Page 82 of Gator
“I’m not going anywhere.” He laughed and popped a jalapeno popper Mika had made in his mouth.
Axel pointed a finger at him. “Careful, those are spicy.”
Julius raised one eyebrow. “You think these are spicy? You aren’t from around here, are you?”
The room erupted in laughter, and it felt good—hell, it felt right—seeing everyone laugh again.
A while later, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. Noah had cracked open the door to the apartment down the hall. He lingered for a second, half in shadow, before stepping out. He looked unsure, like a man trying to remember what normal felt like.
Mika spotted him first. “Hey, Noah, you hungry? I’ve got enough snacks here to feed an army.”
Noah hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
Mika handed him a plate stacked high with food, and for a minute, Noah stood there awkwardly, not sure where to go. That’s when Crowe crossed the room and stopped beside him.
“Only rule is you gotta pick a team,” Crowe said, voice easy and low.
Noah glanced at the screen. “Which one are you rooting for?”
Crowe smirked. “The one Maddox isn’t. Cause they’re pretty much guaranteed to lose.”
That got a small laugh from Noah, and Crowe seemed pleased with himself.
They talked for a few minutes. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I saw the way Crowe angled his body, protective but not crowding him. The way Noah’s shoulders eased a little more with every minute.
A few minutes later, someone scored, and the room erupted. Axel swore at the screen, Hawk cheered, and Maddox laughed like a loon. Of course, Trixie chimed in with, “Where’s the flag?” like she knew what she was talking about.
Noah flinched slightly, and Crowe leaned down to say something. Noah gave him a weak smile and handed him the plate before slipping back toward the apartment.
Crowe stood there for a long second, watching the door close, then looked over at me.
“He okay?” I asked.
“No, but he will be,” Crowe said, like he was sure of it.
The rest of the afternoon rolled on in easy rhythm—laughter, food, friendly arguments, and the steady thrum of belonging.
Julius ended up stretched out across my lap, half-watching the game, half-dozing while I traced lazy circles on his hip.
When Wolfe yelled about a bad call and the room erupted again, Julius lifted his head and looked up at me. “You guys seriously love your football.”
“Yeah, we do,” I said, smiling down at him. “But that’s not the only thing I love.”
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of soft snoring and sunlight creeping across the bed. Julius was sprawled half on top of me, hair a mess, mouth slightly open, looking more peaceful than I’d seen him in days.
For a long minute, I didn’t move. I just listened—the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint hum of the fridge, and Trixie talking to herself in the other room. Normal sounds. The kind that meant everything was okay.
He shifted against me and mumbled, “You’re staring.”
“Maybe.”
“Creeper,” he teased, voice rough with sleep.
“Just making sure you’re real,mon petit.”
He smiled without opening his eyes. “You confirmed that plenty last night.”
“Can’t be too careful,” I said, brushing a kiss over his hair.