A Kaleidoscope of Butterflies - Christina Lee Page 0,77
for handmade custard before agreeing to grab a late lunch at a roadside diner. And it felt… Fuck, it felt so good, like Rhys was part of their family but in a truer sense now.
He wasn’t exactly sure what changed, except that releasing those butterflies was liberating—therapeutic, even—along with admitting his feeling to Emerson. And when Emerson cried… Damn, those tears almost made Rhys start bawling too. And though Emerson didn’t get the chance to say anything back, Rhys felt at peace with his confession, especially since every time their eyes met, the flush on Emerson’s cheeks would deepen all over again. That was enough to keep his spirits up for now.
Because even if Emerson took more of his good old fucking time, Rhys knew with raw certainty that he held an essential place in Emerson’s heart. Knew in his gut that they meant something to each other, something goddamned profound.
He’d deal with the imminent onslaught of emotions later that night, and maybe he’d doubt his intuition again or fear he’d been wrong. At the moment, though, there was little time to think, because the kids were full of energy, as if releasing the butterflies had been cleansing for them as well.
They were having a fun day, and he rolled with it even though he was exhausted by nightfall. So when they began falling asleep during a movie on the couch, and Emerson ushered them up to bed, he excused himself to his room as well.
Just as he was getting comfortable in bed and tuning out the noisy thoughts on spin cycle in his brain, he heard a sharp knock on his door, then feet padding inside the room.
“You awake?” Emerson asked in a shaky voice.
“Yeah.” Rhys was lying on his side with his back to Emerson, which helped disguise his sputtering breaths.
“Can I… Is this okay?” He felt the mattress dip and inhaled sharply as he nodded.
When Emerson lifted the covers, then slid behind Rhys, he nearly whimpered out loud.
As Emerson’s hand braced his hip, his mouth brushed against Rhys’s ear, making him shiver. “Tell me again how we fell in love?”
His heart stuttered. “We?”
“Uh-huh. You and me falling in love.”
“Slowly…” he replied in a hoarse voice. “During the bigger and smaller moments in our lives…”
“And all the spaces in between,” Emerson murmured.
There was a quiet, drawn-out moment where Rhys felt Emerson’s harsh breaths against his shoulder.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Emerson whispered. “How to not have doubts or not be afraid. Like everything is just gonna come crashing down again. But every time I imagine you not being here, with me—with us—I can’t breathe. I don’t want— I can’t—”
Rhys twisted onto his back so he could look him in the eye. “You have me, Em. I’m yours.” He reached out to lift Emerson’s chin with his thumb. “The question is, are you mine?”
Emerson angled his head, his gaze intense, his mouth hovering a breath from Rhys’s, and it was the most delicious torment. Thrilling and heartrending all at once.
To long for the love of your life to see you, really see you, just as you are.
And still want you anyway.
“I’ve always been yours,” Emerson said, and Rhys’s breath caught. “I’m in love with you. And I want us to be together, even if we stumble along the way.”
Thank fuck. Rhys trembled as he tried to get his lips to work. “We’ve already been through a lot, so I figure we’ve had plenty of practice already.”
“True,” he mused. And then he closed the distance so their mouths lined up. Emerson gripped his jaw, licked into his mouth, and kissed Rhys painstakingly slowly yet toe-curlingly deep until Rhys melted against him.
When they pulled apart, they stared into each other’s eyes, and Rhys felt the urge to pinch himself because he could scarcely believe that Emerson finally admitted his feelings.
“You look tired.” Emerson swiped a thumb beneath his eye.
“It’s been a busy day.” Rhys smirked, and they shared a sweet smile.
“Mind if I sleep here tonight?” Emerson asked in a hesitant voice, which was endearing. He was still uncertain, even with both their hearts flayed open. “Just want to be close to you.”
“Hell yes.” Rhys adjusted his pillow, then reached under the sheets to push down his briefs and kick out of them. “Join me?”
Emerson smirked. “Bare?”
“Please. Wanna feel you.”
Emerson sighed dreamily, discarding his shorts and underwear on the floor. He scooted behind Rhys, wound his arm around him, and Rhys nestled soundly against his frame.