Page 19 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

My hands eventually find her waist, fisting the towel wrapped around her body. “W-would you go lay down…with me?” The words are raspy and strained, but I push them out because all I want, all Ineed, is a warm body holding on to mine. I want a smooth voice whispering comforting words, darkness, and endless sleep.

“Sure,” she says softly and without hesitation. She stands and offers me a hand that I take. With my hand in hers, she leads me to her bedroom, turning off the light and closing the drapes.

She motions for me to lie down. So, taking off my boots with trembling hands, I place them beside the bed and lie back.

From the corner of my eye, I can see her drop the towel and slip a large t-shirt down over her body.

She could be anybody. This is just a means to sleep.

She pads softly to the bed and gets under the covers beside me. When I roll to face away from her, she comes closer, letting a warm hand drape back and forth across my back. Over and over.

“You’re going to be okay, Alexander,” she says, whispering softly, her voice matching the weight behind her touch. “Go tosleep, we’ll be here.” And that, I believe. I close my eyes, and with one last breath, I drift away.

Emma

Long after he’s fallen asleep, I stay there, my chest nearly touching his back, and I stroke him gently. The pads of my fingers drag across his broad back, up and down, cresting, before gliding down between his shoulder blades. I don’t stop until my own shoulder starts to burn.

Watching him break down and cry had been so…arresting. Too beautiful to look away from. So vulnerable. He brings out something in me that just wants to cradle and coddle and stroke him back to the man he could be.

He went beyond beautiful, though.There has to be a word for something so beautiful it hurts…

Even after I stop rubbing his back, I continue to lie close to him. Just close enough for our body heat to exchange but not so close we actually touch. And I stay there until the light in the room shifts, growing darker.

“Psst,” Blanks says into the dark void. I debate playing opossum, but the fact that I’m starving has me sitting up. Slowly, I move away from Alex so I don’t wake him.

His breathing doesn’t so much as falter for a half breath, and I sigh out in relief.

“Throw some clothes on,” Blanks tells me once I’ve padded close enough to my bedroom door to hear his whispers. I roll my eyes but do as I’m told, finding my jeans and a bra and sliding on my checkered Vans.

I toe out of the room as quietly as possible, closing the door until it’s almost shut to let Alex keep sleeping.

When I turn around, Blanks is waiting for me at the end of the hallway. He’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Dressed in dark blue jeans, suede boots, and a v-neck sweater over a white tee. He manages to make basic look lascivious.

Thankfully, he doesn’t comment on what he just saw. Instead, he says, “Let’s go eat,” then thrusts a thick sweater towards me to put on. I want to tell him,Don’t tell me what to do.I want to tell him to stop being bossy, but I’m exhausted and actually hungry, and this sweater…

It’s soft and heavyweight and the perfect shade of gray. I want an entire wardrobe made from just this fabric. Sliding it on overhead, my ring snags on the yarns. My hands and limbs still not used to the added height of the ring.

I’m about to take the rings off when Blanks stops me, “No, wear it.” There’s something about his tone. So I leave them on.

“C’mon, kiddo,” he says as he fluffs my hair.God, my hair.It was still wet when I got in bed with Alex and, hence, dried curly.

“Kiddo?” I question him with a scoff. “You’re like, what? Three years older than me?”

“Try ten.” That surprises me, honestly. I don’t know if it’s his boyish charm that makes him seem younger or his looks, but I would’ve only guessed he was 30 on a bad day.

“Okay,Daddy. Tell me where we’re going to eat.”

The tops of his cheeks blaze. He turns around and starts heading towards the door to the garage, through the kitchen.

“There’s only one restaurant in this hick town, Angel. That’s where we’re going.” Oh. And Angel?Again?

Coltons.Shouldn’t it be Colton’s, or was that just a quirky small-town thing? Like the name isn’t possessive, but some long story would eventually tell me how two brothers decided to open a bar in the middle of nowhere, thus birthing Coltons. Plural. Like this is where you come to find the Coltons. Or, more simply, the apostrophe had been too expensive to add to the sign.

The place is packed. Surprising for a Friday night in December in, seemingly, the middle of nowhere.

“Everyone’s home for the holidays,” Blanks explains as he watches me take in the boisterous crowd hovering around the jukebox.

With a bit of maneuvering, Blanks pulls me to the last open bar stools, practically forcing me to sit. He was so pushy. Brutish.No, he’s just that confident.