“She was a cranky old lady set in her ways, and raising a toddler wasn't on the list of things she wanted to do in her old age. She did right by me, she was good to me, but hugs weren't her thing.”
Seeking to fill the silence that followed with something, Nasa gave back details about himself none of the men upstairs knew. Details that were precious and special.
“My mom wasn't a hugger either. The first hug I ever remember getting was from Teague.” Nasa grinned when Dillon frowned at him in doubtful confusion.
“It's true. We got into a fight and his mom said if we didn't hug it out, I was expelled, and Teague would be washing dishes for the rest of his natural born life.
"I was already in trouble, and hugging some snot nosed midget to avoid expulsion seemed like the easy way out.”
Dillon gave a watery smile, just a little one, so Nasa gave her more in hopes of seeing the sorrow and confusion fade completely from her expression.
“With a few more hugs under my belt, I can confirm Teague sucked at it. All awkward and worried about his junk touching another dude's junk.
"His mom gavegreat hugs. The sort of hugs that made you just melt and forget the world existed until she let you go.
“For a kid raised by two emotionally ambivalent parents and subsequently starved for affection, Terri Thompson was a goddess.
"Teague wasn't too keen on sharing her with me, but after I helped him do dishes a few times, I won him over and we were nearly inseparable until I went away to college.
“My own mother disowned me after I went to jail without ever stopping to ask whether or not I was innocent.
"Both my parents dropped me, but Mrs. Thompson—who hadn't seen me in years—came to visit me after my first week in prison.
"I have no idea how she got into a federal detention center, but the first thing she said to me through the glass was, 'I wish I could give you a hug.'
“Today was supposed to be good for you, but I'm not sure it was. I don't understand why you're upset, but I'm one hundred percent ready and willing to hug the shit out of you until you're not upset anymore, or until you can tell me why so I can fix it. You can even cry if you want to. I could use a shower.”
Dillon made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and when he gently tugged on her hand, she kept coming until her face was tucked right up against his throat. Nasa wrapped her up and held on tight.
The worry that she might reject him because of his sexual preferences, or fear any sort of relationship with him because of it, vanished like a candle being snuffed out.
A foot shorter than him, Dillon fit perfectly under his chin, and he didn't have to bend at all.
Her arms went around his waist beneath his cut, her fingers fisted in the material of his shirt, and Nasa wrapped her up.
He took it a step farther, turning his lips to the hollow behind her ear, rubbing his cheek against the softness of her hair as he closed his eyes to better absorb the sensations.
She trembled like she was cold, but as the shivers abated and she began to relax, Nasa waited for the tears to flow.
But they didn't come.
Nasa smoothed his hand up and down her back, feeling the raised scar tissue—the pain of her past etched into her flesh like braille.
He held on tight to keep her pressed as close as he could, expecting her to shy away from his touch like she had in the bathroom at Veracruz's old firehouse. The relief he felt when she sighed against his chest and relaxed enough to let him take her weight, was profound.
It was a little thing, something most people would take for granted, but not him.
Nasa understood what it meant for her to let him touch her scars. To lean on him and trust him to hold her steady.
Today, it was letting him hold her hand and give her a hug.
Tomorrow, it might be making lunch for her and Elka again while she explained the process she'd used to build her planters.
The day after that, more hugs and casual affection. Life was short, and they both had enemies after them, but Nasa would take as much time as he had to, to make Dillon feel safe.
Shit, he would make time if he had to. Whatever she needed, Nasa found himself desperate to give it to her.
“You smell really good.”
Her comment was spoken with petulance, but Nasa claimed it as a win regardless. Smells were important when choosing a mate.
“Yeah? What do I smell like?”
“Like forests and victory with a hint of leather.”
He laughed before he could stop himself, gently swaying side to side with her. “Athena stocks us all up with her hippie girl products. I think my soap is called Pine Cone, but Forests and Victory sounds way more marketable. You smell like lavender and bergamot.”
“You into essential oils?” Dillon drawled with her face pressed to his chest.
“Not as a rule, but I asked Athena to stock up your bathroom with all sorts of stuff to make you feel good.
"The bath bombs you like are lavender bergamot flavored, which are an Athena's Apothecary house special for relaxation.”
Another shudder tore through Dillon, which made him shift her a little to ensure they were pressed together from neck to knees.
When she spoke, her voice was thick again with unshed tears, and he was almost tempted to find a way to make her cry, just to help release the pressure bottled up inside her.
“You think of everything,” she told him softly. Reverently.
Nasa frowned and nuzzled deeper into her hair. “Is
