyed at myself for making him work to catch the end of my words.
He moved a little closer to me while I was speaking, and now his gaze darts back and forth between my eyes, studying me so intently I feel naked. His fingertips leave my chin, but instead of drawing his hand back, he traces over the slightly raised scar with a light touch.
My heart stutters, and my whole body freezes. My lungs burn as they scream for more oxygen, and I force them to keep drawing in slow gulps of air.
“You should tell them, Harlow,” he says softly. “They’ll understand. They won’t look at you differently. I promise.”
His touch is doing terrible, wonderful things to my body. My nipples have peaked beneath the thin material of my tank, and I’m suddenly having a hard time sitting still. I want to move. I want to rub my skin against his.
I want another kiss like he gave me last night.
But I don’t move. I stay absolutely still.
And my patience is rewarded.
His gaze shifts back up to my face, and even as he keeps his attention there, his fingers drift across the plane of my upper chest until they hook the fabric of my other strap. When he pushes that one off my shoulder, I suck in a deep breath.
I want this. Whatever might be about to happen, I crave it with my entire body and soul. But—
“Lincoln…?” I whisper.
“He knows.” River’s smile is confident and sexy as fuck. “We talked about it. He knows he’s not the only one who gets a claim on you.” He arches a brow, looking a little impressed. “He said you were the one who brought it up.”
“I… Yeah, I was.”
My mind still can’t quite believe I did that. That I asked for this. And that Lincoln agreed.
River must take the disbelief on my face for hesitance, because he stiffens a little and starts to pull away. But I chase his touch, scooting forward on the bed until I’m less than a foot away from him.
He smiles again, and his lips are still curved up in that smile when he leans forward and kisses me.
Holy shit. I thought he was a good kisser the few other times we did this, but now I’m starting to think he was holding back. His mouth moves against mine, tongue slipping out to lick the seam of my lips. When I open for him, he tastes my tongue with his, and when I think I can’t take any more, he moves his mouth down over the curve of my jaw and my neck.
God, this might be a really fucking bad idea.
Even though Lincoln is okay with it, it will complicate everything. What if things get awkward or weird? I need a place to stay for a while, and I can’t keep shuffling from house to house like some kind of vagrant.
But more than needing a place to stay, I’m starting to feel like I need these four boys in my life. Like my heart and soul shine bright
er when they’re around. Like there were parts of me missing before I met them that I’m not sure I could live without now. And it’s terrifying to think of risking that, of taking the leap into something bigger and deeper than what we already have.
Because what if it all comes crumbling down?
Or what if it doesn’t?
What if this is the beginning of something incredible?
Those are all thoughts that filter through my brain even as my body moves like it’s got a will of its own. Unhampered by my mind’s fears and doubts, my fingers find the hem of River’s soft t-shirt and pull it up over his head. The sculpted muscles I ran my hands over last night are all there, still as gorgeous as ever, still begging for my touch.
Before I can reach for them though, River is lifting my tank top, dragging it up and off my body, and then he crawls up on the bed to settle between my legs. I lay back against the mattress as he kisses me again, and I can’t believe this is happening, but I sure as fuck don’t want to stop it.
My breasts are pressed against his chest, and I can feel him hard and hot between my legs. My panties are damp, and the feel of him rocking against my clit just makes me wetter.
When he pulls away, I’m breathing hard. I watch him crawl lower, peeling off my pajama bottoms and panties as he goes, and it’s like all the sexual tension that built up between us last night is pressing against my skin, demanding release.
He drops kisses all across my stomach, my hips, and my thighs, working his way closer to my pelvis at such a torturously slow pace that I think I might explode. When his tongue finally licks up my core and settles on my clit, I half sit up, grabbing two handfuls of his hair.
“Fuck. River!”
I’m not sure he caught the movement of my lips, but when he glances up at me, I’m sure it doesn’t matter. He gets the gist anyway.
His tongue is fucking amazing, and he reads my body like an open book, pushing hard until I’m almost at the edge and then backing off.
