Grady followed Micah up the stairs to the third floor, weariness weighing each step. He should’ve rejected Micah’s offer to stay the night, only he didn’t have it in him. The thought of going home to his studio apartment that was more of a storage room for his minimal belongings left him cold—or colder than he already was.
Micah stepped through the door on the right and flicked on a light, a golden glow filling one half of the attic space. Broken in the middle by the stairs, the once-open area had been divided into two separate rooms. The soothing downstairs color palette had been carried into the master bedroom, and Grady eyed the king-sized bed with longing. The navy duvet beckoned him with its fluffy softness and bulky pillows, but he was able to swallow his groan before it leaked out.
“Just so you know,” Micah said from where he stood next to the bed. “There’s no expectations here except for sleeping.”
Why did that simple statement have his throat tightening and eyes burning? He looked down, sniffed, and swallowed hard. “Is the bathroom through here?” He pointed at an open door that clearly revealed a sink and mirror.
“Yes.”
He took the escape, knowing it was exactly that and not caring. What am I running from? He shut the door, closing off the answer with a click. Comfort. Security. Strength given and received—that was what.
The truth stared back at him from the mirror. Sex didn’t offer a warm bed without expectations. Or rush to the hospital and hold him when he was too broken to move.
And where did that leave him?
He heaved a sigh that brought no answers and used the bathroom like he was supposed to be doing. Micah was sitting on the bed, shirtless and gorgeous when he came out.
His heart hitched, want warming his chest and halting there. It didn’t rush to his groin or hopscotch into desire, which made it ten times more dangerous.
Micah stood, motioning to the bed. “I put out some sleep pants if you want them.” He was still in his jeans, the snap undone. A second pair of flannel bottoms were folded on top of the chest of drawers along the wall.
He brushed past Grady on his way to the bathroom, a hand grazing over Grady’s arm to leave a questioning spread of doubts and uncertainty.
The door snapped shut and his own insecurities threatened to swallow him. He could leave now, walk out before things got more tangled. And then what?
He set the sleep pants on the dresser next to the others, stripped to his briefs, and slipped beneath the cool sheets. His appreciative groan echoed off the walls when he sank into the softness. Years of sleeping on the hard ground and camp mattresses only highlighted the luxury beneath him.
Micah stepped out of the bathroom on quiet footsteps that somehow pounded his path to the other side of the bed. Even with his eyes closed, Grady tracked him. He opened his eyes, smile spreading. It was impossible not to. The light played over the valleys of Micah’s muscles and upped his rugged appearance. That hard but firm outer shell that masked a tender, sometimes vulnerable core.
He lifted the covers to clearly display his bare legs and boxer briefs. “I only wear pants to bed when I’m sleeping outdoors.”
Micah’s short laugh rippled over his pecs and erased the tension around his mouth. “Noted.” He discarded his jeans and turned off the light before sliding into bed.
Grady lay on his back, stiff and overthinking, before he gave into the bone-deep craving for the security Micah offered. He rolled and Micah lifted his arm without hesitation. An instant flash of rebellion had him pausing. He didn’t cuddle, let alone on a guy’s chest. Just because he liked to bottom didn’t make him the weaker man.
Panic rose, his mind racing with the implications of every part of this evening. He was getting too close, wanting too much. Depending on Micah when he should be standing on his own.
His pulse increased, breaths shortening, then Micah’s hand slid over his nape, the act oddly soothing. Grady closed his eyes, bones melting from the simple touch. He slid down, no force required, and sighed into Micah’s side. There was a perfect spot for his head on Micah’s chest and his leg twined between Micah’s like it was the missing piece of a puzzle.
Micah held him close, his heart thudding out a solid beat beneath Grady’s ear, which somehow settled his own. His woodsy scent that could ramp Grady up now eased in to welcome him home.
Peace was an amazingly elusive thing he’d been hunting his entire life. At one point he’d believed it to be the buzzing high that came at the end of a challenging rapid or the wonder as he stood before nature’s stunning beauty.
He knew better now.
This right here quieted his mind and calmed his soul as nothing else ever had.
Micah stroked his fingers through Grady’s hair, each pass a gentle confirmation of understanding. He didn’t dig for answers or hound him with questions. Just like he’d never offered blasé platitudes to make him feel better.
No saving.
Helping.
“Tell me about your family,” Grady said into the quiet, curious to understand where Micah obtained these traits. Were they a result of his coma or did they run deeper?
“My parents live in a suburb of Salem in the same house I was raised in.” Micah didn’t miss a beat on the sudden question, his low voice another layer of intimacy. “They’re good people. Loving, supportive—sometimes overwhelmingly so.” His chest bounced with his gentle laugh, but it contained the soft warmth of love. “But I wouldn’t be here now without them.”
“How so?” God, it was nice to think of something besides his own messed-up life.
Micah sighed, his chest swelling beneath Grady’s head. “A year and a half out of my coma I was still living at home, frustrated, angry, and depressed. My mom had to drive me to Portland three times a week for various therapies, half of which weren’t working. Most of my friends had moved on or faded away, and I was terrified my future was going to be more of the same.”
“Wow.” Grady propped himself up even though Micah’s face was mostly in shadow. He couldn’t imagine this confident man in such a state. He traced a line down his strong jaw, whiskers scratching his fingertips, the urge to soothe Micah’s past hurts too strong to resist.
“Right about then I got a new occupational therapist who was a realist instead of an optimist. She’s the one who thought of the laminated maps and started taking me on trips around the city to build up my confidence. She also suggested the volunteer reading.”
“She sounds like a really good egg.” And a bit of the savior Micah now declined needing.
Micah smiled, his cheek lifting beneath the soft brush of Grady’s thumb. “She is. When I told my parents I was moving to Portland, they bought this place despite my protests. Mom insisted it was the only way she was going to sleep at night. I wanted to prove I could do it on my own, but financially I couldn’t, and the permanent, consistent surroundings minimize the brain blips.”
“Brain blips.” He chuckled. “Cute.”
Micah shoved his shoulder in a playful objection. “It’s better than ‘episodes,’ which is what my little sister calls them.”
“Agreed.” His eyelids were heavy, but he wanted to know more even though every piece of knowledge dragged him closer to disaster. “How did you end up working at Dane’s?”
“I bartended through college, so it seemed logical to look in that field for a job.” He ran his palm up Grady’s back in another soothing glide as absentminded as Grady’s easy brush on Micah’s jaw. “I can’t remember the weeks running up to my coma. I know what happened because people told me, but fortunately my long-term memories are intact. There are some people who lose those.” He paused, eyes closing for a moment. “I think on that when I get fed up with my situation. I didn’t lose my childhood or all the knowledge I’d already learned. I didn’t wake up with a blank slate.”
And Grady hadn’t even thought of that possibility. His throat closed up, compassion swelling for Micah, Finn, everyone who found themselves crashed against the fucking hard rocks of life.
“My old boss put me in touch with Dane,” Micah went on. “Said he knew Dane to be a fair guy who wouldn’t judge me. A full-disclosure interview later I had a job and a friend.”
Grady swallowed, forcing himself to keep up with the conversation. “Was the other bar a leather club too?”
“No,” he answered with another low chuckle. “It was a typical college hangout, not far from campus.”
And that led to another disparity between them. “Did you graduate?”
“Yes. But I need a master’s or doctorate before it’s useful. Sociology is great in theory and not so useful without higher degrees.”
“The study of people?” He was guessing wildly on that, his lack of a college education glaring brightly.
“Something like that.” Micah brushed it off. “And that’s my life in ten minutes or less.”
“I doubt it.”
He cupped the back of Grady’s head and lifted to plant a kiss on his lips. “Why?”
“You’re too complex for it to be that simple,” he argued. There were layers and layers of interesting facets and intelligence Micah kept secreted away. “Is there a reason why you never went back to school?”
“Things changed.” Regret lined his low dismissal.
He waited for Micah to continue and prodded when he didn’t. “You could though, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“What’s the point?” he argued. “I can’t go anywhere with it. And I like my job.”
“But—”
Micah cut him off with a long slow kiss that frayed his thoughts and soothed through him to shove away the ever-present restlessness. He drew back and Grady frowned, his emotions a scrambled mess of wants and doubts, longings and fears, wishes and reality.
“Come here,” Micah said, shifting and nudging Grady until they were on their sides, Micah spooned behind him. He brushed a kiss on his shoulder, arm holding him tight, legs threaded together. Another foreign position that should’ve had him sprinting away instead of squirming closer.
Yet he absorbed the offered strength and gave in to the freedom of being held. Micah had been caring for him all evening, a luxury he hadn’t had in so long he’d forgotten what it was like.
“Tell me about you,” Micah said, his voice a gentle nudge, free of traps.
“Can I ask you one more thing first?” He reused Micah’s line, hoping the diversion worked.
Micah huffed a short laugh. “Sure.” But his arm tightened around Grady.
“What are you afraid of? About going back to school?” He waited a beat and went on when Micah didn’t respond. “If that part of your brain isn’t affected, why don’t you get those other degrees?”
The silence stretched until it edged on awkward. Then Micah sighed, a gust of heated air warming Grady’s nape. “Would anyone really hire me after they found out about my condition?”
“Dane did.”
“And that’s a bar.”
“So?”
“It’s different than an office or out in the field working with people.” He sighed again, impatience tightening his voice. “Now what about you?”
“What about me?” Grady dodged, letting the other topic go when he really wanted to dig deeper. But Micah had never pushed him and he respected that. Appreciated that.
“Whatever you want to tell me.”
“There isn’t much to tell.”
“Tell me anyway.”
His stack of dismissive responses rushed up only to lodge in his throat. This was the sharing-and-confiding thing he hadn’t done since James, and he’d already beaten himself up for revealing so much about that portion of his life. Days of second-guessing himself that’d had him running until his legs gave out and his stomach heaved.
Tension ran unwanted down his back, his chest clenching around old habits and memories. Judgments rained down on him, incriminating and self-inflicted but all the more potent when tagged with recent events. Micah’s hold was suddenly confining and he struggled to remain still. To find the ease his embrace had offered just moments ago.
“Hey,” Micah soothed, a kiss landing on his nape. “It’s okay.” Another kiss, a gentle caress over his chest. “It’s been a long day.” A nuzzle on his neck, a warm breath by his ear. “Sleep.”
Goosebumps ran down his back, but they were warmed by the tight press of Micah. Holding not confining. Supporting not judging. Helping not saving.
No expectations.
The reminders were a comfort and a kick. The last promise provided escape, yet disappointment settled hollow and empty within him.
Expectations offered something to strive toward, someone to be proud of and for.
When wielded correctly, they made life better—him better. But he’d resisted and defied any definition that outlined a relationship since James and his parents had proven exactly how unreliable and hurtful they could be.
So what exactly did he expect of Micah—let alone from him—when he was unwilling to risk more of himself?