nearly knocked the breath from my lungs.
We faced each other, lying on our sides like a pair of parentheses. He was close enough that I could count every freckle dusting across his nose and cheekbones, see every fleck of blue in his green eyes even with the room lit only with moonlight.
God, I loved him. Loved him so deeply, so fiercely, burrowed so deep inside me it was part of my anatomy. And I wanted him: wanted to run my hands across his shoulder and the slope of his waist, his hip, wanted to feel the skin visible where his t-shirt rode up over the waistband of his sweatpants. I wanted to pin him down and count every freckle from his nose to his hips. I wanted to kiss every single one.
I had to keep my hands occupied before they reached for that strip of skin of their own volition. I reached out and ran my forefinger down the plait of his beard instead. It was surprisingly soft—he took care of it, like he took care of everything else. He didn’t make some snarky remark and push my hand away either, like he usually did. He hated people touching his beard. But now, his gaze just softened, his lips parting the barest amount.
“Can’t believe you’re still growing this stupid thing. Just because I bet you couldn’t.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, a small smile curving his lips. “Guess I can’t resist you.”
My heart ricocheted from my chest to my throat to my toes. I was grateful for the dim room because I knew my cheeks were burning. My forefinger lingered at the end of his red beard, the strands soft against the pad of it.
I must’ve been too quiet for too long though, because Tex cleared his throat, his hand flexed on my ribcage. “Never could resist a dare.”
I tipped my chin down, breaking eye contact. Desire burned in me. He was so close, but he didn’t want me. Not like that.
“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” Tex said.
I blinked back tears and huffed a hard exhale, trying to hold it back. Tex’s palm circled gently on my side, soothingly, and that only made me harder.
“You’re not going back in there,” he said. “I’d break you out myself if I had to. We’d go on the run. Ride to Tijuana. It’d be fun.”
My sob became a laugh, a little broken in the middle, but a laugh nonetheless. I rubbed roughly at my eyes. “I know. I’d do the same. In a heartbeat.”
Tex’s eyes softened. “Get some sleep, Jazz.”
Something inside me was beginning to shake and splinter, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep up the charade for long. It all felt different—his hand on my side, his voice in my ear, his green eyes watching me.
I couldn’t keep lying to myself. Things weren’t going back to the way they were, before all this, when I could keep my feelings for Tex conveniently boxed away. They were growing stronger, pushing the lid off the box.
But right now, in this moment, all I could do was sink into the mattress and let my world narrow to the soft sheets, his warm hand on me, and familiar scent of leather and aftershave, and let it lull me into a dreamless sleep.
12
Tex
The sun streaming in through the window of Jazz’s room woke me before the alarm did.
I’d slept better last night than I’d slept in three years. Jazz and I hadn’t moved much in our sleep—if anything we’d scooted a little closer together, still facing each other on the narrow mattress. Jazz slept on his side, with his hands curled into his chest in a way that made him look ten years younger. The sunlight brought out the hint of red in his dark hair, and in sleep the worry was smoothed from his brow.
He looked young. He looked—
Beautiful.
I shook the thought aside as soon as it popped into my mind. That wasn’t a word I’d ever used to describe Jazz—or any man, for that matter. I wasn’t gay. I’d never been attracted to a man before—and Jazz was my brother more than anything else. Even if that hadn’t felt quite right since he’d been back…
And so what, I’d always had trouble landing a relationship that lasted longer than a few weeks? That didn’t mean anything. I still liked women, liked their bodies, I just… I just couldn’t connect with anyone.
Anyone besides Jazz, really.
He was the foundation of my life, in a