Page 19

Chapter nineteen

Micah

T he parking lot was half-plowed, slush graying at the edges where it met the curb. I swung the truck into a space near the side entrance and cut the engine. We didn't move right away.

The heater ticked as it wound down. Somewhere across the lot, a plow scraped asphalt, metal catching on ice with a teeth-grinding shriek. Noah shifted beside me but didn't speak. His fingers drummed once against the door handle, and then he stopped.

I stared through the windshield. The building looked like a hundred other roadside hotels—fake stone pillars flanking the lobby doors, sloped roofs trying too hard to seem Alpine. One of those plastic backlit signs with a broken letter or two advertised "CLEAN ROOMS – FREE WIFI – HOT WAFFLES." It was the kind of place that smelled like mop water and lemon cleanser and hoped you'd be too tired to care.

Still, it was clean. Functional. And anonymous, standing on the outskirts of Marquette.

I killed the truck's headlights and climbed out. The dome light in the cab flickered, catching the sharp edge of Noah's cheekbone, then disappeared again when he shut his door. We didn't speak as we crossed the lot, boots crunching the half-melted ice and salt crystals beneath us.

The lobby was too warm and smelled like scorched coffee and industrial-grade air freshener. A real ficus tree wilted in a corner, succumbing to winter's lack of light. It stood beside a rack of tri-fold brochures advertising waterfall hikes and kayak rentals that no one would take this time of year.

At the front desk, a bored woman in a red vest asked for my ID. Her name tag read, " Debbie – Here to Help! " but nothing about her face suggested she was likely to follow through.

"Just one night?"

"Maybe longer."

She glanced between us. Seeing the single bag each, unshaven jawlines, and the way we didn't stand too close but also didn't look at each other like strangers, she understood more than our voices could tell her.

"We've got a king on three. Elevator's to your left. All I need is a card."

I slid mine across the counter. She typed on the keyboard, keys clacking like a manual typewriter. I heard the printer spit out our receipt and then the mechanical whir of the key card machine.

She handed two of them over with the kind of forced brightness reserved for tips she knew she wouldn't get.

"There you go, gentlemen. Room 314. Wi-Fi password's on the sleeve."

I muttered a thanks and took the cards. Noah hadn't spoken at all. He merely shifted his weight and kept his eyes on a framed photo of Lake Superior above the coffee station.

Next, we headed toward the elevator. I felt the desk clerk's eyes on our backs, accompanied by the weight of her quiet assumptions.

To her, we probably looked like a cliché. Two men showing up late with tension clinging to their coats like snowflakes. One bruised and the other exhausted. I wondered whether she thought we were here to fuck or to fight. Maybe both.

The elevator rattled once on the way up. Noah didn't flinch. He stood with his arms crossed, jaw clenched, eyes fixed forward like he was counting the floors in his head. I stayed quiet, too. I didn't trust my voice not to spill everything building inside me.

We stepped out on three. It had beige carpet, patterned with some geometric rust-and-gold design that probably hadn't changed since the nineties. The air up here was drier and staler. Someone had microwaved something fishy recently, and the smell lingered.

Room 314 was halfway down the hall. I waved the key card over the lock. The light blinked red once, then green.

The room greeted us with silence. The curtains were drawn and stiff. A flat-screen TV was bolted to the dresser beneath a laminated sheet of channel options.

Lamps with plastic bases stood guard in the corners. Somebody made the bed with mechanical precision—hospital corners.

It was one king bed, precisely as requested. I hadn't asked Noah if that was okay, but we'd fallen into a pattern of sleeping together every night at the cabin.

I dropped my bag in the corner and sat at the edge of the mattress. Noah walked past me, kicking his shoes off without ceremony.

Neither of us had said a word since the truck.

I peeled off my coat and let it slump to the floor. The hum of the mini fridge under the TV filled the space, soft and steady like it was the only thing breathing.

Noah didn't move. He stood at the window and pulled the curtain partway open, one hand resting on the sill like he could feel the cold through the glass. The backs of his jeans were dusted white with road salt.

I watched him for too long.

Then, I stood.

He didn't turn when I walked over. Didn't flinch when I pressed my chest to his back. He exhaled, like his lungs had been holding air for hours and finally remembered how to let go.

I slid my hand up beneath his shirt, my palm connecting with warm skin. His breath hitched, but he didn't speak. He didn't need to.

This wasn't about ceremony. It wasn't about need in the way soft things needed comfort and warmth. It was need the way cliffs needed erosion. Slow destruction, piece by piece, until what was left was sharper and more beautiful than what had come before.

He turned, and we collided.

No preamble. No finesse.

His mouth hit mine with the kind of force that made my teeth knock. I didn't care. I bit his lower lip, and he let me. He shoved me back toward the bed, one hand gripping the front of my shirt, the other already pulling at the waistband of his jeans.

There was no teasing. No slow undoing of buttons. Just the scrape of metal teeth, the hiss of breath, and the sharp slap of denim hitting the floor.

As we crashed onto the bed, the world narrowed to the heat of Noah's body against mine, the roughness of his stubble grazing my jaw.

His hands were urgent, almost clumsy, as they tugged at my shirt, buttons popping off and scattering across the floor. The cool air of the room hit my bare chest, a stark contrast to the inferno raging inside me.

Noah's mouth found my throat, his teeth pressing just hard enough to make me gasp. His breath was hot and ragged, each exhale a silent plea for more.

He watched me with dark, intense eyes as I stripped away the rest of my clothes. His gaze was as physical as a touch, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

I saw the tension in his jaw and how his fingers gripped the bedspread and sheets beneath us, knuckles white. I was a storm, barely contained, and I wanted to consume him.

I straddled him, my knees sinking into the stiff mattress. His hands immediately went to my hips, gripping tightly, almost painfully. I leaned down and crashed my mouth against his.

It was a messy, desperate kiss, all raw need and pent-up frustration. I tasted the salt of his sweat and the faint metallic tang of blood where I'd bitten his lip earlier. It was real, visceral.

His hands roamed over my body, each touch claiming the space. He pinched my nipples, the sharp pain making me arch against him.

The hard length of his cock pressed against mine with maddening friction. It wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed everything.

I reached between us, wrapping my hand around both of our cocks. Noah groaned a low, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest. I stroked us together, the slick heat of our precum making the glide smooth and easy.

His hips bucked up, meeting my thrusts, and his breath came in short, sharp gasps.

I still needed more. I needed to be inside him. I reached for my bag, my hands shaking as I fumbled for the small bottle of lube I'd brought along.

Noah watched me, his eyes never leaving my face. There was a vulnerability in his gaze, a silent trust that made my chest ache.

He gasped under me—neck arched, back bowing. And then:

"I'm not running. You're not chasing."

His voice was raw. Shaky. Like the truth of it had surprised even him.

I pressed my mouth to the hollow beneath his jaw. "Then stop me."

He didn't.

I slicked up my fingers, the cool gel a stark contrast with the heat of my skin. I pressed them against his entrance, feeling the tight ring of muscle resist for a moment before giving way.

He let out a low hiss, his body tensing briefly before relaxing. I worked him open slowly, my fingers moving in and out, each thrust a little deeper, a little more insistent.

When I couldn't take it anymore, I rolled a condom down my shaft and positioned myself at his entrance. The head of my cock pressed against him, and for a moment, the world stopped turning. It was just us, suspended in a raw, honest moment. Then, with a single, hard thrust, I sank into him.

Noah cried out, his nails digging into my back. I froze, letting him adjust, his tight heat wrapping around me.

Then, I started to move. Each thrust was deep and brutal, slamming the bed against the wall. Sweat slicked our skin.

His cock was hard and leaking, trapped between our bodies. I reached down, stroking him in time with my thrusts.

He couldn't hold back. Noah's body tensed, and his muscles clenched around me as he came with a low groan, spilling hot and sticky cum over my hand.

The sight and sound of him sent me over the edge. I came hard, my body shuddering as I emptied myself inside the condom. We collapsed onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths. The room was suddenly full of the mingled scents of sex and sweat.

We didn't speak. There was nothing to say. We'd used each other, raw and rough, to chase away the demons that haunted us. And for now, in this anonymous hotel room, it was enough.

The silence was comforting, a shared understanding that words would only complicate the simplicity of what we'd just done. So, we lay there, the hum of the mini fridge the only sound, as we slowly drifted back to reality.

The sheets were tangled halfway down the bed, clinging to sweat-damp skin.

Noah lay on his side, one arm flung across my chest, his leg hooked over mine like he wasn't ready to let go. His breath brushed my collarbone, slow and steady.

I stared at the ceiling. My chest ached—not from the effort, not from the bruises we'd left on each other, but from the words pushing against the back of my throat like teeth waiting to fall out.

I didn't clear my throat. Didn't move. It was time to speak.

"I love you."

His arm didn't tighten or flinch, and he didn't move away either. He stayed cuddled up close. That was enough.

And for some reason, I wasn't finished speaking.

I don't know why I said what came next. Maybe we'd bled all the other truths dry, or maybe there was nothing left to lose. His body still touched mine, and I wanted him to knowpreciselywhat he'd chosen.

"You think it started on the ice?"

Hearing the question, Noah stirred. His hand curled against my chest, palm warm, knuckles bent. I didn't wait for an answer.

"I saw you before that. Before the hit."

Silence reigned in the room.

"It was a hotel hallway. Your team was in town. I was on the way to my room—walking past. I heard voices. Laughter. Yours stood out. You were louder than the rest. Looser."

Noah lifted his head a fraction, his gaze catching mine in the low light. I saw a brief flicker of unease. It wasn't fear. It was the slower process of realization.

"You didn't see me, but I saw you. And I saw you—"

I swallowed hard.

"You kept rubbing your shoulder. It was like it already hurt. You were laughing, but your hand kept going there. Once, twice, and a third time."

Noah didn't speak. He didn't blink, either.

I kept going. Slowly. Like dragging a blade across soft skin.

"And I thought—there. That's the soft spot. That's where I'll hit him."

Noah pulled back slightly. He wasn't trying to get away. He was trying to see me better.

His voice trembled slightly. "You picked me."

I nodded. Nothing to deny. "You looked like you'd survive it."

A pause.

I added, "You looked like me."

He didn't say anything for a long time. Then: "So, now, make it mean something."

He didn't look away. He stared at me like I was something he'd never seen clearly until now—a creature in a natural history museum, finally lit up from the right angle.

I expected him to pull back. I thought he'd climb out of bed and start sorting through his things in silence.

Instead, he lay back down slowly.

His arm slid around my waist again, and he buried his face against my ribs.

I could barely breathe.

"You looked like me," I'd said.

And now he held me like he'd known that the whole time.

Noah didn't say anything for a long while. His hand moved once—slowly dragging across my muscular abs. It wasn't a sexual gesture; it was more like he was checking that I was human. Real.

Finally, words emerged. "You're a fucked-up bastard."

I chuckled without thinking. "Yeah."

"You terrify me."

"I know."

He kissed my right nipple. "I've never wanted anyone more."

My heart might've stopped. Just long enough to register what his words meant.

"I'm not trying to fix you," he added, voice low. "I'm not building a rescue. This isn't a damn redemption arc."

I nodded once. My throat was too tight to speak.

"You scare me," he said again, quieter now. "But I don't think I want safe."

He turned his face up to gaze into my eyes.

"You chose me. Maybe you didn't know why. Maybe I didn't either. But I get it now."

He kissed my chest again—a single press of lips over my heart.

"I'm choosing you back."

He lifted his face, eyes steady on mine.

"And I love you, too."

Those words broke something in me. It was a fault line that had been waiting for the weight of one more truth.

I didn't cry. I didn't speak.

I curled my arm around him, pulled him closer, and held on like the world might try to pry us apart again.

For the first time, I knew it wouldn't succeed.