Keeping Casey (Keeping Him #1) - Amy Aislin Page 0,83

and the next, until he sat on the bottom one, equal height with Ethan. Reaching out, he ran tentative fingers over Ethan’s cheek. “When did this happen?”

His voice seeped into Ethan’s chest, warming him from the inside, and Ethan stepped forward to kneel between Casey’s thighs, uncaring of the cold ground. “When did what happen?”

Casey’s cold fingers probed Ethan’s jaw.

Right. He’d forgotten there was a bruise there. “Ah. I maybe, sort of, possibly got into a fight with Britton last night.”

“You . . .” Casey’s eyes went comically huge. “You got in a fight? About what?”

Ethan shook his head, dislodging Casey’s fingers. He took his hand in his own. “Doesn’t matter.”

But Casey wasn’t stupid. “About me. Britton said or did something that had to do with me.”

Casey was one of the only people in the world Ethan would ever get in a fight over. The fact that he knew that sent a swooping sensation through Ethan’s belly and he braced himself on Casey’s knee.

“You don’t need to fight for me, Ethan. Literally.”

Ethan squeezed his hand. “I will always fight for you.”

Eyes going wet, Casey moved his sign to the side. In the next second, he was in Ethan’s arms, head buried in his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left.”

“I understand. I do.”

“Can you not right now?” Casey grumbled. “I need you to yell at me so I can feel better. If there was ever a time for you to throw me under the bus, this is it.”

Ethan chuckled, pulling back slightly to cup Casey’s cheeks. They were cold under Ethan’s hands, but then so were his own fingers. Casey didn’t flinch, though. Simply kept his gaze steady on Ethan’s, lips curved up. Helpless to do anything else, Ethan kissed the corner of Casey’s mouth, satisfaction thrumming through him when Casey’s breathing stuttered.

“Thank you for coming back,” Ethan whispered, resting his forehead against Casey’s.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to,” Casey whispered back. “You weren’t answering my texts.”

“My phone—”

“I know. Theo told me when I got here.”

Running his hands up Casey’s sides, Ethan said, “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“It’s probably not the last time you’ll be injured in a game, huh?” Casey pulled back, and his smile was rueful. “I can’t promise I won’t get scared again next time.”

Ethan smiled. Because he knew better. He knew Casey better than Casey knew himself.

“It’s okay if you do,” he said anyway. “I’ll still be here. I’ll still fight for you. In fact, it’s a good thing you’re here; I was going to go inside, take my lunch meds, and drive to Lighthouse Bay to get you.”

“Gah!” Casey kissed him. Once, twice, three times. Hard and fast.

Ethan laughed against his mouth.

“Why do I love you so much?”

Patting his shoulder, Ethan said, “You have good taste.”

Casey dissolved into laughter, falling against Ethan.

The concrete dug into Ethan’s knees. The wind wormed its way through his coat. The cold made his nose run.

But with Casey in his arms, the world tilted right side up again and nothing else mattered as they held each other up while they laughed on a sunny fall day.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Casey’s interview for the archeology program’s summer field placement occurred on the Saturday after exams, two weeks before Christmas and the day before he and Ethan were scheduled to head back to Lighthouse Bay for the holidays.

He sat across from a panel of interviewers at a long, oval table in a conference room on the second floor of Glen Hill Hall, leg bouncing under the table. Ethan’s phantom hand pressed down on his knee, telling him to breathe, to relax, that he had this, that they’d done enough mock interviews and there was nothing for Casey to be nervous about.

Casey liked to think that he’d sounded eloquent and smart, but with six poker-faced interviewers, it was hard to tell. He didn’t recognize three of them, although he knew from the information session at the beginning of the semester that they taught junior- and senior-level classes. The fourth was the chair of the archeology department. Then there was the administrative assistant for the department who, he’d been told, was taking notes.

And finally, there was Professor Wainwright, who’d greeted Casey warmly when he’d entered.

“One final question,” the department chair said, a copy of Casey’s application on the table in front of her. “Why do you want to participate in this field placement?”

Having practiced this question with Ethan, Casey launched into his rehearsed answer. “I’ve wanted to study archeology for a long time and I’d