Page 40

I could count on one hand how many times in my life I’d been shocked speechless. When Dad had told us the company had taken off, for one. When June had told me Roderick had finally proposed, and asked me to be their best-man-of-honor. When I’d found out the surgery had been successful—that Dad’s injuries weren’t too severe. That after real rest and recuperation, he was going to be fine.

But this…this was a new kind of speechless.

Like all the words in the world—even if they’d been smashed together—couldn’t possibly encompass the vastness of my joy.

Emotional whiplash, that was for certain. After I’d been broken down to dust only a few minutes prior. Now I was soaring. Soaring—already transported across the tracks, even though my body remained still, exactly where I’d left it.

Across the tracks, through the torrent of rain, George’s blond head was visible. He slid out of the unfamiliar vehicle, all long and leggy. Like a fucking angel. An angel of mercy, maybe?

Time stopped.

Even the rain seemed to slow as I jerked my seatbelt off and shoved my door open.

George raised a hand above his head to block the worst of it, and my watch glinted on his wrist—beside the friendship bracelet I’d tied there. It looked as good on him from a distance as it had up close.

The rain was an odd amalgamation of cold and warm. It soaked me in seconds, drenched my tux through each expensive layer down to the skin beneath. I hardly noticed as I ran in front of my car. The asphalt crunched under the soles of my shoes, still exuding the heat that’d plagued the city before the rain had ever hit.

I didn’t feel that either.

All my senses—my sight, my smell, even touch were focused on George.

It was as though he was right there beside me, even though he wasn’t yet. I sprinted through the rain, across the barren train tracks, and around the boom barriers to reach him.

George was drenched by the time I’d closed the last of the distance that’d separated us. His thick, wavy blond hair dripped down his forehead and into his eyes. The hand he had in the air did nothing to protect him. Especially not when he dropped it to his side, my watch sliding along that firm, delicate wrist bone.

His eyes met mine.

George had the kind of eyes poetry was written about. There was a sadness in them I recognized far too intimately. Neediness. But strength too. Determination. Determination that showed in his actions, as well as his gaze.

The fact he was here was a testament to that.

They were the same vivid, bottomless blue as they’d been the day I’d met him. But my feelings for them were far stronger now. Because I knew those eyes. Knew exactly how many wrinkles his nose scrunched into. Knew what he looked like when his guard was down. Knew the taste, the feel, the shape of him—so well, if I closed my eyes, I could picture every last, perfect inch.

I knew how to bring him joy. How to make him smile. How to make him drop his precious control. I knew how to make him feel seen, and loved. How to appreciate him, the way he was meant to be appreciated.

As I stood there staring at him, taking him in, there was no denying the honest truth.

And maybe I didn’t know how to love myself yet—but I knew with bone-deep certainty how to love George-Arthur Milton.

There wasn’t a single man in the world who would love him more fiercely than I would.

He must’ve recognized that in my gaze, recognized my devotion, my awe, my gratitude. Because the tension in his frame fled, and those dark eyes glistened.

They said, I’m meeting you halfway.

They said, we’re not done yet.

They said, I need you, I need you, I need ? —

“You look like you could use a recharge.” George’s words broke me.

A laugh escaped before I could help it, and suddenly that terrible, awful ache in my chest was completely gone. As though George’s presence had untangled the knots.

“You have no idea.” No truer words had ever been said.

When I kissed him, he tasted like honesty.

Nothing existed outside his mouth—soft, pliant, then biting and ravenous.

Teeth, and tongue, and long-long fingers tangled in the back of my hair.

Time blurred along with my vision, rain mixing with tears, with spit and sweat. The thump of my heart was louder than the rumble of thunder above us. The storm didn’t let up, but neither of us cared, growing soggier by the minute.

George’s skin was chilly beneath my palms, fingers scraping up those sweet cheeks and into his tangle of blond hair. It was knotted now that the rain had made it catch. The gel he’d styled it with that morning made it sticky and hard to card through.

I tugged.

I felt his responding gasp all the way to my toes.

“I was so mad at you—” George’s voice broke. “For not admitting you need me.”

“But I do—” I licked his whine right out of his mouth. “I do .”

“ I need you too. ” George’s wet lashes were a spiky, dark blond. The whites of his eyes were red, swimming with tears. “I don’t want to be friends,” his breath hitched. “I don’t want to be anyone else’s?—”

“George.”

“I know it was just for practice but can’t it be—” George’s voice was shaking. “Can’t it be forever? Can’t we…can’t we just never stop?” His hands clung to my shirt, pulling at the fabric. “Does it have to end?”

“It doesn’t have to end.” I kissed him again, overwhelmed—frightened—and elated all at the same time. “Never, George.”

“I won’t let you down like those other people,” George sniffed, his dark eyes swirling with tears. A few rolled down his cheek, mixing with the rain. “I don’t care if every day isn’t a ‘good day.’ The way I look at you will never change.”

I kissed him again, cutting off his confession.

When I pulled back again this time, he was far more settled. “You don’t have to be perfect,” George promised softly. “You don’t have to be perfect for me to love you.”

“I know.” My throat clicked when I swallowed. And I did know. I did. Because I realized the feeling was entirely fucking mutual. In fact…it was George’s flaws that endeared him to me so very much. His fussiness. His tendency to smother. How loud, how bright he could be. Argumentative and grouchy—and so…so goddamn lovable.

George wrapped his arms around my middle, burying his face in my neck. He shook. Shook so damn hard. I clutched him close, rocking him as I inhaled the scent of his shampoo, my eyes squeezed so tightly when I opened them I saw more black spots.

His fluffy head was right there. So kissable. So I kissed it. Kissed his ear too. Kissed his forehead, and his nose, and his eyebrows—and his cheeks, and his chin and his?—

“Ah!” George shoved my face away with a laugh, his earlier upset gone.

It was only when he was smiling at me, this tremulous, eager thing—so goddamn proud of himself for speaking up, for being brave, for taking what he wanted—that my own words rose to the surface.

“I never wanted you to go.” My truths spilled free, muttered between kisses that tasted like second-chances. “I don’t ever want to be apart from you.” George made a hurt sound, but I continued. “I don’t want to be without you for a single fucking second.”

“You didn’t say anything,” George said, still smiling, despite the devastating honesty of his words. “You promised to be honest. You promised not to play games.”

“I know.” I smiled, but it wasn’t happy, not like his. His fingers yanked me closer, those gorgeous eyes on mine. He waited, blinking away stray drops of rain, patient as the whirr of the Ryde’s engine sounded beside us. “I…”

I didn’t know how to explain, but I tried.

“I was scared,” I said softly, surprised when the words spilled free.

“Scared?” George blinked.

“I’ve never loved someone like I love you,” I admitted. “I…didn’t—don’t know what to do. I hate not knowing what to do. I hate not knowing the answers?—”

George was quiet for a moment, but only a moment. And then he was reeling me back into a hug, smooshing into me, going so far as to yank my hands around him so I was hugging back exactly the way he wanted.

It was the bossiest, fussiest hug in the history of the world.

And it was perfect.

“It’s okay not to have all the answers,” George said softly. “Maybe…instead of being stupid—next time we can just…ask each other. Honesty very rarely, if ever, ruins good things,” George recited.

I laughed.

Because when he said it like that, it sounded so simple.

“Real boyfriends communicate,” George chided. “That’s my boyfriend lesson for you.”

“Oh, really?” I snorted. “Georgie-the-adorable-hypocrite strikes again. Who exactly was the one that walked into that airport without even looking at me?!”

“If I’d looked at you I wouldn’t have left!” George squeezed me tight, far tighter than I thought he was capable.

“I was coming back for you,” I promised, sobering. “ I was coming back for you—” I repeated, days worth of pent-up emotion making my voice quake. It didn’t feel like days. Felt more like centuries, honestly. Like I’d spent this life, and the last, and the one before that wanting him, chasing him, craving him. “I was such an idiot, George. I should’ve told you the truth from the start.”

“The truth?”

“That you deserve better than what Brendon ever gave you. You deserve…” Christ…there were so many things it was hard to pick. “You deserve to be with someone that respects you. Someone that adores every messy, dramatic, delightful part of you. Someone that loves you enough to tease you?—”

“You do a lot of that,” George griped, though the roughness of his voice betrayed how touched he was. And yet—I wasn’t done. Wasn’t fucking done. Because now that the words were flowing, I couldn’t seem to get them to stop. The dam had been broken, the overflowing well of my George-oriented thoughts spilling free.

“You deserve to be with someone you can trust. Someone who wants a future with you. Someone that makes you laugh. Someone that’s proud to call you his.” Tears blurred my vision and I blinked them away—annoyed at their presence because they were blocking my view of his face. Of the way his lips were trembling. Of the way his breath puffed out, in panicked bursts .

“Alex—” George whined, clearly struggling. But I didn’t stop. Didn’t stop, because for his entire adult life George had been starved of affection. He’d begged for scraps of attention. Bent over backward for praise he never received. And I could see in his eyes that my declaration was doing something to him.

Breaking him down.

Breaking him so that he could build himself stronger.

So that we could be something better. So that he could stand on his own. So he could understand his worth didn’t come from a boyfriend’s feelings or perception, but because he deserved better.

We could reconstruct our foundations in tandem.

We could fortify one another.

I wanted to be the standard he set for himself.

Wanted that standard to climb and climb and climb.

Wanted to spend my life striving to surprise him with my devotion.

“You deserve a ring on your finger. Anniversaries. A wedding—exactly the way you’ve always wanted.”

“I-I can’t.”

“You…” My heart kept jumping. I could feel it in my fingertips where they pressed into George’s skin. Feel it in my chest, knocking each breath free. In my throat, tightening with my words. “You…deserve someone who knows he has flaws.” Jesus, did I have those. “Who’s not perfect—but never stops trying. Someone who struggles sometimes…but…loves you enough to never give up.”

A car honked but we ignored it. I had no idea if it was the Ryde driver, or someone behind my dad. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing but George’s eyes. Those fathomless, swirling depths.

And the way they warmed with every rain-streaked blink.

“Alex—” George sounded wrecked.

“But most of all, you deserve…to feel like you’re enough. Fuck. Like you’re more than enough—because you are .”

“F-fuck.” George gasped .

“I would make you so happy, Georgie.” Candid was best. I’d nearly lost my opportunity to be that—to do this. I was tired of being an idiot. “I would.” It was a vow. “I’d take such good care of you.”

“A—”

He tried to stop me again, but I wasn’t done. Wasn’t done—because I’d almost lost this. This was the most important negotiation I’d ever make. “I need you.” My stomach filled with lead, those words far heavier than anything I’d ever thought I could admit. “I need you. I can’t fucking breathe when I think about losing you. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Can’t imagine a future where we’re not together.”

I could keep going.

I wanted to keep going.

All my private, most personal thoughts were escaping—but George…lovely, wonderful George, anchored me in the present.

He stroked up and down my back.

Recognizing my rambling for what it was, an anxious ploy to convince him he’d be making the right choice. His hands slid into my hair, petting through it, holding me still as he pulled my face back so he could meet my gaze.

“Okay.” George’s eyes were red-rimmed. “ Okay .” It took me a second to process the word through the ringing in my ears.

“Okay?”

Now it was my turn to shake. Trembling like a leaf in the wind, weak in a way I’d never been for anyone but him. Allowing myself to show weakness—because I knew he wouldn’t judge me for it. Knew he’d help steady me. Knew he’d understand.

The hands George had in my hair tightened, as I sucked in a breath.

“ Okay ,” George repeated. “Let’s do it.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.” George blinked. “If you’re up for it.”

“Of course I’m up for it. I can’t promise I won’t mess up?— ”

“Good, because I’m sure I will.” George said this wryly enough it startled a laugh right out of me. “Long distance?” George’s voice was soft. “For now. While I pack up my apartment.”

“While you?—”

“Pack up my apartment, yes. I’ll need to give my roommate time to find someone to take my place. But that shouldn’t take long.”

Had I hit my head?

This could not possibly be that easy.

“That’s it?” I couldn’t rationalize what was happening. George nodded, a short jerky thing. His hands slipped out of my hair, tangling around my wrists instead. “You’re just…going to…move here?” I blinked. “But what about your job?”

I was clearly out of my mind.

Why the hell was I trying to convince him not to stay?

Shut up, shut up.

“What about your life ?” My voice cracked again. Again. How fucking embarrassing.

“I quit my job on the drive here,” George replied dryly. My mouth dropped open, and my expression must’ve been ridiculous because it made him smile. “It was a long time coming, Alex,” he confessed. “But I can’t help but…admit…you had a lot to do with it.”

“You love your job.”

“I loved parts of my job,” George corrected. “I didn’t love working with my ex. Didn’t love walking on eggshells everyday. Didn’t love being away from my family. Didn’t love the fact that I was only staying because I was worried I’d disappoint my mom if I left.”

“Oh.”

“You made me realize that there is…so much more to life than staying stagnant.” George sucked in a breath. “You made me realize…I could have fun. I could be myself—and be accepted, fuck. Even celebrated for that. That ther e are… better options. You are the better option.”

George was quoting something I’d said as a joke, but obviously he’d taken it to heart.

“I wish we would’ve said all this earlier,” George huffed. “We both were idiots.”

“But we’re not idiots anymore?”

“No,” George laughed. “We’re still idiots.” He shook his head, and his hair flopped onto his forehead. I snorted, because he was right. We were.

“Idiots together,” I agreed.

“Too true.” George’s lips curled into an indulgent smile. It was gorgeous. Private, and soft, and all mine. Then his expression hardened. “We should set some expectations.”

Expectations were good.

I liked expectations.

We really were two peas in a pod.

“I’m not moving in immediately,” George started.

“What—”

“I need my own space while we date. Four months should be long enough, right? Then we can move in together. Your house, obviously. It’s perfect for my needs.” He was planning our life. Planning it as intently as I’d planned Juniper’s wedding. “We can have date nights on Fridays.”

“That’s reasonable.”

“I’ll allow a proposal between month four and six. I like being surprised.”

“You’ll allow it, huh?” I chuckled, chest so warm and light I was surprised I didn’t simply explode. “I’ll add it to my schedule.”

“I prefer silver over gold.”

“Gotcha.”

“You’ll need to buy litter boxes for Mr. Pickles.”

“Not a problem.”

“And stock up on his cat food. For the nights I stay over. ”

“Will do.”

“I don’t want a long engagement,” George added. “I hate those. Six months maximum.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Be mentally prepared for me to be involved in the wedding planning.” George’s thumbs skimmed my inner wrists as I sank my fingers into his hair, then down to his nape, scraping across the chilly skin. “I have a lot of opinions. I know you handled June’s ceremony—and you did a beautiful job. But I want to be hands-on. I want ours to be a joint effort.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else. George, the bridezilla. That tracks.” George rolled his eyes, but ultimately looked pleased.

“I want kids,” he added like a challenge. “Lots of them.”

“Believe me, you’d already be pregnant if I had any choice in the matter.”

He glared at me, but his cheeks were pink, so the effect was ruined. George cleared his throat, shuffling his feet as he got his mouth going again. This adorable, bossy little negotiation was lighting me up with each bulleted stipulation.

“I’m serious, Alex,” he said.

“So am I.” I grinned, and he stared at me. Stared . How had I never noticed the way he looked at me? It was suspiciously close to the way I looked at him, stars in my eyes.

“I don’t want to be limited,” George added. “There are a lot of kids of various ages in the system. Any kid that needs a home is welcome in our family.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” My heart fluttered.

It was so easy to picture the life George was painting. A yellow brick road to a happy ending I’d always craved. Swipe, swipe went George’s thumbs, anchoring me in the present.

Anchoring me to him.

So I could orbit him the way I always did, sucked into the gravitational pull that was George-Arthur Milton. His fingers wiggled under the edge of the friendship bracelet I still wore .

I felt like I was floating.

“I want my library.”

“I’ll start building,” I said immediately. “Anything else?”

He pursed his lips together, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Saturdays at my mom’s? I miss her…and I…” His eyes hardened. “I don’t want any other relationship to get in the way of spending time with her.”

“I love your mom. That’s easy.”

“We can do Sundays with your dad.”

“Perfect.”

George softened, head tipping back a bit more. His lips were still swollen from our kisses, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to lean down and taste him again. “I want…”

“Anything.”

“I want you to still be mean to me sometimes,” George’s voice went hoarse. “Especially in bed.”

“Jesus Christ, Duchess.”

I couldn’t stop myself. I had to kiss him. Kiss his lips, and those words, and the ache behind them. He moaned into the kiss, pressing into me greedily, like he’d been waiting for me to take charge and take this for the both of us.

Like my kiss was a gift.

“This is the easiest negotiation I’ve ever participated in,” I murmured when we parted, both of us breathless.

“I’m glad.” George’s cheeks were flushed, but his eyes were unguarded. His walls were gone. Left somewhere back at the airport where he’d had to tear through them to chase me down. Because that’s what he’d done. Worked through his own fears to meet me halfway—the way I’d always dreamed a partner would.

For the desperation we felt to be a mutual affliction.

We had more in common than we didn’t, despite being opposites.

Maybe that was what happened when you fell in love with your best friend .

Because, despite how odd that felt—considering we’d just met—I knew for a fact it was true.

George relaxed, the tension in his frame dissipating as his fingers slid up my arms to tangle in the back of my hair once more. The icy bite of his fingertips against my scalp sent a shiver down my spine.

He needed out of this rain.

Needed to be warmed up and kissed silly.

“So…what does that make us then?” I asked. Another honk sounded, but again, we ignored it. When I kissed the vulnerable shell of his ear, he tasted like summer rain. “Real boyfriends? Lovers ? Love birds?—”

“Equals.” George’s voice was soft.

“Equals,” I echoed, squeezing him tight. “That’s the most poetic shit I’ve ever heard, you giant sap.”

“Shut up.”

“I won’t,” I grinned. His frame trembled with laughter, betraying his amusement. “You have to know that.”

George snorted in agreement.

And suddenly I had to taste him again. Had to taste that mouth, and its laughter. So I did. It was easy to yank him into my arms—to pull his soaked sneakers from the asphalt and support him with my bulk well above the ground. Reed thin, and lovely, George was the most welcome weight I’d ever carried.

He made this delightfully shocked sound as he stiffened—then relaxed, meeting my kiss bite for bite, lick for lick.

Equal, the way all partners should be.

Equal, the way I’d never felt with anyone else.