All I feel is him.
His firm chest pressed against mine. His breath stirring my hair. The coriander scent of him, sharpened by the winter air.
“Fuck.” His voice is a whisper, and it sounds like it comes from the very root of his soul. “I love you too, Low.”
Those words shift something monumental inside my heart, and I know it will never go back to the way it was before.
“Yeah?” I whisper.
“God, yes. And I’m not the only one.”
He draws back, grasping my chin in one hand, his fingers splaying over my jaw and the arch of my cheekbone. I could swear real flames burn in his eyes as his gaze drops to my lips.
Then he kisses me.
It’s both harder and softer than any kiss we’ve shared before. Both sweeter and more desperate.
There’s a relief in knowing that we have each other. That we all belong to each other. But it’s terrifying in a way too. As if finally speaking our feelings aloud has made us even more aware of what we could lose.
My hands cling to Lincoln’s jacket, pulling him closer to me as I kiss him back. Then, finally, he draws away, his gaze still intent as he stares down at me.
“I’m coming,” I murmur. “I’m coming with you, whether you like it or not. And if you try to leave me behind, I’ll fucking hitchhike back to Chase’s car and drive there anyway. We’re in this together, Linc. The five of us.”
His expression hardens, and for a second, I think we’re about to start this fight all over again—which, hey, fine by me; I’ll go another ten rounds if I have to—but then he lets out a sharp breath through his nose, closing his eyes like he’s warring with himself.
“Fine. Together.”
The knot of tension wrapped around my chest loosens, and it occurs to me that I was more scared of letting the guys go see Niles D’Amato without me than I am of the man himself. Maybe that’s stupid, and maybe it means I’m lacking some kind of basic survival instinct, but I can’t let the four boys I love do this alone.
I nod, and Lincoln releases me, stepping back as his mouth settles into a hard line. We turn back toward the car, and he slaps my ass before I crawl back into the backseat. It’s an affectionate gesture, but it’s also hard enough to sting, and I think he actually means it to be a bit of a punishment. He might’ve agreed to let me come, but he still fucking hates this.
Linc slides into the front seat as I crawl over Dax to resume my seat in the middle, and the second I’m settled between them, the twins both touch me. Dax’s warm palm finds my thigh again while Chase’s hand moves around my waist, their bodies crowding close to mine.
They don’t speak, but it’s okay. I don’t need to hear them say any words right now. There are better times for this sort of thing, and I don’t want them to feel like they have to say it just because I did.
I glance up toward the front of the car as Linc pulls away from the curb, and my gaze collides with stormy gray eyes. River is turned partway in his seat to face us, and the look on his face captivates me. His expression is so open it’s like I can read every emotion he’s feeling, as if his thoughts are a book written just for me.
And what I see makes my heart skip a beat.
We gaze at each other for a long moment, and I swear I can feel the connection between us like a physical thing. Like I could reach out and touch it, trace the line of it from me to him.
Then Lincoln turns to him, drawing his attention as he asks for directions to the dry cleaner. River blinks and nods, holding up the receipt and punching the address into his phone.
Right. We need to focus on what’s ahead.
I reach for Dax and Chase, holding onto them as I draw upon every last bit of courage I’ve been holding in reserve.
I’m gonna need it.
Because I love these boys. And we’re about to step into the lion’s den.
21
The GPS calls out directions with the same neutral tone as always, the woman’s voice even and pleasant, as if she has no idea she’s leading us to our possible doom.
It takes us almost twenty-five minutes to get there, and as Linc drives, I pull out my phone and scroll through my text messages until I find Hunter’s name. I feel bad. The last text I sent her was five days ago, way longer than we usually go without talking in some capacity.
I feel like shit. When I left Bayard, we both worried that our friendship wouldn’t survive the test of distance, that our new lives and new friends would make us gradually grow apart. And we both swore we’d do whatever we could not to let that happen.
At first, we kept up that promise. We might not have seen each other every day, but I still felt connected to her, in tune with what was going on in her life. Close.
But ever since Iris’s death—ever since Mom’s arrest—I’ve been spiraling further and further away from my best friend back home. The same lies and secrets that kept a wall up between me and Mom put one up between me and Hunter too, although at least Hunter knows a bit about the four guys I’m with.
I don’t know quite why it feels so important right now, but I want to talk to her. I want to make sure she knows I love her, and that I miss her so much it hurts.
ME: Hey, dummy. I know you’re probably in class right now, but
