The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,117
grabbed his phone, but Tean had a huge smile on his face, so Jem let the music keep playing. “You’ve never heard ‘Monster Mash’ before?”
“Of course I have. Just not on Mother’s Day.”
“Well, I made this playlist in October. It’s the perfect song for dancing with friends.”
“What if I don’t want to be friends?”
Jem laid his phone down.
“What if I don’t want to be normal friends,” Tean asked, “or regular friends or best friends? Not anymore.”
“Then you should probably come over here and kiss me.”
Tean nodded.
“Glasses,” Jem said.
Tean caught them before they fell and laid them on the table. Then he stepped forward. His hand found Jem’s arm, his fingers tentative, tracing Jem. “I don’t want to mess things up.”
“We’ve already messed things up plenty of times.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“You’re stalling,” Jem said, “because you think I’m going to kiss you first if you hold out long enough.”
A tiny smile darted across Tean’s face. He tilted his head and kissed Jem. Then he broke away.
“Look at that,” Jem breathed. “Nuclear winter didn’t happen. Nobody murdered a herd of sea cows. The dog didn’t explode.”
Tean’s hand came to rest over Jem’s heart. Jem was breathing faster, his vision blurring. Tean kissed him again, and this time, Jem couldn’t stop himself: he wrapped his arms around Tean. He pulled the doc against him, ignoring Tean’s squeak of surprise. This was how it was supposed to be—the way they fit together, the smell of the high plains grasses in Tean’s hair, those full lips soft under his own, the taste of his mouth. The sensation sent cracks spiderwebbing through the ice that Jem had buried himself under, and everything he’d tried not to feel came rushing in.
When Tean broke the next kiss, his hands fumbled with Jem’s waistband.
“Hold on,” Jem said.
“I don’t need to hold on. We’ve done this before. We’re good at this.” Tean hesitated and smiled—afraid and still hoping, the combination that seemed to sum up the doc. “Right?”
“Definitely. But give me a minute. Just one minute.” Jem pecked him with another kiss and stepped back, loosening Tean’s hands from his clothes. Then he sprinted to the bathroom. When he’d shut the door behind him, he leaned on the counter, taking huge breaths. He didn’t understand why it was all happening now. He couldn’t have said y because of x, b because of a, I’m crying because he kissed me, and because he loves me, and because I don’t know if anyone has ever loved me in my whole life. He couldn’t have even said that it was all tied up with Brigitte Berger Fitzpatrick, with two towheaded kids, with an inflatable swimming pool and a house where they felt safe and protected and loved. He just knew it was all hitting him at once, a tidal wave of emotion crashing over him, the undertow dragging him out to sea. He opened the mirrored cabinet and shook out two Xanax and placed them under his tongue.
“Jem? Are you ok?”
“Just peeing.”
A moment passed. “Really?”
“Yes. Yep. Be right out.” Jem ran the water for a minute, although he wasn’t sure he was fooling anyone. Then he turned it off and opened the door.
At the same time, a knock came at the front door. Scipio shot up from his bed, his head whipping around, barking a warning. Tean stood up from the couch and took a few steps toward the door.
“Don’t,” Jem said.
Tean stopped and looked back. “What?”
“Don’t open that door.”
“Why? Who is it?”
“Just don’t open it. Please. We’ll ignore it. We’ll go into the bedroom and shut the door, and we’ll ignore it.”
“Jem, what’s going on?
“Please don’t answer the door. Please. This can all still be good. This is perfect, right now. We can be happy.” Jem had trouble with the next word; he couldn’t get enough air, and the glassy weight of the benzos was crashing down on him. “Please.”
When he opened the door, though, it was Ammon. He was in joggers and a BYU t-shirt, and he was smiling as he waved a measuring cup. His gaze moved around the apartment. Scipio had gone berserk, his legs locked, barking ferociously. Jem was frozen in the bathroom doorway. Ammon’s eyes slid over him, taking him in like he was nothing—a piece of furniture, another of Tean’s pets like Scipio.
“Hi,” Ammon said to Tean, flashing a smile. “How about that sugar?”
Tean laughed. “What?” He shifted his weight. “Ammon, it’s not that