pulling him into the room and hugging him tight.
“Hey,” Hunter murmured, reaching out to hang a cloth shopping bag on the coat hook before wrapping both arms around James. His canvas work coat was rough against James’s bare skin; he smelled like tar, sweat, and sandalwood. James burrowed into his neck and inhaled deeply, holding on.
“You got here fast,” James said after a moment.
“I was hanging around in Port Orton. Otherwise I would’ve brought your stuff. Sorry.”
James shook his head, pressing his face into the curve of Hunter’s shoulder.
“Damn, you’re all nice and clean.” Hunter pressed his nose into James’s damp hair, breathing in. “Been hauling scrap all day. I feel disgusting.”
“You’re not.” James pulled back to look him in the eyes. “You didn’t stay in town for me, did you?”
“Why would I do that?” Hunter brushed a damp lock of hair from James’s eyes. “Just ‘cause I got some cryptic phone call from somebody with shitty luck after he went out to meet a stranger on a bridge in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere?”
James bit his lip to hold it steady. It was like his face had gotten addicted to crying at the police station. But it was hard not to be moved by Hunter’s caring. “Thank you.”
Hunter nodded, his gaze firm and intent. “Glad you’re okay. And I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. It’s over now.” James finally broke eye contact, looking away as he turned to walk back into the room. “Come on in.”
“Brought some supplies.” Hunter pulled out the desk chair, sat down, and began to pull item after item from the bag, setting each one on the desk. “Guessing you didn’t eat. Picked up a couple burritos. Chips. Guac. Ginger ale.”
James felt a tiny smile on his face. He barely remembered mentioning in passing that he always craved ginger ale when he wasn’t feeling well. Was this what it would be like to have a boyfriend? A partner?
Hunter was still setting things on the desk like he was assembling an army of toy soldiers. “Some tea. Whiskey. Cookies. And a joint.” He folded the bag into a neat square and put it in his coat pocket. “Hope that helps.”
“Hunter.”
Hunter turned the chair around to face him with a questioning look.
“For the record, I…” James paused, looking for his words. “I know you’d probably do this for anybody. But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t take it from anybody, I mean.”
Hunter’s eyes drifted back to the desk as James spoke, like he was curious about the things he’d just unpacked himself. “Who says I’d do this for anybody?” he asked after a pause, and then added, “Whatever this is.”
“Whatever this is,” James echoed.
Hunter studied him for a moment. Then he stood up and raked a hand through his hair, wandering over to the window. He parted the curtain to look outside. “Gonna stay in tonight, I hope?”
James nodded, slowly realizing why Hunter’s presence was so comforting. Why it had been so easy to climb into his truck on that dark, deserted road, and why his home had felt so safe. It was because his heart was huge. It filled whatever room he was in. It warmed whoever he was with. It softened the atmosphere like an old song.
And it was strong. Strong enough to keep him on his feet when he’d been left to stand alone, after what he’d shared last night. Strong enough to hold somebody else up, too.
James joined him by the window, parting the curtain a little wider to see what he was seeing. It was a peaceful, lovely view. The dark line of the ocean, barely distinguishable from the sky. The few scattered lights of ships on the horizon. The single line of rooftops between the Sea Witch and the seafront.
“You wanna be alone?” Hunter asked quietly.
“No.” James couldn’t even imagine it.
The rest of the night was quiet. Hunter took a shower while James made two cups of tea. Then they perched on the chair by the window, James on the seat and Hunter on the armrest, drinking Earl Grey and passing the joint back and forth. When James was good and relaxed, soothed by the cannabis and the way Hunter looked in a towel, he finally opened up about what had happened on the bridge. Hunter listened raptly, his brow softly furrowed, conveying sympathy and horror in all the right places. James even confided that Beau had been there, although not how he’d intervened. The omission didn’t matter much—he could tell by the sharpening of Hunter’s eyes