Page 20 of Finding Gideon (Foggy Basin Season Two)

Gideon

Junie and her moms had gone—the little girl with her glitter-pink prosthetic, the women whose laughter had left the backyard feeling brighter than the sun overhead.

Inside, Dennis had sprawled on the couch like it was his birthright, one paw dangling over the edge. His breathing was slow and deep, the picture of a dog who had wrung every drop of adventure out of the day.

I slid my arms under him, careful not to jostle him too much. He gave a drowsy huff but didn’t protest, his head lolling against my chest as I carried him to his bed in the corner. By the time I set him down, he was already snoring again.

Back at the clinic, Toast was curled in his recovery crate, belly full, paw twitching in some soft dream. I’d left him there less than an hour ago, but it still felt like he was here, taking up space in the quiet between my thoughts.

When I came back into the living room, Malcolm was on the couch, the TV dark, the room lit only by the soft glow from a lamp in the corner. I sat beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his leg against mine, our thighs brushing in that casual, accidental way that never really felt accidental.

“Most kids, hell, most adults would have looked past a dog like Toast,” I said finally. “But Junie saw what he did have, not what he didn’t. She didn’t pity him. She just loved him. As if every missing part only made him more worthy.”

Malcolm didn’t say anything, but I didn’t need him to.

“There’s something about that.” I went on. “About being seen like that. No disclaimers. No asterisks.”

I kept my gaze fixed on a spot across the room.

“Not being wanted,” I said slowly, “that shapes you. You don’t even realize it’s happening. You start choosing yourself less and less over time. Because why would you pick someone no one else ever has?”

Malcolm turned toward me. “Gideon…”

“It is not just about being picked last,” I said before I lost the nerve.

“Though that happened—sports, school projects, teams, whatever. I wasn’t bad.

I just wasn’t… memorable. Garrett could walk into a room and the whole place would rearrange itself around him. I was used to fading into the corners.”

My voice caught, but I did not back away from the truth of it. “And then after he died, it was like I disappeared even more. I didn’t have him to tether me anymore. No spotlight to stand beside. Just this strange empty space and I didn’t know who I was if I wasn’t someone’s twin.”

Malcolm was quiet for a long moment, and the silence made me feel stupid, exposed—until he finally said, “You know what’s strange? I used to think I wanted everything I had.”

That made me look at him.

“I chased it hard,” he said. “The apartment with the views. The suits. The job that kept me up at night. I thought if I had it all, I’d be someone. I got there. And it was like drinking sand.”

“Dry?” I asked.

His lips curved faintly. “Yeah. Dry. And not worth the sprint.”

He ran a hand over his jaw, like he was working the thought through before letting it loose. “I think… I wanted things that made sense on paper. But wanting something real? That is harder. Because it means figuring out what feels right, not what looks right.”

A slow warmth unfurled in my chest. “So what feels right now?”

Malcolm didn’t smile. He just looked at me—a long, searching look.

“This. You. Sitting here. Saying things I probably wouldn’t have said if you hadn’t gone first, letting me know we could both be real tonight.”

For a second, I forgot how to breathe. Not because of what he said, but because of the way he said it—like my words had shifted something in him. Like maybe I hadn’t spilled my guts into the quiet for nothing.

The air between us felt heavier and lighter at the same time, like the start of a summer storm you almost hope will break.

“You don’t even know me,” I said, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be. “Well, not really.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “I know enough to want to know more.”

And there it was again—that heat behind my ribs. That damn flicker that kept showing up around him. I hated how good it felt. How easy it was to let it in. How impossible it was to let it go.

Malcolm’s gaze stayed on mine, anchored and present in a way that made it hard to look away. This silence wasn’t accidental. We were both here in it, together, because we wanted to be.

I shifted slightly, turning toward him. My knee brushed his thigh.

“I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never had much of a plan. Just… hung close to Garrett and hoped I’d figure myself out along the way.”

“You don’t need a plan,” Malcolm said, his voice low and unhurried. “You just need to keep showing up.”

My throat tightened. “I’ve spent years pretending I was fine. That I didn’t need anyone. That if I kept moving, I’d outrun all the stuff I didn’t want to deal with.” I laughed once, hollow and short. “Guess how well that worked.”

His hand moved, slow and careful, until his fingers brushed mine. A gentle press—just enough to say I’m here .

“I like this,” he said after a moment. “You. Me. Sharing the kind of things we’d usually keep to ourselves. That feels real to me.”

I looked down at our hands. Mine was bigger, lighter in complexion.

His was darker, warm in a way that made me think of sun-baked earth and something solid you could build on.

Side by side, the difference was stark. Beautiful.

Like two colors that shouldn’t work together on paper, but somehow made the rest of the world look incomplete without the other.

He didn’t try to take my hand completely. Just rested there, close enough for me to decide if I wanted more. That was Malcolm—never pushing, always letting me choose.

I saw it then, everything that made us different: him, thirty-six and sure of his place in the world; me, twenty-four and still drifting.

He had a home here, a name people respected.

I had a string of temporary roofs and a diploma-shaped gap where my college degree should’ve been.

He healed people for a living. I was still figuring out how to keep myself from falling apart.

And yet, there were ways we were the same. Neither of us had gone looking for this. For each other. We’d only just started to admit, even to ourselves, what we wanted. And somehow, here, with him… it felt like the most real thing I’d ever touched.

“I want to stop pretending,” I murmured.

His breath hitched, just enough for me to hear. “Then stop.”

So I did. I slid my hand fully into his, feeling the quiet strength in his grip. The kind of strength that didn’t have to squeeze to hold on.

“I like you,” I said, the words raw but certain.

His gaze met mine, unflinching. “I like you too.”

The space between us stopped feeling like air and started feeling like an invitation. When he leaned in, it wasn’t rushed. His mouth met mine with a certainty that made me weak, slow at first, deepening until it pulled the air from my lungs. I kissed him back like I’d been holding it in for years.

Heat pooled low in my stomach, curling under my skin as his hand found the back of my neck.

His fingers splayed, a slow slide up into my hair, and I breathed him in—soap and cedar and the ghost of something honey-sweet.

He kissed like someone who didn’t need to prove anything, just wanted to feel everything. And God, I felt it.

By the time we parted, my breathing was uneven and my head was a mess of sensation and want.

Malcolm stayed close, his forehead almost touching mine. “Still okay?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Weirdly okay.”

He smiled, and it was softer than I’d ever seen it. “Good.”

I didn’t move away. Not yet. I just sat there with him in the low light, the quiet hum of the night around us, wondering how something so simple could feel this big.

We sat like that for a while, not speaking. Just... being. My chest felt cracked open, but not in a bad way. More like something inside me had finally been given space to breathe.

His thumb moved in slow circles where it rested against my neck. A small thing. But I noticed. God, I noticed everything about him now.

The heat between us hadn't faded. If anything, it was simmering beneath the stillness, waiting. But it wasn't desperate. It wasn’t some runaway train I couldn't stop. It was there because we were here. Present. Choosing this.

I let my hand move, hesitating only a second before placing it on his chest, over his heart. I could feel it beating. Steady. Strong.

I hesitated, my gaze snagging where his thumb moved down to trace slow, easy arcs against my knee. It wasn’t even deliberate—just this unconscious, grounding touch—but it made my skin feel alive in a way I didn’t quite have words for.

“What’s it feel like for you?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could decide if it was too much.

His head tilted, brow drawing in a little. “What do you mean?”

I shook my head quickly. “Not like… comparing me to anyone else. I’m not asking for that.” My throat worked, but I pushed through. “It’s just… I’ve never kissed anyone before you. So I don’t have a frame of reference. I guess I want to know what it’s like… from your side of it.”

Something softened around his eyes, the kind of shift you feel before you see it. “You want the truth?”

“Always.”

His hand left my knee only to settle warm and sure on my thigh.

The contact sent a slow ache curling through me.

“When you kiss me,” he said, voice low, “it’s not just about the kiss.

It’s the way you look at me before it happens.

It’s as if you’re making a decision. And once you’ve made it, you’re all in. No holding back.”

Heat crept into my face, but I didn’t look away.

“It’s the way you taste,” he went on, “and it’s like you’ve been holding your breath for years and finally let it out. The way you don’t try to be anyone else in that moment. Just you.”

My chest pulled tight, and I swallowed hard.

He drew in a slow breath, quieter now. “I don’t just mean the feelings. I’ve kissed people I cared about before—women I dated, my ex-wife—and those moments were real. I don’t take that back. But this…” His hand stayed on my thigh, grounding.

“But this—” His eyes stayed on mine. “This is different. You’re different. We’re different.”

“Because I’m a guy?” My voice was careful, curious.

“Partly, yeah,” he said. “It’s new, kissing a man. The angles. The pressure. The way you kiss me back. It’s not better or worse. Just—undeniably not the same.”

I held still, heart thudding.

“But it’s not just about your body,” he added. “It’s about you. The way you listen. The way you look at me like you actually see me. The way I feel when I’m with you—like something in me that’s been locked away for years is finally waking up.”

The breath I’d been holding slipped out.

“I didn’t expect this,” he said, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “And I didn’t go looking for it. But I’m not sorry it found me. It’s like the ground shifts under me every time I touch you, like something I never thought I’d want but can’t stop wanting.”

I leaned in until our foreheads touched. “So the difference isn’t kissing a guy.”

“No,” he whispered. “The difference is kissing you .”

I didn’t mean to kiss him again.

It just... happened.

Maybe it was the way his voice dropped when he said you . Or the way his hand lingered at my jaw like he didn’t want to let go. Or maybe it was that thing behind my ribs again, catching fire.

Either way, I leaned in—and Malcolm met me halfway.

I shifted closer without thinking, one hand bracing myself on the cushion, the other finding his chest. He made this small sound in the back of his throat, and the heat spiked instantly in my belly.

His fingers slid to my waist, pulling me just enough that I straddled his thighs. We both stilled for half a second. Not from nerves—just… noticing . Noticing the heat, the way we fit, the way our breath hitched.

And yeah. The way I was pressed against him. Hard. Wanting .

I pulled back a little, forehead touching his.

Then his eyes flicked down and back up, and he gave me a look that was somehow both serious and a little amused. “Hi again.” He shifted, hips tilting just enough to make me feel his erection fully.

Heat flashed through me, sharp and wild. “Uh—hi,” I said, barely managing the words through the grin spreading across my face. “I was debating whether I should pretend I didn’t notice.”

“Appreciate your discretion,” he deadpanned.

We both burst into laughter then—soft and breathless and stupidly giddy.

It felt so normal and good and right , and for a second I forgot every reason I’d ever given to deny myself joy.

I used to run rather than enjoy even the simplest of pleasures.

But now? I didn’t want to go anywhere. I just wanted this —his hands on my waist, our bodies warm and tangled on his couch, my heart hammering for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

“Malcolm?” I asked.

“Yeah?”

I didn’t know what I was going to say. Not really. Maybe I liked the way his name tasted in my mouth.

But then I spoke anyway.

“I really, really like kissing you.”

His smile softened. “Good,” he whispered, fingers brushing my cheek. “Because I really like kissing you too.”

We kissed again. His hand didn’t stay still—it explored. My ribs. My thighs. My back. My shoulders. Every touch like a question I got to answer in real time.

Heat coiled sharp and sweet low in my belly, my dick, leaving me aching in the best way. I must’ve made a sound, because Malcolm stilled just enough to smirk.

“Wait—did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, you did… and I feel you. Getting hard because of a guy ? That’s new.” He gave this little huff of disbelief, almost a laugh. “But with you… it doesn’t feel weird. It feels… right. And really good.”

The words hit me in the chest—low and sharp and stunning.

Because for me, it had always worked differently.

Not once had I been able to look at someone and want them, just because they were hot or flirty or close enough. My body never sparked like that.

I’d gotten off, sure—alone, in private. I knew how to make my body cooperate. But it was never tied to anyone. Never this alive .

“I don’t let people get this close,” I said quietly. “Not here.” I tapped my chest.

And I meant it. Letting someone in here wasn’t about heat or hunger—it was about trust. Safety. That terrifying, breathtaking thing where someone saw you fully, and wanted you anyway.

Malcolm’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then I’ll take care of the part you let me into.”

His smile softened, and I kissed him again because I could. Because he let me. Because, for the first time in forever, I wanted something—and it wanted me back.