On the Edge

Mount Hope

Book 3

Annabeth Albert

On the Edge, Mount Hope Book 3

Copyright © 2024 by Annabeth Albert

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Photo Design: Reese Dante

Cover Image: Furious Fotog

Cover Model: Scott Benton

Edited by: Abbie Nicole

Created with Vellum

More from Annabeth Albert

Amazon Author Page

Many titles also in audio and available from other retailers!

Patreon

Find short stories, bonus scenes, subscribe for free ebooks, paperbacks, exclusive swag, and more by checking out and following me on Patreon!

Series Titles

Mount Hope Series

Safe Harbor Series

A-List Security Series

Rainbow Cove Series

#Gaymers Series

Out of Uniform Series

Frozen Hearts Series

Hotshots Series

Shore Leave Series

Perfect Harmony Series

Portland Heat Series

True Colors Series

Stand-Alone Titles

Resilient Heart

Winning Bracket

Save the Date

Level Up

Sergeant Delicious

Cup of Joe

Featherbed

Holiday Titles (All Stand-alone Novels):

Better Not Pout

Mr. Right Now

The Geek Who Saved Christmas

Catered All the Way

On the Edge

DANGER! RIDING TOO CLOSE TO THE EDGE!

My life is one big caution sign. Ever since my best friend’s all-grown-up son joined our shared home, I’ve been navigating a growing attraction to the injured motocross rider. Declan unleashes every protective and caretaking impulse I have, and I genuinely love spending time with the guy.

But Declan’s too young, too straight, and too temporary to risk a twenty-year friendship over. At least until he kisses me, and I tumble past forbidden attraction into a doomed secret fling.

What starts as exploration for Declan quickly transforms into an undeniable bond. He’s exactly what I’ve been searching for: a ride-or-die partner in crime who is happy making blanket forts, talking late into the night, and shares my love of cozy books and movies. What could be more perfect?

When Declan faces a crucial choice, both our hearts are on the line. Can we avoid falling over the edge into heartbreak?

ON THE EDGE is book three of the Mount Hope first responder series and features an emergency room nurse practitioner who is hopelessly soft for his best friend’s son. This dad’s best friend, hurt/comfort (heavy on the comfort), age gap romance contains small town feels, big emotional growth, and sizzling romance. While certain subplot threads continue throughout the series, each guaranteed happily ever after stands alone!

To Jonas, who had the courage to never stop believing in happy endings, and to Declan, who discovered where he belongs. The privilege to share your journey gives me hope. To everyone else searching for their path among life’s twists and turns, this one is for all of us.

Author Note & Reader Advisory

ON THE EDGE is a high feels, small town romance with hurt/comfort themes. It gently touches on issues of injury/disability, divorce, starting over, and neglectful parenting. There are minor backstory mentions of growing up in a polygamous sect. One character is wrestling with internalized homophobia and some ableist thoughts on his path to greater self-acceptance and self-love. A very happy ending is guaranteed!

Mount Hope is a made-up small town somewhere west of Portland, Oregon in the beautiful Columbia River Gorge area. This series takes place in the same universe as my other novels, but it is entirely a standalone. Any resemblance to real towns, persons, places, businesses, and situations are entirely coincidental.

Chapter One

Declan

“Declan, time to go.”

My life these days was measured in fractions of a second. The milliseconds it took my bike to start, change gears, the time from the gate drop to make the holeshot, lap time, the seconds behind the leader, and so on. And every moment on and off the track was scheduled. Practice. Workout. Qualifying heat times. Meals. And the never-ending prescheduled publicity and media appearances. Stacey was only doing her job, but I still grimaced as she bumped the back of my chair. “Come on. Media’s waiting.”

A young family with two elementary-aged boys reached the front of my line, which had snaked around the Fan Zone all morning.

“One more picture?” the redheaded mom asked. She had on ill-advised sandals and wore the sort of weary expression of someone who hadn’t anticipated the amount of noise, dust, people, and walking at a motocross event.

“Please, Mr. Murphy?” The older boy had big eyes and ensured my butt stayed right where it was, impatient Stacey or not.

“Come on over here, kid. Let’s let your mom get a fast pic.” I motioned both kids over and smiled big, even as Stacey groaned.

“We’re running out of time.”

“Sorry, kids. That’ll have to do.” I shooed them away, but not before I slipped them a few stickers and promotional goodies, including coupons for the energy drink company Stacey worked for.

“Okay, that’s done. On to media.” Flipping her blonde hair over one shoulder, she adjusted her tight black T-shirt as I finally stood. She was on the move before I slid my chair under the folding table and was halfway to the exit of the Fan Zone when I caught up. “Thank God your family didn’t come to this race.”

“Why would you say that?” I was also relieved, but I didn’t like her exasperated tone.

“There are like nine zillion Murphys, your dad has another trillion friends, and those friends all have kids, and you always spend way too much time and energy entertaining all of them.” She exhaled hard as she wrapped up her rant, holding up her manicured hands. “You need this win, Declan.”

“I know.” I groaned as I followed her down the wide-access corridor under the stadium.

“Plus, you’ve said that things have been awkward with your dad since he started living with that guy.”

“Denver. My dad’s partner’s name is Denver. They have kittens now…” I trailed off because no way was Stacey interested in my dad’s domestic bliss. And yeah, I’d been a bit slow in accepting Denver’s existence, but not for the reasons Stacey assumed. “Anyway, I get what you’re saying. I need my head in the game today. No distractions.”

My gaze drifted away from Stacey to a pair of arena girls—the women who held up sign placards at the start of a race. They were both in tight black pants and microscopic tanks as they juggled giant signs.

Stacey made a frustrated noise. “For the love of God, stop auditioning my replacement.”

“I’m not.” I adopted my most wounded tone. “Their signs were crooked.”

“Uh-huh, and you’re the one to fix it.”

“You know I usually manage to stay friends with my exes.”

I gave her a pointed look as she continued to click-clack her way down the corridor with purposeful strides in her designer boots. Stacey and I dated for a hot minute last spring. As with almost all of my friends-to-girlfriends, I thought things might be different this time, but our grand romance turned out to be a fling that hadn’t survived a single racing season.

“We’re friends.” Stacey offered the fakest of smiles. “But this is also a business, and the sponsor isn’t going to pony up more dough unless you take over as points leader and wrap up this championship.”

She really meant that her days of using her influence over my biggest sponsor were done, and with never-ending competition for limited sponsorship dough, only wins mattered. And recent wins at that. A rider was only as good as his last race.

“Last week was a fluke.” I’d suffered a bad start in the final race, played catch-up, then sustained a gnarly crash two-thirds of the way through the race due to some lappers who missed the waving blue flag and didn’t move out of the way. Banged up and pissed off at the slower riders, I hadn’t come anywhere close to the podium, and my prior trophies were starting to feel mighty dusty. “And the week before that.” That one I blamed on my suspension not being precisely dialed in. Bike just hadn’t felt right the whole ride. “But I’ve got a good feeling today.”

“Excellent.” Stacey motioned me into the media area, where the national TV reporter was already waiting, cameras ready to roll.

“Declan. Man of the hour. Way to win your qualifier.” The reporter was Mark O’Shay, a former champion whose career was cut short due to injuries. He’d had two knee replacements and wasn’t yet forty.

“Thanks.”

I tried hard not to look at the cane Mark kept off to the side. Injuries were an inevitable part of this brutal sport I loved, but seeing such stark proof always made me slightly nauseous. I answered Mark’s technical questions about the qualifying heat, which had indeed been a satisfying win for me. Despite the cold weather sweeping through the region, my bike had felt dialed in all day with good track conditions. The tricky layout was favorable to my riding style, and I couldn’t wait to get back out there.

“Always a pleasure to hear from you, Declan.” Mark nodded as the interview wrapped, and we waited for the signal that filming was complete. As soon as the camera operator set aside her equipment, Mark clapped me on the shoulder. Despite numerous hand surgeries, his pinky finger still had a weird angle to it. “Now, go make that gate drop.”

“You know it.”

Only too eager to move along, I didn’t need Stacey prodding me this time. I made my way back to my mechanics. My lead dude, Joey, was deep in concentration as one of his helpers revved the engine. I trusted them to have the bike ready, so I focused on getting myself in the right headspace as I located my gear. I found the perfect hype tune, an uplifting anthem from the ads for one of my favorite first-person shooter games.

I kept my big noise-canceling headphones on as I switched to my race boots and readied my goggles and gloves. A frigid breeze swept through the mechanics’ area, making me wrap my parka tighter around me. Needing my muscles to stay loose and warm, I did some jumping jacks. As riders headed to the starting line, I blocked out everything other than my music, visualizing the perfect race. My hands flexed, adrenaline starting to gather, body eager to ride.

At my gate, I removed my coat and handed over the headphones and my phone to Joey. Taking deep, slow breaths, I fastened my helmet and lowered my goggles into place to do my site lap and check track conditions.

Once back at the gates, I swapped goggles before Joey helped me engage my starting mechanism.

“Get ‘er done.” Joey gave me a solemn nod that hid his snaggle-toothed grin. We didn’t say good luck or anything like that. No empty praise between us. This was work for the whole team, and they all counted on me to do my job.

“Let’s go racing.” The announcer yelled as the engines revved, the last seconds of the countdown ticking away.

I’ve got this. As soon as my gate dropped, my good feeling from earlier became an utter certainty that the race would come to me. Rather than a chaotic rush of milliseconds fighting for the holeshot, the start unfolded in slow motion, a clarity of senses that allowed me the sort of precision I could usually only visualize over and over in the lead-up to each race.

This was real life, not a video game or a practice track, yet everything came easily to me. I had the first gate pick and used that to my advantage, seeking the easiest, fastest path to the holeshot. I jockeyed for position, finding the outside line my team and I had chosen after the qualifying heats.

Having the lead coming out of the first turn—the holeshot—was more than a point of pride. My team loved to drown me in stats, and their numbers were clear. When I got the holeshot, I won. A bad start tended to doom me to playing catch-up to the leaders and making stupid mistakes.

Getting the holeshot made my already revved adrenaline rush like shot-gunning three of my sponsor’s trademarked energy drinks. My whole body buzzed, hands tingling, but my track awareness had never been higher. We’d been at this track for the better part of a week, and I knew exactly which jumps I wanted to triple and how fast I wanted to hit the whoops.

My timing was a thing of beauty, and by the end of the first lap, I’d started pulling away from the field. Everyone else could fight for second place. No one could keep up with me. Not today.

Lap after lap, I flowed around the track, one with my bike, as though I were on my thousandth lap back at our practice track. Each obstacle came easier than the last. As I accelerated out of the corner toward the finish line jump, I was already anticipating coming around for another lap closer to victory. While approaching the jump, however, I lost traction and cross-rutted, my wheels falling into separate ruts, not allowing me to hit the face of the jump square. The second my tires left the track, I just knew.

I couldn’t save this one.

There was no time, no way.

I was falling.

Faster and faster.

Plummeting to the dirt.

Tumbling, rolling, crashing, slamming, metal crunching, pain taking over swiftly and violently.

Not today. The thought fluttered through me right before my world went dark and cold.

Chapter Two

Jonas

“Is he going to make it?” My friend Eric’s voice was crackly on my phone. Nasty early December weather meant horrible cell reception. He was asking what everyone wanted to know, yet no one had the answers.

“Hold on.” I paced farther down the chilly hospital corridor, away from Declan’s ICU cubicle and Sean’s hearing. Eric was a seasoned paramedic and undoubtedly knew what my pause really meant. Likewise, I understood he was asking my opinion more than wanting a regurgitated version of what the medical team had told our friend Sean, Declan’s father. “Doctors are saying the usual about head injuries being unpredictable and tricky. Between us, though, it’s pretty bad.”

Bad was a wild understatement for our last three days, starting with the moment Sean received a phone call that Declan had been injured at a motocross event near Salt Lake City. And every update since then had been worse than the previous. “Declan sprung a major subdural bleeder last night, so the on-call neurosurgeon had to go in to fix it.”

Eric sucked in a breath. Brain surgery was never anything minor, and bleeding was the one complication of traumatic brain injuries that everyone dreaded. Brain bleeds were associated with lower survival rates and more loss of function, something all of us in the first responder field knew all too well.

“He’s still sedated for rest after that surgery, I bet.” There was a clinking noise like Eric was stirring something. Like me, he tended to put his excess restless energy into cleaning or cooking when home.

“Yeah.” I paced the length of the hallway, my own nerves jangling. Eric and I were best friends and didn’t look the most alike, but people occasionally mistook us for brothers because of our similar mannerisms. “Now it’s a waiting game.”

“What’s the EEG showing after the brain surgery to relieve the bleeding?” Eric’s voice was crisp, the sort he used on a call. Focusing on medical jargon, chart data, procedures, percents, and so on was so much easier than admitting our other friend, Sean, might lose his son. I flexed my hands as acid gathered in my already sour stomach.

“Latest reports show some brain activity, so there’s hope Declan can pull through this TBI, but of course, there’s no telling what limitations he may face if—when—he wakes up.” Testing could only tell us so much. As a longtime emergency room nurse, I’d seen more than my share of head injuries, and each one was its own unique beast with a hard-to-predict outcome. I’d seen lesser injuries than Declan’s yield permanent comas, while injuries that at first appeared far more severe resulted in a patient who was up and demanding food by this point.

“And how are his other injuries?” Eric sounded distracted now, like one of his teens had come into the kitchen, and indeed, a tinny voice sounded in the distance.

“Couple of cracked ribs. Bruised spleen. Pray that doesn’t rupture because he doesn’t need another emergency surgery.” Sensing our conversation might be cut short, I spoke fast. “Broken right ankle and tibia. A likely sprained wrist, but the main thing is the head injury.”

“Yeah.” Eric went silent for a moment before mumbling something to whomever else was in the room. “Okay, I sent Wren off to wash up before dinner. They’ve been reading up on head injury protocols.”

“I’m not surprised.” I was too tired to laugh, but Eric’s younger teen was nothing if not predictable.

“Jesus. I hate this for Sean.” Eric made a pained noise. “For the whole Murphy family, really. If it wasn’t for the weather, the whole clan would undoubtedly be there.”

“That’s why I’m sticking around longer.” I’d initially driven Sean and his boyfriend, Denver, straight to the airport in Portland. But weather in Salt Lake, as well as a few other West Coast hubs, had grounded flights, and there were no seats to be had. Desperate, Sean had proposed driving, and there was no way I’d let Sean and Denver make the trek alone. I’d only met Declan, who was in his early twenties, a handful of times, and I would have made the offer for any friend, but I was still struggling to explain, even to myself, how compelled I felt to be here.

The drive from Portland could be as short as thirteen hours, but it’d taken us eighteen straight through, changing drivers every so often in increasingly windy and wintery weather.

“Not only are road conditions terrible for the drive back, I don’t want to leave Sean and Denver to deal with any hard decisions on their own. Weather should improve in the next few days, and after Sean’s folks and ex arrive, I’ll feel better about leaving them.”

“Stay as long as you need. We’re fine here.” Eric’s voice was firm, which was a relief. Ever since his late husband had died, I’d lived in his basement to help out with his four teens. This trip was the longest I’d been away since the funeral, and my guts had been twisted for days with worry over Eric and the house. “Oz is doing great with Rowan and John walking him. The kids miss you, but everyone’s fine. Tony and Caleb are pitching in, and Maren will be here for winter break as soon as her finals are done.”

“Good.” I swallowed hard. The stark conditions at the hospital made me miss home and my dog that much more. Being back in Utah had me on edge the second we crossed the state line. I felt strangely fragile, like I’d forgotten to pack a coat or like some protective layer of skin had been stripped away. “I feel guilty⁠—”

“Don’t. Sean and Denver need you more. You made the right call to go. Now, take care of yourself too.”

“Thanks.”

I wasn’t sure how much more compassion I could bear, so I breathed easier as Eric wrapped up the call in short order. I wasn’t the one with the injured kid, nor was I the one recovering from the loss of a spouse. I didn’t need caretaking. That was my role in our friendship circle.

After ending the call, I returned to the ICU waiting area, where Denver had used an empty chair to stretch his long legs out in front of him. His eyes were shut, but he opened them as soon as I neared.

“How’s Eric?” he asked, voice rough like he’d been dozing. Not surprising, considering none of us had had much sleep.

“Okay. Things are running well at the house, apparently.” Something in my tone must have revealed my ambivalence because Denver gave a sage nod.

“Which is good, even if you do like to think you’re indispensable.”

“I don’t…” I exhaled hard because Denver was one of those people with the uncanny ability to make lying impossible. His brown eyes always seemed to know the truth. “Okay, maybe I do like to be useful, but I’m glad Eric is managing the household with some help from Tony and Caleb.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” Denver wasn’t the sort to be overly emotional, so the gruff compliment was high praise. “Wish one of us could make Sean eat and rest.”

I’d found a hotel room within walking distance of the medical complex, but so far, only Denver and I had taken turns power-napping and grabbing showers there. Sean had passed the point of running on fumes days ago and was heading toward a breakdown, not that he wanted to hear that. And not that anything would get him to move even a few inches from Declan’s bedside.

I, however, had tons of experience with stubborn family members of patients. “Let me try.”

“Hey, buddy,” I said softly to Sean as I stepped into Declan’s area, which was more spacious and private than an ER cubicle but more visible to nursing staff than a typical hospital room. The ICU had a policy of allowing only one visitor per patient at a time, but the nursing staff hadn’t objected to Denver or me checking in on Sean. In fact, the nurse I’d spoken with most recently had welcomed our concern because the staff had noticed how rundown Sean was getting. His eyes were bleary and red, his skin blotchy, and he had days’ worth of reddish-white beard bristle. “How are you holding up?”

“His numbers are staying steady. He’s breathing on his own.” Sean gestured at the bed where Declan was hooked up to an impressive assortment of wires and monitors. I took the opportunity to look over Declan’s vitals for myself. What was left of Declan’s hair was darker than his father’s, more auburn than bright red. The last time I’d seen him, it had been artfully styled. He wouldn’t be happy with the present state of affairs. The rest of him hadn’t fared much better with various casts and splints. Something about his vulnerability made my breath catch as Sean continued his rundown of Declan’s improvements. “And the EEG is promising. That’s a good sign.”

“They’re all great signs.” I crouched next to Sean’s hard plastic chair. “But I asked about you, not the patient.”

“I’m fine.” Sean waved away my concern with a frustrated noise.

“You are not.” I could be stern when I wanted to, and I added a harsh look. “By my count, you’re on hour seventy-two or more with no real sleep. And you’ve eaten about enough to keep a fly alive.”

“I don’t want to leave Declan.” Sean’s voice cracked. “I don’t want him to wake up alone and confused. What if he can’t find a call button? Or panics? The nursing staff is overburdened as it is…”

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” I adopted the same tone I used when running a code or handing out assignments to the nursing staff at work, with no room for argument. “I’m going to stay right here next to him, cell phone out. You’re going to go down to the cafeteria and eat something hot and substantial.”

“Maybe.” Sean’s jaw continued to have a stubborn tilt.

“And then I pulled a favor with the nurses to find you an empty bed in the nearby wing the hospital is remodeling. You’ll be steps away. Not even as far as the hotel room. You trust me to call you immediately, right?”

“Few people I trust more.” Sean’s eyes turned soft and watery, and I patted his shoulder.

“Good.” I gave him a hand up out of the chair. “Now, I’m not asking, I’m telling. You need to do this so you can be there for Declan when he wakes up.”

“You’re right. I’m kind of a mess.” Sean scrubbed at his short hair and stubbly jaw.

“You are, but it’s completely understandable.” I squeezed his shoulder again, massaging lightly. “However, you have to take the same advice you’d give others in this situation.”

“Yeah.” Sean’s lower lip wobbled. “Fuck. I really am falling apart.”

“You are not.” I steered him toward the door before he could protest more. “You’re being incredibly strong. But even strong people need food and rest. Now go. Denver’s waiting.”

“Are the racing folks still here?” Sean asked with a frown.

“Not at the hospital, but weather delayed the tour from pushing out.” I didn’t know the usual protocol when a rider was injured, but for the first day or so, the waiting area had been filled with racing folks. The numbers had dwindled as the hours stretched into days. “I’m sure the mechanic guy and others will check in before they leave town.”

“Good. I’m kind of glad they’re not here, messed up as that sounds. The bigger the vigil, the more it felt like he wouldn’t make it. And God, I need him to make it, Jonas.”

“I know.” I wrapped him in a tight hug. “He’s getting the best care possible to give him the greatest odds. Trust.”

“And pray. Might stop by the chapel on the way to food.”

“You do that.” I shooed him out of the room. I’d stopped talking to God a long time ago, but if it helped Sean, I was all for it.

“Going, going. But talk to Declan?” Halfway out the door, Sean gazed at me with big eyes. “They say that’s helpful for brain injuries.”

“I will,” I promised. I settled into the chair Sean had vacated, pulling it closer to the bed so I could speak in low tones to Declan.

“Hey, Declan.” I’d talked to comatose patients before, but this time was particularly hard for reasons I didn’t entirely understand. “I know you don’t really know me, but I’m a friend of your dad’s. He loves you so much.” I had to stop to look at the far wall, the monitors, anything to keep my voice steady. “You’re lucky to have such a big family. They’re all pulling for you.”

No way could I keep up the family talk. Not here in Utah where old wounds I’d thought long scabbed over had reopened, raw and painful. The Murphy family was the opposite of the Jensens, and dwelling on those differences hurt.

“You keep resting. I’m going back to my book.” I pulled out my phone, opening the e-book of the mystery I’d been reading during all the waiting. “Maybe you’d like to follow along? This series has some funny beats.”

And so I started reading softly to Declan, doing voices the way I had when reading to Eric’s kids or my younger siblings back in the day. I supposed I could have flipped on an audiobook, but reading was something active I could do.

Please wake up. I wasn’t the praying type, not anymore, but I could still offer that plea to the universe, hoping Declan came back to us, and soon.

Chapter Three

Declan

I woke in stages from a deep sleep filled with weirdly vivid dreams where I’d been alternately frozen solid or filled with fire, burning from the inside out. My limbs were heavy, practically melted into the mattress. The lure of more sleep was too sweet to pass up, so I would almost wake, only to fall back to sleep, grateful my always-hated alarm had yet to intrude on dreamland. On and on, I drifted in and out of sleep. For a while, I had a vague sense of needing to pee, but that passed, and I dozed on. Something beeped, but it wasn’t my alarm, so not my problem.

My dreams shifted to an idyllic countryside, a little village I’d never visited yet seemed intimately familiar. I was riding a bicycle, like actually pedaling through the tiny town with an overfilled handlebar basket. Somehow, I knew I was dreaming, but it was too pleasant a place to leave.

Eventually, more consciousness returned in the form of an awareness that I was cold and stiff. I needed to stretch but couldn’t. Frustration drove sleep further away.

“And then the vicar made his way out of the garden, heading home for teatime.” Teatime? The heck? Had I landed in England? But the voice speaking was distinctly American male, warm and rich with a slight hint of west like Colorado or Wyoming. “The striped cat followed behind the vicar, prowling proudly.”

“I don’t like cats,” I mumbled, mouth all cottony and dry. My eyes weren’t much better, crusty and bleary as I blinked them open. I went to rub them but couldn’t. Something sharp pinched my arm. “Ouch.”

I looked down. An IV needle was taped in place in my right arm. I was no stranger to those. I groaned, which hurt more than my arm.

“Fuck. I’m in the hospital.” Becoming more awake, I took in my surroundings. Yep, I was in a hospital bed. Should have guessed because I was sleeping on my back, not my stomach like normal. I was hooked up to a ton of machines, all whirring and beeping. The room seemed hazy, like maybe the lights were too dim. And next to me sat a vaguely familiar gentle giant of a dude. Maybe late thirties or so. Soft-looking hair. Beard. Kind eyes. His thoughtful expression bloomed into a slow smile.

“You’re awake. And noted on cats.” Ah. This was the source of the soothing voice, which fit the man’s vibe.

“Who are you?” I asked, voice rusty.

“I’m Jonas. A friend of your dad’s, and I’m texting him now.” Jonas held up his phone as he typed fast. “He’s going to be thrilled.”

“He’s here?” Fuck. I had to be in rough shape if they’d sent for Dad.

“Yep. Denver too.” Jonas’s gaze turned cautious like I might object to that news. “Everyone’s been worried sick for you.”

“How…? How bad is it?”

Jonas sucked in a breath, hesitating.

“Give it to me straight.” I narrowed my eyes. This Jonas seemed like the honest type, less likely to sugarcoat the situation.

“You had a crash while racing. Do you remember that?”

“Not really, but it sounds likely. Was I winning?” I wasn’t so far gone that I’d forgotten who I was. Declan. Declan. My ears rang with a memory of the crowd roaring. I managed a pained laugh. It wasn’t my first rodeo with cracked ribs, but Jonas’s solemn expression said there was more wrong.

“Yeah, you were winning.” Jonas’s smile turned almost tender, laced with a sadness that made my very empty stomach clench. “And then you crashed off a jump. They had to airlift you from the track to the medical complex here in Salt Lake. Broken ankle. Broken tibia. Sprained wrist. Some cracked ribs. Lots of bruising.”

“Nothing that won’t heal by spring,” I scoffed, already calculating the start of the next racing series. Jonas didn’t join my attempt at laughter. “What else?”

“You have a TBI. It’s a brain injury, like a bad concussion.”

“Oh. Like football players get.” I quirked my lips, considering whether or not to be alarmed. “I’ve had my bell rung a time or two before.”

“I’m sure.” Jonas’s voice turned dry, not nearly as impressed as some would be. “But this time, you had a brain bleed. You needed surgery.”

“Surgery?” I reached toward my head only for the arm with the IV, my side, and my shoulder to protest before I could connect with my head. “Ow. Fuck.”

“Don’t try to reach.” Jonas reached over to gently tuck my arm back by my side, like that might keep me. He glanced down at my IV port with more than passing interest. Ah. Yeah, if he was a friend of Dad’s, he was likely some flavor of first responder. “Honestly, I’m absolutely shocked at how well you’re speaking. Time will show if all your other faculties are intact.”

“Faculties?” I narrowed my eyes, which hurt. “Ow. Thinking hurts.” Speaking wasn’t a problem, but my head felt like someone had kicked the video game up to hard mode without telling me or like my brain had less power than usual. “Faculty? Like teachers?”

“No, like walking, moving your hands, fine motor skills, vision. Speaking of, is the light in here too bright? You keep blinking and squinting.” Jonas reached over, doing something to the lights, which made things worse, not better. The fuzzy film at the edges of my peripheral vision grew wider in the dimmer light, but my growing headache receded a little.

“Bright? Nah. I could do without the weird hazy air in here and how dry my fucking eyes are…” I trailed off as it hit me that the problem wasn’t the lighting. “Fuck. My vision’s wonky. Hell. Always been twenty-twenty. Better not need glasses.”

“Don’t get too worked up.” Jonas patted my hand, carefully placing his larger hand below my IV site. He had a warm, sturdy touch. “The vision changes might be temporary. These sorts of injuries take time.”

“I don’t have time.”

“You’re going to have to if you want to heal.” Oh. Dude could do stern when he wanted, complete with a glare.

In the hall, voices sounded like a group of nurses chattering, the noise getting closer.

“Don’t tell about my vision shit,” I ordered Jonas.

“Doesn’t work like that with me.” Jonas didn’t appear cowed in the slightest. “I’m an ER nursing supervisor when I’m not road-tripping to Salt Lake with your dad and Denver. I can’t let you hide something important from the medical staff.”

“Fuck.” I groaned, shifting in the bed, which fucking hurt from my slightly numb ass to my arm and shoulder to my right foot, which felt weirdly weighty. I pushed those thoughts aside in favor of glowering right back at Jonas. “If the tour folks get wind of me having a little headache and some vision shit, they’re not gonna let me back on the bike till I clear concussion protocol and crap.”

“Declan.” Jonas leaned forward, forehead creasing. “Did you understand what I said? You’ve had a traumatic brain injury. Worse than a concussion. You’re not getting on a bike for a good long while, and that’s not accounting for your leg injury.”

Suddenly, my head felt too crowded, like a swimming pool on a hot July day. Jonas’s earlier explanation of my injuries seemed to float away, mingling with scraps of my dreams. I took a deep breath, not liking how hard it was to think.

“Was there a cat here?” For a second, I wondered if this whole conversation was another dream, but Jonas’s hand on mine was solid. I moved a finger over a rough spot on his thumb. Real. At least he was real, but my brain remained frustratingly foggy.

“No, it was a book I was reading to you.” If Jonas was surprised by my question, he didn’t show it, voice staying patient and calm. “A cozy murder mystery.”

“A book.” My back and shoulders sank back against the thin mattress. I should have known that. Should be able to find my way back to what we’d really been talking about, but I couldn’t. “Oh. Fuck it. My brain’s all jumbled.”

“It’s okay. Some confusion is normal.” Jonas patted my hand again as a dark-haired nurse bustled in. She was middle-aged with a loud accent better suited to Chicago than Utah.

“Declan! Awake, I see.” Her voice was way too loud and grating. “How are we feeling?”

“Crappy.” I couldn’t even fake it. My throat was still dry as sandpaper. “Water?”

“Ice chips for now,” she chirped, still operating at top volume. “I’ll go get you some. The doctor is on his way.” She smiled at Jonas, some message passing between them. “And so is your dad.”

“Great.” I slumped as Nurse Megaphone exited the room.

“Doing okay?” Jonas peered down, concern evident in his hazel eyes. “You can close your eyes if you need to.”

“I’m afraid I might not open them if I do that.” I couldn’t believe I’d confessed that to a near stranger, but maybe that was precisely why I’d admitted the truth. The vision disturbances and fuzzy thinking had shaken me. I didn’t want to fall asleep and wake up worse. I was a doer. I wanted to fix the situation and fast. However, I’d been around enough medical shit to know how unlikely that was. I groaned. I needed a distraction from my gloomy thoughts. “Read to me some more?”

“You want that?” For the first time, Jonas seemed genuinely surprised, but he was already thumbing open his phone.

“Gotta see what’s for teatime,” I mumbled right as my dad appeared in the doorway. His eyes were red, his hair all messy, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. Oh hell. I really had almost bought the farm. My stomach roiled, acid rising in the back of my throat.

“Declan.” Dad said my name with so much emotion—happiness, pride, frustration, worry, and other things I couldn’t name—that my own eyes started to burn.

No. I wasn’t a crier. Not about to start. I blinked hard as Jonas dropped my hand. I wanted to yank his back but didn’t.

“We’ll pick it up again later,” he said in a low voice before standing so my dad could have the chair.

Strangely, I wanted Jonas to stay. I barely knew the guy, but I liked his calming presence, the way he quieted the noise in my rattled brain, the way none of this seemed too awful with him nearby. But Jonas was already backing out of the room, and Dad looked ready to bawl, lecture me, or both. I’d simply have to hope I hadn’t seen the last of Jonas.

Chapter Four

Jonas

I’d eaten more hospital food in the last two decades than anyone else I knew, to the point where I’d learned to cook in self-defense, but I’d never had a salad quite so pale and lifeless as this one. I gave up after a couple of bites and pushed my tray away in favor of pulling out my phone.

“Kids blowing up your phone?” Denver asked, looking up from the terrible excuse for a chicken sandwich and waffle fries he’d ordered.

“Yeah.” I scrolled through my messages, chest all warm at the number of unread ones. I was missed. “Wren can’t find the cooling rack for cookies or the powdered sugar.”

“The cooling rack is in the drawer under the oven.” Denver had moved on to unwrapping a large chocolate chip cookie. Despite living in the carriage house with Sean, Denver cooked in the main house several times a week, usually with Wren. “Powdered sugar is in the pantry, upper left.”

“Damn, you’re good.” I typed a fast reply, including a reminder to use potholders to take the cookies out of the oven.

“I try.” Denver blew across his knuckles, making us both chuckle. It had been a long few days. We needed all the laughs we could get.

“Rowan can’t find his lucky drama club shirt for some audition.” I continued to scroll though my messages. “Not this year’s shirt, but the one from two years ago.”

“That I can’t help with.” Denver shook his head. “He’s a senior and president of the drama club. Tell him he doesn’t need luck. Get out there and break a leg.”

“Will do. And I’ll remind him he looks better in glitter anyway.” I sent the message before going to one from his sister. “And Maren is predictably stressed about her biochemistry final.”

“Definitely not helping there. My grades were… Well, the less said, the better.” Denver waved a hand before taking a decisive bite of his cookie. “What’s up with her and that Diesel kid?”

“That’s a question.” I glanced down at my phone like it might have the answer. Ever since Maren’s friend Diesel had been injured while hiking during the summer, she’d been visiting way more often from college. Of all the kids, I was probably closest to Maren, but she’d been tight-lipped every time Diesel’s name came up. “And she’s not exactly talking. But she’s knitting him a hat for Christmas, so make your own guess there.”

“So glad I’m not a teen navigating romance and friendships anymore.” Denver shuddered, then pulled his corduroy jacket closer. The frosty weather meant drafty hospital corridors. We’d all packed in such a hurry that we were making do with odds and ends. I was wearing an old T-shirt of Denver’s, jeans that were more days old than I cared to admit, and an ancient zip front hoodie with the Mount Hope Hospital logo. Across the cafeteria, a trio of nurses in scrubs waited for their food orders. I had more than enough leave banked, but I was starting to miss work. And simpler fashion choices.

“Couldn’t pay me to be a teen again,” I agreed with Denver. He was relatively new to our friendship group by way of dating Sean, and I liked that Denver hadn’t known me back when we’d all been at community college together. I’d been in my late teens and a hot mess in more ways than one. “Anyway, I should probably decide whether I’m driving back on my own or leaving my SUV with you and Sean and flying back.” I changed the subject before he could ask about my younger years. “Now that Declan’s moved out of ICU and Sean’s parents are on the way, I’m not as needed.”

Declan had done so well overnight that the medical staff had decided to move him to the PCU. The progressive care unit was a step toward a general surgical recovery floor, although Declan still had several milestones to meet before discharge. My nursing instincts told me he’d likely need a stay in a rehabilitation unit as well, but that was a future bridge to cross. Right now, he and Sean needed to take things one day, heck, one hour, at a time.

“You’re always needed, but I know what you’re saying. You need to get back.” Denver collected all our trash on his tray before dumping it into a nearby trash can.

“Good riddance to that salad.” I looked longingly at the frozen yogurt machine, but I’d already eaten too many sweets this week. “And yeah. I’ve been checking in with work and Eric the whole time, but I’m ready for my own bed and my dog. And I want to save some leave in case someone else needs my help down the line.”

“Or you could live a little. Take a vacation. Never heard of you taking a day off, let alone a trip.” Denver led the way out of the cafeteria.

“I’m on a trip right now.”

“Hardly what I meant.” Denver’s tone was affable. He wasn’t the argumentative type, even when he was right. “And having your car is handy, but we can always rent one. Maybe we should get Sean’s opinion before you decide.”

“Okay,” I agreed as he hit the elevator button to take us back up to the PCU floor, where we’d left Sean visiting with Declan and an entourage of racing folks. News that Declan was awake had spread quickly, and most of the people who had clogged the waiting room the first day were back. To my mind, there were too many of them, all in motocross sweatshirts and with a vested interest in hurrying Declan right back to the track.

Indeed, as we exited the elevator, we almost ran into a clump of them outside Declan’s PCU room.

“We need a firmer timeline.” A slick younger man in a black suit zipped up a leather laptop bag as he spoke with two men in motocross-branded apparel. He looked to be the executive or PR type, fresh out of an MBA program or similar, and I dearly wanted to be the one to tell him that head injuries never adhered to anyone’s timeline.

“The tour just ended, Miles. It’s almost the holidays. We can give him some time.” A middle-aged man with a Southern accent and a snaggle-toothed smile hooked his fingers through his belt loops.

“Not enough.” Miles kept up his clipped tone.

“We’ll bring Cyrus on board in the meantime.” Another fifty-something guy pulled out his phone. I’d watched some motocross with Sean over the years, and I was pretty sure this guy was one of the heads of the premier team Declan raced for. “We can get him up to speed before the season opens in March.”

“Declan should be ready then.” The Southern guy waved a thick finger at the other two. “He deserves better than you calling up his replacement while he remains in a hospital bed.”

“Exactly, Joey.” The team guy had a more patient tone than Miles, Mr. MBA, but the level of condensation in his tone made my neck prickle. “We have no idea how long Declan is going to be out. This vision nonsense is troubling. He won’t pass concussion protocol anytime soon.”

“Come on. We need to make our flight.” Miles led the way past us toward the elevators, shiny loafers squeaking on the polished floor.

After they left, Denver darted into a nearby restroom, and I waited in the hall outside Declan’s room because I could hear a nurse talking to Sean and Declan, and I didn’t want to intrude. However, before Denver returned, the nurse and Sean exited the room.

Waving at Sean, I stepped closer. “Hey. How you holding up?”

“Amazing.” Sean smiled. He still wore rumpled clothes, but he’d showered, shaved, and combed his red hair. “No, seriously, it’s always funny how much difference a full night’s sleep makes.”

“Yep. Maybe listening to Denver and me about going to the hotel was a good thing?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sean offered up a sheepish look. “You were right. I feel like a new man, and Declan’s doing great on this new floor. Continued improvement and no new signs of bleeding, which is a relief.”

“Absolutely.”

“Now, if we could only get Declan to rest like you strong-armed me.” Sean stretched his arms out. The plastic visitor chairs in this place really were the devil on middle-aged bones. “I keep telling him to sleep, but Declan says he can’t. He also keeps refusing more pain meds. Stubborn.”

“Like you.” I gave Sean a pointed look before chuckling. “You want me to give him the sort of lecture I gave you?”

“Actually, maybe.” Sean shrugged. “He was asking about you.”

“He was?” And why my pulse suddenly sped up I had no clue.

“Yeah. He wanted to know more about our drive here, and I told him what a rockstar chauffeur you were.”

“It was more about having a car with four-wheel drive.” I glanced down at my hiking boots, which doubled as winter boots with flannel insulation.

“Still. You’re better at mountain driving than Denver or I.” Sean clapped me on the back. He wasn’t wrong. Those who learned to drive in rural Utah tended to be more weather-savvy than most. “Anyway, Declan also mentioned some book you were reading. Something about a cat?”

“A book in this new mystery series I’m into.” My cheeks heated because my friends were always teasing me about my taste in books and movies. “Maybe you need a break? If you track down Denver and go get some decent, non-hospital food, I’ll lecture Declan into resting. If that doesn’t work, I’ll read in a monotone until he falls asleep.”

“You do that.” Laughing, Sean lightly pushed me toward Declan’s door. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

This was hardly the time to mention my imminent departure, so I embraced my task of getting Declan to sleep and left Sean to find Denver and, hopefully, some better-quality chow.

“Hey, Declan.” I adjusted the blinds and lowered the lights as I entered his room. He’d continued to complain about light sensitivity, but other visitors and nurses kept turning the lights up.

“Oh, thank God. I can’t figure out the lights on this thing at all.” Declan held up the bedside controller at an awkward angle. His right wrist was the sprained one, but his left still had the IV.

“What’s this I hear about you not sleeping?” I put my hands on my hips and stared him down, but he simply laughed.

“Dad got to you, didn’t he?” Declan gave a small cough as if laughing had hurt, and it undoubtedly had, what with his rib injury and all.

“He’s worried about you. I’m told it’s a dad’s job.” I settled into the visitor’s chair near his bed.

“You don’t have kids?”

“Nope.” I shook my head, trying to sound as ambivalent as possible. “Married twice, no kids. I live with our other friend Eric, though, like your dad did before he moved to the carriage house. I help with Eric’s teens.”

“How’d you manage two divorces?” Declan frowned, studying me like I might have sprouted an extra eye. “That bad at picking chicks?”

I had to laugh because he was hardly alone in that assumption. “One really patient woman who didn’t deserve my closeted ass. One narcissistic dude whom my friends assure me I didn’t deserve. And that was that.”

“Oh.” Declan pursed his lips. “You’re gay.”

My laughter evaporated. “Problem?”

“No. It’s cool.” Declan was rather clearly lying. He added a dismissive wave, but I wasn’t buying it. He grimaced as he lowered his hand again. “Ow. Gotta remember not to do that. Stupid IV. And stupid headache. Didn’t mean to sound rude. Everything hurts. That’s why I’m not sleeping.”

“They gave you a pain pump.” I pointed to the button the nursing staff had placed near his right side. “Use it.”

“Nah. I’m tougher than that.” Declan’s chin took on a stubborn tilt exactly like Sean’s.

“There’s no awards for gritting out your discomfort.” I took his right hand and gently guided it toward the button, mindful of his IV. He had nice hands, big for his height, muscled and callused from all his motocross training. Not that I had any business noticing. “The body needs rest to heal. The more rest, the quicker you’ll heal.”

“I don’t wanna get too used to lying around or dependent on pills.”

“Is substance abuse a real concern?” Eyes narrowing, I glanced over at the door. “Confidentially? I won’t mention it to your dad, but the nursing staff might want to know⁠—”

“No. Not like that.” Declan released a pained groan. “I mean, I drink. I party. But I don’t have a problem. I just don’t want a problem. Does that make sense?”

“I get it.” I sat back in the chair and pulled out my phone. “But you need to rest.”

“What are you doing?” He frowned, looking for all the world like an injured prince, entitled to my full attention. “You gonna sit here and play on your phone?”

“No, Your Highness.” I kind of dug his attitude, not that I was ever telling him that. If he wasn’t my best friend’s son… Nope. Couldn’t even let the brain head down that track. “I believe you requested more of my mystery book.” I clicked my e-book app open. “I’m gonna make you a bargain. I’ll read you the next chapter or so until you fall asleep if you’ll hit your pain pump button to try to get some relief. Staying ahead of the pain will help, trust me.”

“Okay.” Declan let out a royal huff before finally pressing the pain pump button. “Begin. Please.”

And so I began to read aloud, trying like hell to remember who Declan was and why I couldn’t enjoy his company, even temporarily. God, I hoped he fell asleep, and quick.

Chapter Five

Declan

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.” Jonas didn’t seem particularly put out that I wasn’t yet asleep. In truth, the dose of pain medication had relaxed me, and feeling something other than my collection of aches had me in a far better mood and more talkative than sleepy.

“Yeah, but the mysterious stranger has been poisoned.” I offered up a smile. Jonas had kindly started at chapter one, seeing as how I only remembered snippets of the plot from the other day. And surprisingly, I was all caught up in the discovery of the murder victim. “This is big drama.”

“Are you putting me on?” Jonas tilted his head, considering me with his soft hazel eyes. He had an oddly appealing face—not classically hot, but warm and welcoming with nice eyes, a fuzzy beard, and kind expressions.

“I don’t have the energy for a prank.” I snorted because in my younger years, I might have done such a thing, not that I was particularly proud of that rowdy rep. “I’m serious. I like the story. It’s the only thing that seems to require the perfect amount of thinking. Like, not zero, because then my mind races. But not so much that my brain hurts and one of those stupid ocular migraines comes on.”

The neurosurgeon had spouted a whole lot of medical jargon, but the part I’d registered was that the headaches and vision disturbances were linked. The worse the headache, the more wonky my vision. Lovely. And the doctor hadn’t offered a treatment or a timetable for when the blasted headaches might improve.

“That’s one of the reasons why I like cozy mysteries too, actually.” Jonas’s smile widened. Making him smile made my muscles even more loose and relaxed, and my chest was lighter than it had been since the accident. “The books are predictable but engaging. Reassuring.”

“Yeah.” I was curious about what this big guy needed reassurance for, but I wasn’t sure how to ask the question without being overly nosey. “Read more.”

“At your command.” Jonas winked at me, and my stomach did a strange little dance.

“Wait.” I interrupted the story again a few pages later. “Why does the vicar keep talking to the other stranger? Dude’s shifty and probably the murderer, but the vicar keeps noticing how he smells.”

“He’s the love interest,” Jonas said mildly.

“It’s a gay mystery?” My eyes and jaw dropped open, which hurt, underused facial muscles tugging on various cuts and bruises.

“I read all sorts, but this one happens to be.” Jonas shrugged. “Problem?”

He’d asked that earlier when he’d come out to me. Come out. Such a strange turn of phrase and one that never failed to ignite an almost visceral response in me. That Jonas and this book character were gay wasn’t my issue. No, my problem was the wave of mingled nausea, jealousy, fear, and longing. Coming out was a luxury some of us would simply never get.

I first heard a slur against gay people in third or fourth grade. Yes, even in my Seattle-area school. Then I spent time in sports and motocross and, well, I heard a lot worse. For a multitude of reasons, I’d always known I was different and that coming out wasn’t an option for me.

“Nah.” Mindful of my IV, I carefully waved my hand. “You can continue.”

“Thank you.” Jonas chuckled, but there was an edge that hadn’t been there before. “And the series is what they call a slow burn. I started again at book one for you, and it’s book three before anything…spicy happens. Wouldn’t want to singe your delicate ears.”

“I can handle whatever,” I boasted. I was lying, but curiosity made me bold. Also, Jonas seemed safe in a way that most people weren’t. He wasn’t the type to make assumptions or gossip about what we were reading together. “Let the vicar sniff away if that’s his deal.”

“Good to know.” Jonas’s voice was crisp and skeptical.

“I’m serious.” I forced myself to stare him down. Mistake. His eyes were easy to get lost in. “Bring on the kissing.”

“It’s okay to be uncomfortable, Declan.” He sounded all academic now, none of the joking from earlier. “You don’t have to suffer through a love scene simply to prove you’re not homophobic.”

“I’m not.” I made a wounded noise before mumbling, “And it wouldn’t be suffering.”

Jonas gave me a long look. Too long. “Okay then.”

He returned his attention to the book, but a few minutes into the vicar questioning the stranger, my phone beeped from over on the hospital table, which a nurse had rolled away earlier.

“Hand me my phone.” Damn. The order sounded spoiled. “Please.”

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Jonas scolded as he handed over my phone. “And don’t be surprised if looking at the screen hurts.”

Brian, our team manager, was already at the airport with Joey and Miles, and he’d predictably waited until minutes before boarding his flight to deliver bad news. And he’d clearly told others first because my phone was clogged with a host of other messages as well.

“Fuck me running.” Anger made my sore ribs start hurting again, along with a dull pounding in my head made way worse by the glow of the phone screen, not that I was going to admit it. “They’re calling up Cyrus to train with my team. Can’t be a rider short blah, blah, blah.”

“A competitor?” Jonas didn’t seem too surprised at the news. It would have been just like Brian and Miles to run their mouths where others could hear.

“Competitor would imply he’s as good as me.” I snorted. I wasn’t bragging either. Cyrus was decent, but he’d only made a handful of finals, usually as a last-chance qualifier. “He’s not. But this is the big break young guys like him wait for. Riding for a premiere team.”

Being older than rookies and young guns like Cyrus was an odd feeling. But each year, a fresh crop of challengers arrived, and I moved closer to being one of the old guys on tour.

“Ah. But will the team save you a spot if you’re able to return?”

“You said if.” I glowered at him. “It’s when. And yeah, I’ll get my spot back. Just part of the fucking sport. Everyone wants a part of the sponsorship dollars and to ride for the best manufacturers. Cyrus texted me all, Sorry you’re hurt, bro, but I know he’s stoked. I would be.”

I sounded damn bitter, but Jonas kept his calm demeanor. “Hopefully, you can get back out there and prove your doubters wrong.”

“What’s with this if and hope?” I pursed my lips. “You and my dad, I swear. Worrywarts.”

I’d thought maybe Jonas was different. Guess not.

“Your dad is a typical dad and would undoubtedly rather you not risk your life⁠—”

“He’s the firefighter.” Raising my eyebrows, I made a rude noise.

“I know.” Jonas’s tone was as soothing as ever. “And I’m a nurse who’s seen far more motorcycle crashes than I’d care to. I know full well that riders are going to ride. I’m not here to talk you out of trying. I can see how much it means to you. You’ll get back out there if your body lets you. That’s the if. Head injuries are hard.”

His patient tone broke something loose in me. My eyes burned as I lingered somewhere between rage and tears. “Like how my vision is still fucked up. And the headaches. I fucking hate this.”

“I know.”

“How am I supposed to deal if I can’t ride?” I whispered like that might make the awful question less searing.

“I wish I had that answer for you.” Jonas reached for my hand. He’d touched me before, both in passing and in comfort, but this time, a little buzz accompanied the warmth of his palm. And not a neurological abnormality either. More like I liked his touch. A lot. And I wasn’t about to pull away even though I should. “All I can tell you is that you will deal. You’ll find a path forward. I’m not going to lie and tell you healing will be easy. It won’t. It’ll suck whether you make it back to riding or not. But you’ve got a good support system⁠—”

“Fuck all this.” I let my head fall back, which made my ears ring and my temples throb. “And fuck my fucking head.”

“Anger is normal.” Jonas kept right on holding my hand, his big, sturdy thumb lightly massaging my palm. What was happening under my way-too-thin cotton blanket, though, was definitely not normal, and I had to wiggle my hand loose before I embarrassed myself further.

“Don’t want a pity party,” I mumbled. I was a weird mix of in pain, sleepy, turned on, and pissed off. My skin itself seemed to vibrate, nerves jangling. If I could leave this bed, I’d pace or do jumping jacks. Something to relieve this strange energy. “Just read. Please.”

“Okay. And this time, you try to sleep.” Jonas sat back in the chair. Nothing seemed to disturb the guy. Not my demands or questions or anger. He was the least reactive man I’d ever met, yet there was still something quietly commanding about him.

And I was so fucking screwed because I couldn’t go finding random friends of my dad’s intriguing, couldn’t let myself be aware of his nearness or touch. Yet, here I was, jonesing for him to hold my hand again.

I shut my eyes as he started reading, more out of self-preservation than sleepiness, but the next thing I knew, I was pulled out of a fantastic dream about a giant bed and a mountain of pillows. Voices sounded, and somehow, I already knew I wouldn’t like what I heard.

Chapter Six

Jonas

“He’s sleeping.” I glanced over at the bed where Declan had been snoozing for a little less than an hour while I handled some emails and work-related tasks on my phone.

“Thank goodness he finally got some rest.” Sean followed the neurologist and two medical students into the room. As I vacated the chair so Sean would have a place to sit, Sean motioned at the doctor and his underlings. “Maybe we should do this later? Let him sleep a little longer?”

Sean knew as well as I did that doctors never wanted to delay their rounds, but it didn’t hurt to make the request. However, before the doctor could answer, Declan groaned and stretched slightly.

“It’s okay.” His voice was rough with sleep, and that, plus his sleep-creased expression, made me unusually protective. I wanted to herd the whole group out of the room. “I’m awake.” Declan blinked his eyes open a few times, taking in the crowd. “Gee. The crew’s all here, huh?”

“It’s a crowd for sure.” I migrated to the wall closest to the door. “I’ll step outside.”

“I didn’t mean you leaving.” Declan glared at me, so I stayed right where I was.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Murphy?” The doctor was likely in his mid-sixties. He’d been the one to operate. Declan was lucky to have someone with his experience and steady hands, but the doctor’s officious bedside manner left something to be desired.

“He’s Mr. Murphy.” Declan jerked his thumb in Sean’s direction. “I’m Declan. And I’d be a hell of a lot better if I could sleep in a real bed. One without beeping monitors. And if you had a cure for the headaches.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t offer either of those things yet.” Despite his words, the doctor’s tone wasn’t particularly sympathetic. “However, we do need to discuss next steps. You’re making good progress, but you’re going to need some intensive inpatient rehabilitation—both physical and occupational therapy—before you’re able to go home. And then continued PT and OT after you’re released from the rehab unit.”

“Don’t exactly have a home at the moment.” Declan sounded as gloomy as he had when he’d seen his messages about Cyrus being called up to train in his place. I’d already been irked on his behalf, but his team delivering the news via text had left me livid. It was a wonder I’d managed to resume reading after that and no surprise that Declan’s mood had yet to recover. “In the off-season, I’ve been training at our team compound and staying in a trailer there, but they’ll probably give my trailer to one of the other riders. Hell, they likely already have. Fucking vultures.”

“Language,” Sean said like Declan wasn’t well past twenty-one. Once a dad, always a dad, but Sean’s hovering clearly wasn’t sitting well with Declan, who shot his father a withering look. “Rural Arizona isn’t exactly near any big rehabilitation centers,” Sean continued as if he hadn’t noticed Declan’s rising ire. “Can we transfer him to Portland or possibly Mount Hope?”

“I’m right here, Dad.” Declan sounded about five seconds from losing his remaining cool. “Would anyone like my opinion?”

“Certainly.” The doctor turned back toward him. “Where would you like to continue treatment, Mr. M—Declan? Salt Lake has several great facilities for rehab, although patients tend to do better when closer to their support system, and I don’t like the idea of you living alone, even after the rehabilitation center.”

“Gah.” Declan made a loud, frustrated noise that landed square in my chest. Hands flexing, I stepped closer to the bed, not sure how I could help, but I hated seeing him so upset.

“If you rehab in Oregon, the family can come see you, then you can stay with Denver and me for the outpatient stuff.” Sean leaned forward in the chair as he renewed his bid for Oregon. “Or stay with my folks⁠—”

“Absolutely no offense, Dad, but your place lacks doors. Privacy much?” Declan referenced the tiny carriage house where Sean and Denver currently lived with their two cats. Declan wasn’t kidding about it being crowded if he stayed there. “And Grandma’s collectibles freak me out. Not staying there. Mom’s not in Seattle anymore, and my Seattle high school friends have moved on with their lives. Hell if I know where to go. I don’t wanna burden my racing connections. An apartment somewhere? Maybe?”

As he deliberated aloud, Declan became more visibly agitated, pale skin flushing, limbs moving restlessly against his blankets, and voice turning more frustrated, bordering on angry. I understood the feeling of needing to go somewhere and having no clue where more than he’d ever know. And the desire not to obligate friends. Lord, how I knew that dance. Requiring help was the absolute worst.

“I have an idea.” I stepped around the medical students and stooped to meet Declan’s gaze. “Our friend Tony is moving in with his boyfriend, Caleb. That will free up the first-floor primary bedroom in the big house with Eric, the kids, and me. I live in the basement there. You could take over the empty first-floor room.”

Declan’s mouth twisted. “I don’t want to impose on anyone else.”

“You wouldn’t be.” I pitched my voice to be as reassuring as possible. “You’d be helping by being a new renter for Eric. The extra income would help with the teens, I’m sure. And you’d have more independence than staying with family, but be close by for your dad to visit.”

“And help,” Sean added a bit too eagerly, making Declan groan.

I held up a hand before Declan could argue with Sean. “And you’d have people other than your dad around to help as well. You are going to require some assistance, but there’s no need for that to fall all to one person. You’d have me, the teens, Eric, etc.”

“I hate that I need help period.” Declan’s chiseled jaw jutted out, and perversely, his stubborn expression only made him that much more attractive. I seriously needed to stop noticing him, but the more I tried to shove my awareness away, the more the attraction grew.

“I know.” I resisted the urge to pat his shoulder.

Declan exhaled hard, then coughed. “I suppose Jonas’s idea isn’t the worst plan.”

“Excellent. That’s settled then.” The doctor was clearly ready to move along, probably already thinking ahead to the next patient. “I’ll check on your progress tomorrow.”

“Wait.” Declan frowned, blue eyes narrowing. “When do I get to try walking? Using the bathroom on my own? Any chance of leaving this bed?”

“You athletes are always in such a hurry.” The doctor’s patronizing tone did nothing to soothe Declan. Indeed, Declan’s stony glare only deepened as the doctor continued, “Let’s try some time in the recliner first.” He pointed to the large chair in the corner. Such chairs were a fixture on post-surgical wards as a way to get patients upright. “We’ll see how you do without the catheter. Then, we can see where you’re at as far as mobility. Get PT in here with some crutches or a walker.”

“I guess that’s something.” Declan gave a reluctant shrug as the doctor and his students exited the room.

“I should get started looking for Portland or Mount Hope rehabilitation centers with TBI experience that might have openings.” Sean stood, vacating the smaller visitor’s chair near the bed. “But I can wait until after the nurse comes in to remove the catheter. I’ll help you get settled in the recliner.”

“Dad. Go.” Declan’s expression turned decidedly irritated, color still high on his cheeks and mouth pursed. “Please. Go do your research. Jonas can help the nurse.”

“I guess that works.” Sean cast me an uncertain glance. I nodded, hoping I didn’t look too eager to be alone with Declan again. Sean stooped to kiss the top of Declan’s head before exiting the room.

“Sorry.” Declan adjusted the angle of his hospital bed with his uninjured hand so he was more able to meet my gaze as I settled back into the plastic chair. “I didn’t mean to volunteer you for more helping. You’ve done a lot already. But if Dad took charge of one more thing, I was gonna scream.”

“Trust me, I understand. I hate being managed too.”

“Yes, exactly.” He nodded, offering the ghost of a smile. “At least you never talk about me like I’m not in the room.”

“I try.”

“It’s okay if you need a break though. I’m sure the nurse can handle getting me moved.” Declan made a shooing motion with his hand, but I stayed put. “It’s not like I get to actually go anywhere.”

“The nurses are short-staffed, and you’re not a tiny guy. Plus, you have casts to maneuver.” I made my tone reasonable, hiding my vested interest in sticking around. “I can help. Nothing I haven’t done before.”

I was lying, a fact made clear once the overworked young nurse and nursing assistant came in to help Declan. Nothing about this situation felt familiar. With my own patients, I could care and care deeply, but I didn’t wince when they winced or feel physical pain when they groaned. With Declan, though, things felt so much more personal. I understood Sean’s urge to hover because I also wanted to protect Declan.

I stepped outside briefly to give him privacy while the nursing staff handled the catheter and got his IV and gown situated for the short trek to the chair, but I heard his “Ow” all the way to my soul. I hurried back into the room in time to help support his injured side as the four of us hobbled the couple of steps to the recliner.

“Okay. Okay. I’ve got this.” Declan huffed and puffed like he was on an uphill climb at the end of a marathon. He kept blinking, likely because he was lightheaded, not that he’d admit it, and I breathed easier once he was settled in the recliner, blankets around his waist, IV nearby, and table positioned so he could reach his water jug. It was a whole production, and Declan let his head fall back against the chair as the nurses left the room. “Why do I feel like I just finished a week at nationals? All I did was move three feet.”

“Give it time.” I dragged the visitor’s chair over next to the recliner. For the first time, we were face to face, a fact that shouldn’t have made a difference yet changed everything. Despite the hospital gown and pale complexion, Declan was unquestionably an adult male, hint of reddish chest hair and all. Not a kid, not my patient, not a relative. A man. A dude whose company I was coming to enjoy far, far too much, so I tried to make my tone more academic, less personal. “Your strength will come back.”

“If I have to hear another variation of give it time, I’m gonna scream.” Declan glared at me before softening his expression. “Sorry. I’m being whiney again.”

“And I keep telling you, it’s okay. Whine away. I don’t mind listening.” That was an understatement, but I needed to keep more distance between us.

“I’d rather listen to more of our book than complain.” And then he said our, and all my noble intentions went poof.

“Oh? It’s our book now?” I scooted my chair closer as I dug out my phone. Keeping him at arm’s length had lasted a whole twenty seconds. “You know, if you want, I could come visit when you’re at rehab? No obligation if you’d rather I didn’t, but I could bring a book.”

It was a reckless offer, one I’d undoubtedly regret, but when Declan grinned, none of that mattered. His smile was wide and free, as happy as I’d seen him, and it transformed him from a generically handsome injured guy to the most attractive man I’d seen in a long, long time.

“I like that idea.” He continued to beam, and my stomach gave a little quiver.

“So do I.” And I liked the idea of him living with us in Eric’s house far, far too much. All that nearness? Risky. So risky. Yet I was already counting down to his moving in and more of those hundred-watt smiles.

Chapter Seven

Declan

December had already been the coldest, worst, loneliest month of my life, and I was eager to see the end of it. The month had started in the Salt Lake City hospital and continued through several weeks at a rehabilitation center in Portland. I’d been released in time for Christmas with my grandparents, and now, finally, I was literally on the doorstep of my next chapter a couple of days before the new year.

The yellow Victorian owned by Dad’s friend, Eric, with its wide front porch and white trim, was in the historic district of Mount Hope, an area I’d always found laughably kitschy when I was in town visiting my grandparents as a kid. However, with the whole neighborhood still decked out for the holidays, I could see the appeal. All the decorations looked ready for a Christmas card painting.

A bitter wind whistled while I waited for my dad to grab my bags from his truck and join me on the porch. I was far more mobile these days, using a scooter-walker with a padded seat for my injured leg, but Dad had insisted on getting me situated before making another trip for my luggage. Given that my dad lived on the property, we could have gone in through the back entrance, but the front of the house had a narrow ramp for easier access with my scooter.

I’d met Eric and his four teens a few times, but I had only vague memories of the kids and Eric’s late husband. When his husband died, Eric needed help and my dad and other friends had pitched in, which was why my dad and Denver rented the carriage house.

I tugged my too-thin jacket closer. Most of my belongings were either in Arizona, storage, or scattered only God knew where. I hadn’t been around for the wrap-up of the motocross season, so I’d had to rely on Joey and others hastily boxing up my clothes and gear.

The massive oak front door swung open as my dad lumbered up the ramp with my bags.

“Skull fracture is such an imprecise term.” A short teenager, maybe fourteen, with wild, frizzy hair and a Science, Not Speculation T-shirt stood in front of me, blocking the entrance. “Did you know the human skull contains twenty-two bones? Also, I’ve been studying ocular migraines. How’s your nutrition? In particular⁠—”

“Wren.” My dad cut off the amateur teen MD, but his tone was fond. “How about you let Declan in the house?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Another teen appeared behind Wren, this one older, probably closer to eighteen. He was tall and thin with elfin features and wore pink sweatpants and a loose, cropped shirt with a peach outlined in glitter. The peach danced as he gestured at the first teen. “This is Wren. They’re a bit…enthusiastic that you’re joining us. I’m Rowan.”

Awkward handshakes were exchanged while I tried to keep my balance on my scooter as we finally entered the house. The entryway featured gleaming hardwood floors and a large staircase, and it was entirely too narrow for all of us.

Right as I was about to ask where my room was, my dad’s phone trilled with an incoming message. He set my bags down so he could fish out his phone. A lifetime of being a firefighter’s kid meant I knew what was coming even before he shook his head and exhaled a telltale harsh breath.

“I hate to throw you to the wolves…er…teens, but it’s the week between Christmas and New Year’s, and folks are calling in left and right. The station needs me to come cover a shift.”

“Of course.” I made a shooing motion. Any impulse I had to ask him to wait a few minutes had passed decades ago. When the station called, he had to go, and that was that. “Go.”

“I can help you get to your room, at least.” Dad’s mouth twisted, expression going pained.

“I’ve got it.” I forced a smile. Didn’t need him feeling guilty about doing his job. Simply a fact of life, nothing personal, and if my chest pinched, I knew by now how to ignore it.

“Love you.” Dad pulled me in for a quick hug. We were Murphys from a long line of first responders, not all of whom got to come home, and we always said I love you, no matter what.

Dad headed out, which left me and the teens staring at each other. I’d maybe met these two in passing at a Mount Hope event when we were all a lot younger, but I wasn’t sure. I’d been hoping for more familiar faces. Okay, that was a lie. I’d been specifically hoping Jonas would be home to greet me, but like my dad, he probably had to work long hours during the holidays. It was a bit silly how eager I was to see the guy again.

Jonas had visited twice while I’d been at the rehab facility in Portland, mercifully without my dad, and we’d spent most of the time talking and eating the takeout he’d brought to give me a break from hospital food. He’d kept his word, though, and had read for a bit from the mystery book each time. Before Christmas, he’d gifted me a subscription to an audiobook service and a list of audio titles I might enjoy, but I didn’t know how to tell him it was him I liked even more than the mysteries.

“Could you point me toward my room?” I asked the kids. I had a pack of tween and teen cousins, but even when I’d been one of the teens myself, I’d always felt a bit removed, unsure of how to interact outside the narrow context of motocross events. Promo I could handle. Small talk, not so much.

“Absolutely. And you don’t have to worry about your bags. I’ll get them.” Rowan picked up both bags, a large black duffel and a red backpack, one in each hand. “Ooh, look at me. Weights and cardio at the same time. Follow me.”

“You sure you can lift both those?” I wasn’t sure what to make of this kid and his obvious delight, all while looking like the wind could carry him away.

“Yep. I delayed my mandatory PE credit until senior year.” Rowan gave a shrug of his slim shoulders while waiting for me to accompany him down the hall toward the rear of the house. “The only thing that fit my schedule this year was a strength training class. Semester two of torture starts after the new year. I need the practice.”

Agreeing with him would be rude, so I adopted a more pragmatic tone. “Everyone is good at something. Maybe you just haven’t found your sport.”

I wouldn’t know because even before discovering motocross, I’d been an athletic kid, Little League, soccer, all that. I had decent hand-eye coordination and good stamina, which served me well when I switched to motocross.

“Have you seen me?” Rowan paused to pirouette, a nifty trick while holding the bags. What he lacked in muscles, he sure made up in grace. “I don’t have a sport unless we’re counting dancing, and even then, it better be for a musical number.”

“Fair enough.” I stifled a laugh. In school, kids like him, theater geeks and poetic types, had made me all kinds of uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure exactly how someone went through life so…free. Now, I was an adult, and the discomfort had given way to something closer to envy.

“This is your room.” Rowan opened another heavy wood door to reveal a large, sunny bedroom. All the blinds were open along a bank of windows that faced the back and side yards. My head started a low-grade ache, but I wasn’t about to ask the kid to close all the windows on my account. The room was an unfortunate shade of avocado with faded spots where pictures had likely once hung. Someone had made the bed with a soft-looking plaid quilt in fall colors with matching pillows. Two doors stood on the wall opposite the bed, and Rowan gestured at the far one after setting my bags down with a thump. “Bathroom through there. Jonas worked with your dad to make sure everything was accessible for you.”

“I don’t need special treatment.” Upon further inspection, I could see little accommodations for me—all hardwood floors, not a rug in sight. A rolling bed tray thing like in the hospital. A peek in the bathroom revealed grab bars and a walk-in shower with a shower chair.

“Dude, be lucky they decided against the hospital bed.” Rowan rolled his eyes at me. “And most of these things were already here from when my other dad was sick.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I’d totally forgotten momentarily that the kids had lost their other dad, Eric’s husband, to cancer a year or so ago. Appropriately rebuked, I tried to sound more grateful as I moved to sit on the bed, pulling my injured leg up to recline, a maneuver I’d gotten way too good at. “This is fine.”

“No, it’s not. It’s an ugly mismatch.” Rowan gave a dramatic flourish as he indicated the decor. “But I’m here to help. What’s your favorite color?”

“Uh…black?”

“Not helpful, Declan. Not helpful.” Rowan shook his head regretfully. “Dad said we could paint, but black walls aren’t going to fly.”

“People think of black as the absence of color, but actually, it’s all of them at once,” Wren observed from the door.

“See, it’s a pretty cool color.” I smiled at Wren, who didn’t smile back. “Short stuff agrees.”

That got a deeper frown from Wren and a groan from Rowan.

“We’re not decorating in a black scheme. Sorry, but no.” Rowan narrowed his eyes. “How do you feel about subtle florals?”

“We’re decorating?” I couldn’t hide my shudder. I associated decorating mainly with my grandma’s house, which had collectibles everywhere. In Seattle, my parents had worked long hours, and while our craftsman house had been homey, no one would have mistaken the hodgepodge of items for a deliberate interior design scheme.

“Rowan. Wren.” Blessedly, Jonas chose that moment to appear behind Wren. He was accompanied by a medium-sized dog, some sort of cattle dog mixed mutt, the long-legged type I often saw at the races. “How about we let Declan rest?”

“Hey.” I grinned, not even trying to hide my relief at being rescued from Rowan’s decorating ambitions. “And this must be the famous Oz?”

Jonas had mentioned his dog in passing a few times, and I could see why he was so taken with the dog’s gentle temperament. No jumping or barking, the dog simply strode over to the bed, hopped up, and settled himself at the foot.

“How are you feeling?” Jonas stepped into the room, eyeing me critically.

I managed a moan even more dramatic than Rowan’s. “If one more person asks me that, I might punch a wall, and I don’t have a hand to spare.”

I held up my healed wrist. Thanks to time and PT, I was able to steer the scooter and do basic tasks now, but punching anything would be foolish. Stupid or not, I glanced at the stack of pillows next to me. Might be worth a little pain to relieve some frustration.

“No punching.” Jonas gave me a stern glare that made me laugh. Damn, I was glad to see him again. And he looked good. Beard neatly trimmed, wearing a soft moss-colored sweater that made his hazel eyes appear greener than usual. Khaki pants hugged his thick thighs. I looked away before I got caught staring. I was the king of averting my eyes, but this was the first time I’d had to really work at it, a level of appreciation I hadn’t had prior.

“I’m telling you, he’d rest better if you let me work on the ambiance in here.” Rowan gestured with both hands as Jonas bodily steered him and Wren toward the hall.

“The ambiance is fine for now.” I yawned, more to hurry up the teens leaving than actual exhaustion. Lord knew I’d napped enough for several lifetimes this month alone.

“All right, everyone out.” Jonas good-naturedly waved Rowan and Wren away amid protests.

“Fine, but I’ll draw up some decorating plans for later.” Rowan made the promise sound closer to a threat as he left, followed by Wren, who was muttering about not having had a chance to quiz me about my symptoms.

“You do that.” I sank back against the pillows and briefly closed my eyes.

“How are you really?” Jonas asked as he went around the room, closing the blinds.

“Shitty.” The dimness helped, but I couldn’t quite shake my frustration or find it in me to lie to Jonas. “Sorry. I’m just so tired of being fine. Okay. On the mend. Could be worse. Fuck all the lies.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.” Jonas stooped to pet his dog before settling into a weirdly shaped midcentury modern chair in the corner to the side of the bed. I appreciated how he always seemed to go out of his way to make it so I didn’t have to crane my neck to make eye contact, but the chair looked all kinds of uncomfortable and stiff and not at all suited to his big frame.

“I know. That’s why I like you. I can be whiney.” I made the comment flippantly, but a hint of a blush crept across Jonas’s face.

“Thanks. And I’ve told you, you’re not whiney, but even if you were, you could whine away.”

“Oh, I’ve got a list.” I gave a bitter laugh. “I can’t drive. Can’t ride. Hell, even being a passenger in my dad’s cushy truck makes me nauseous. I actually had to make him pull over on the way to my grandparents from Portland. I’m a mess. My ribs are healed, wrist is on the way, leg’s getting there, but it’s my fucking brain. Having to relearn how to do stupid stuff. Waste of my time. Shit, I’d take a blown ACL over this bullshit.”

“Amen. TBIs are the worst. As a nurse, I’d rather see a thousand knee injuries over one head injury.” Jonas scooted his chair closer to the bed. “There’s so much we still don’t know about the brain. There’s new research all the time though.”

“I hate feeling like a fucking science experiment to my doctors.” I groaned and gestured at the door. “That one teen, Wren, thinks the key may be my nutrition. Everyone has a theory, yet no one has a real answer.”

“It sucks. I’m not going to minimize it.” Jonas moved his hand like he might be reaching for mine but quickly dropped it back to his side. “And what’s worse is it’s not the kind of hard thing you can step away from or turn off.”

“Just have to deal. The therapist at rehab called it acceptance. Fuck that.” I finally gave in to the urge to smack one of the pillows. “I don’t want to accept this ‘changed reality.’ If something on the bike breaks, we fix it. We don’t accept it.”

“I’m sorry brain injuries aren’t as easily fixable as a suspension or motor.” Jonas shrugged, his tone becoming more pragmatic while remaining sympathetic. “However, one thing I’ve learned the hard way is that acceptance doesn’t mean you like a situation. In fact, it can mean the opposite—accepting there’s not a damn thing you can do to change an outcome.”

“Oh.” Sometimes, I forgot he was a nurse and had probably seen his share of gruesome stuff. I was so wrapped up in my own problems that I’d lost perspective. “Like with patients dying, you mean?”

“That’s one example, sure.” Jonas’s gaze shifted to one of the windows, eyes taking on a faraway cast. “There’s lots of messed-up situations in this world. I’ve had plenty of chances to practice acceptance, trust me.”

“Like?” Curiosity made me shift closer to the edge of the bed.

“Maybe you’d rather have a chapter of the book?” Jonas pulled out his phone, already clicking over to his e-book app.

“Hey.” I made a frustrated noise. “I thought we were friends by now. Actual friends, not just you humoring some other friend’s kid.”

If he was only being nice to me because of my dad, he could get out now. I gave him my stoniest glare.

“We’re friends.” Fine lines appeared around Jonas’s eyes and mouth like the admission cost him. “And I don’t see you as a kid, trust me.”

“Good.” I replaced my glare with a satisfied grin. Knowing Jonas liked me and didn’t simply feel obligated made my head lighter than it had been in weeks. “If I can be honest with you, why can’t you be honest with me?”

“Because friends or not, you don’t want to hear my sob story of how I lost my family.”

“Jesus. Your whole family died?” I sucked in a breath, heart hammering. I’d expected… Hell, I wasn’t even sure. But not this. For the first time, I reached for his hand instead of waiting for him to make contact. “Fuck. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“They didn’t die. They’re alive. That’s what I’ve had to accept.” Jonas spoke in a flat tone as he held tightly to my hand. “They’re gone, lost to me.”

“Because you’re gay.” I didn’t make it a question. I knew way too much about how the world worked.

“Oh, my family kicked me out long before that, but being gay pretty much nailed shut any chance of contact. Have you heard about the lost boys of Utah?”

“No.” I frowned, pretty damn sure I wasn’t going to like what I heard, so I kept right on holding his hand like that might make sharing his story easier for us both.

“My family is polygamists. I have seventeen siblings last count. As with a lot of polygamist sects, teenage boys are often kicked out so they won’t compete for the girls.”

“That’s bullshit,” I blurted out.

“Yep.” Jonas nodded curtly. “Little did they know I wasn’t anyone’s competition, but the patriarchs sent away a bunch of us the same. My mother was one of the daughters of the prophet for the sect. Didn’t make any difference. I’m one of the lucky ones, actually.”

“Being raised by a cult that then kicked you out doesn’t sound like a win.”

“Yeah, but a lot of guys like me end up drug addicts, sex workers, without housing, or worse. I camped out a few days near a high school in Provo, figuring I’d blend in. A teacher found me and hooked me up with an organization to help ex-polygamists. Luckily, I wasn’t eighteen, so I ended up in state custody for a few years.” Jonas’s expression stayed bland throughout his story, almost as if he were sharing someone else’s tale. Meanwhile, I wanted to rage on his behalf.

“Luckily? You were a kid.” I made a wounded noise, clinging to his hand more for me than him at this point.

“Being under eighteen meant getting to live in a group home for teens. That meant I had a place to stay while I graduated from an alternative high school. Having a diploma provides more opportunities than most lost boys get, and having ID and paperwork allowed me to get a part-time job working at a retirement home.”

“That’s how you decided to become a nurse?”

“Yeah. I figured I could make something of myself. Help people who needed it. Nurses at the retirement home told me I’d always have a job if I had a nursing license. I liked the sound of that.” Jonas’s tone became more wistful. God, I wanted to go back and give his younger self the biggest, cushiest house I could find.

“How did you end up in Mount Hope?” From what my dad had said, he’d met Jonas back when they and Eric and their other friend Tony were all at community college and living in a big apartment together.

“I wanted the hell out of Utah. I had thoughts of trying to find a big city—LA or Seattle, maybe. But I got a chance to hitch my way to Oregon. I spent a night in Mount Hope at the truck stop on the edge of town, saw a sign for the community college, and never left.”

“You didn’t try to go back ever?”

He shook his head sadly. “I wrote a lot of letters over the years. Managed a few phone calls here and there with folks connected to the sect, but the plain truth is they didn’t want me. Not then and especially not after my first divorce, when I officially came out, but I’m not about to change.”

“Wow.” I whistled low. We were still holding hands, so I squeezed his tightly, like pinning him to me could make up for whatever horrors he’d had to endure. “That’s some heavy shit. I’m sorry you went through that.”

“It was a long time ago.” Sliding his palm away from mine, he sat back in the chair. “I should let you get some rest.”

“Wait.” I leaned forward. “I’m sorry for bringing up old hurts. You don’t have to leave.”

“Well, my dog certainly seems to have made himself at home.” Jonas offered a sad, crooked grin as he pointed at Oz, who was now snoring, wrapped into a perfect furry circle against my calf. “How about I read, and you at least pretend to nap?”

“Deal.” I’d let him move on from his past and talk about less painful stuff, but I wasn’t forgetting anytime soon. And it wasn’t simply the depressing nature of his tale. I’d never felt protective like this about anyone, like I would do serious harm to those who’d hurt him, and like I’d give a hell of a lot to keep him safe and happy in the future.

Chapter Eight

Jonas

“I find myself alone and dateless.” With a loud, fake royal accent, Rowan draped himself over the kitchen island, inconveniently landing in the path of my sponge. “On New Year’s Eve. The second most romantic holiday. It’s practically criminal, I tell you.”

“Drop the British accent, Rowan.” Wren looked up from the fridge inventory they were conducting on their tablet. “New Year’s Eve is an arbitrary holiday, as evidenced by the many cultures⁠—”

“Oh my God, Wren. Let me be dramatic for once.” Rowan flailed like he hadn’t been dramatic every moment since birth.

And if anyone was entitled to wail, it would be me. Two days of Declan living here, and I was ready to climb the curtains. I smelled him in the hallways. I heard him through the air vents. I caught myself checking on him far more than was prudent, and our little conversations turned into epic discussions. Other than work, I’d done little else other than think about Declan. Now it was New Year’s Eve, and as Rowan pointed out, a night for romance for the lucky and sulking for the rest of us.

“I’m dateless.” John, another of the teens and a mild-mannered football star, clomped down the back stairs to swipe a cookie from a platter on the counter near the fridge. “You don’t see me obsessing over who I’m kissing at midnight.”

“That’s because…” Rowan sputtered as I glowered in his direction. I’d spent the fall trying to protect John’s right to privacy where Rowan would rather lob sharp barbs, oblivious to anyone else’s feelings. Mouth twisting, Rowan tried a different tactic. “That’s hardly the win you think it is.”

“Sure it is. I’m outta here and headed to Cosmo’s for a marathon of the best sports movies ever. I dropped Dad off at the station for his shift, so I’ve got wheels to pick up the rest of the crew. Who needs a date?”

“Me,” Rowan moaned.

“Drive safe,” I told John, ignoring Rowan’s theatrics. “This is a night for bad accidents, and your dad’s on call.”

“You’re saying don’t make him be the one to come scrape me up? Yeah, yeah.” John pocketed another couple of cookies on his way to grabbing Eric’s SUV keys and heading out.

“As I was saying, alas, I am feuding with my drama club vice president.” Rowan didn’t waste much time returning the conversation to his favorite subject. “I am alone while the rest of the drama club parties with Taylor, the backstabber. May her eyelashes fall off into the charcuterie tray.”

“A pox on her house.” I matched Rowan’s outraged tone. “And are you waiting for Wren and me to ask you to plan a New Year’s Eve bash for us?”

“God, yes.” Rowan finally straightened from his sprawl, perking up at the mere hint of a fresh project. Oh well. Whatever kept him happy, and it wasn’t like I had anything better to do other than pace outside Declan’s door and see if he’d awakened from a late nap.

Rowan managed to rope Wren into his plans, and the two of them happily laid out an elaborate hot chocolate bar with enough toppings for a dozen revelers. I took Oz for a brief walk and returned to find the living room transformed into a giant blanket fort, complete with pillows, mountains of fuzzy throws and blankets, and twinkling lights left over from the Christmas festivities. The hot chocolate bar was set up on the nearby oak coffee table. Luckily, Oz knew better than to go investigate and picked out a large cushion in the blanket tent to flop on.

As Wren and Rowan worked, they debated which movies to cue up, and I swallowed the impulse to remind them that all the linens and lights would eventually need picking up.

“What the…?” Declan wandered into the living room on his knee scooter, expression going from sleepy to perplexed as he swept his gaze around the living room.

“It’s New Year’s Eve. We’re having a party,” Rowan announced merrily.

“People coming over?” Declan groaned.

“No, just us.” Rowan attempted to steer Declan toward the blanket fort. “Don’t worry about balancing a plate with your scooter. I’ll bring the hot chocolate buffet to you.”

If Rowan got any more obvious with his hero worship of Declan, a halo was likely to appear around Declan’s auburn hair, which had grown back unevenly along his surgical scar.

“If I get down there, I’m probably not getting back up.” Declan wrinkled his forehead but obligingly moved closer to the blanket fort in front of the TV. “I am hungry though.”

“Perfect. And Jonas and I can help you up.” Rowan effortlessly volunteered me, not that I was about to protest another excuse to touch Declan.

“Let them have their fun.” I stepped next to Declan. “It is New Year’s Eve, after all.”

“Wow. Last year, I was in Vegas, a huge group of us, girl on each arm, smashed beyond…” Declan’s mouth twisted. “Sorry. Not PG content. But yeah, what a difference a year makes.”

“Sorry we can’t provide more excitement.” My tone came out a little clipped because Declan’s sadness underscored how much he missed his motocross lifestyle and how Mount Hope was merely a pit stop on his road to recovery.

“It’s okay. Guess I was due a sober New Year’s. Help me sit?” His crooked grin banished my irritation. I helped him settle next to Oz with cushions under his healing leg and behind his back. When I turned to back out of the blanket tent, however, Declan yanked me down next to him.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he whispered, voice unusually playful. “If I have to sit in the blanket fort, so do you.”

“All right.” I agreed, hopefully not too quickly. Declan likely wanted me next to him only as a buffer from the teens, but my cheeks heated and my chest lifted anyway.

Rowan gleefully served up hot chocolate and treats before starting the movie.

“What is this?” Declan’s forehead wrinkled like he’d never seen a holiday movie opening. The festive music, snow, quaint neighborhood, and holiday decorations made the genre immediately clear, at least to me.

“Only the queerest holiday movie ever!” Rowan was only too happy to push Pause to explain the plot of the geeky Christmas caper we’d already seen three times that month. “It’s rival neighbors, see, but the sunshine one has to help the grumpy one pull off a Christmas miracle to welcome his younger brother home. You’ll love it.”

“Sure.” Declan sounded pained and his mouth was a thin line.

“You okay?” I asked in a low voice. “We can switch movies.”

“It’s fine.” He offered the fakest smile ever before motioning at Rowan. “Continue, please.”

I half expected Declan to have sarcastic commentary for the movie, but surprisingly, he seemed wrapped up in the plot, leaning forward as the movie meandered along. He even laughed at the holiday hijinks and small-town humor. But as the movie wrapped, his expression turned to one of clear longing.

I’d know because being this close to him with our legs and shoulders brushing and his beachy scent hanging in the air had me doing my own pining. And like the yearning in my chest, Declan’s longing seemed to hurt. He huffed out little pained breaths and shifted uncomfortably, especially when the two male leads kissed as the closing credits rolled.

“My head hurts. I should go lie down.” Declan pushed himself away from our cushion nest, but Rowan made a clucking noise.

“Not yet. It’s almost midnight! Time to break out the sparkling cider and make our resolutions and⁠—”

“The only resolution I have is to get back on the track.” Declan shook his head. “I’m gonna pass, kid. Sorry.”

Rowan’s face fell, but he collected himself enough to help me extricate Declan from the blanket fort. As soon as he was upright, Declan grabbed his scooter and made his way back to his room.

“Well, that sucks.” Rowan pouted as he returned from the kitchen with glasses and the bottle of local sparkling cider. “I wanted him to stay for midnight at least.”

Oh, Rowan. I made a sympathetic noise and gentled my voice. “Isn’t Declan a bit older than most of your crushes?”

“Age is but a number,” Rowan said airily as he poured the cider. “However, I’m not crushing. Or at least, not much.” He offered a sad, crooked smile. “Sean got me hooked on watching motocross over the summer. All the dudes are so hot. Cocky swagger. Muscles. Dangerous occupation. What’s not to like?”

“Indeed. But⁠—”

“I know it’s not happening with Declan.” He sprawled back on a pile of cushions. “But maybe if I make friends with him, he can introduce me to some of his hottie friends.”

“Are there any out motocross riders?” Declan’s expression while watching the movie flashed in my brain. Maybe…

“Dunno.” Rowan shrugged. “Probably not. It’s a macho sport like football, but a guy can dream.”

“Surely there’s high school-aged fish for you to catch?” I hated the idea of Rowan being disappointed.

“None worth frying.” Rowan huffed as Oz came to settle next to him. “Gotta get out of this town.”

“College will be better.” I offered up the old platitude, hoping I was right.

“Maybe.” Eyes taking on a faraway cast, he gave a sad smile as he petted Oz before standing. “Time to toast! Make a wish!”

As the clock counted down to midnight, I couldn’t think of any resolutions or wishes that didn’t involve Declan. My own crush was likely as hopeless as Rowan’s, but tell that to my fickle heart. After all my failed relationships, I really should know better. And I’d hoped for a partner for too many years to make that midnight wish one more time. Nope. My only New Year’s resolution needed to be keeping my distance from Declan.

Said resolution lasted precisely through shooing the kids off to bed, cleaning the kitchen, putting away the fancy glasses, and walking past Declan’s door. He’d seemed pained. Maybe I should check…

And before I could stop myself, I knocked on the closed door.

“Come in,” he called. I opened the door to find him in bed, and as he sat up, the covers pooled around his waist. His very bare waist, no hint of boxers or pajama bottoms. And no shirt either. Bare chest, a surprising amount of auburn fuzz, fading bruises on his torso, lickable pink nipples, and…

Stop it. I forced myself to look away. Oz had no such modesty and went to settle next to Declan. Traitorous dog.

“Sorry. I should have known you’d be sleeping.”

“No, I wasn’t asleep. My mind doesn’t want to shut down even though I ran out of energy to dress after I showered. Fucking showers. Who knew they were such energy thieves?”

“Fucking bandits,” I agreed. “Want me to toss you your pajamas?”

“Nah.” He looked entirely too comfortable with his nudity.

“I should let you rest or…whatever.” A strangled cough escaped my throat as I envisioned whatever. “I only wanted to see if you were okay. I thought you might have been in pain after the movie. You mentioned your head?”

“When am I not in pain?” Groaning, he gave a dismissive wave. “Head. Back. Leg. My other leg from too much work moving the scooter. All of it.”

“You could take something.”

“The pain meds were torturing my stomach and making my nausea way worse, so I weaned myself off them at the rehab place. Besides, it’s not that bad tonight. I mainly just needed away from the New Year’s Eve festivities and the movie.”

“That grossed out?” I hadn’t yet figured Declan out. He seemed to want to prove a point that he was cool with queer content, despite his obvious discomfort. And then there was that longing in his eyes, which left me with more questions.

“No. You don’t get it. I’m angry.”

“Okay.” I drew the word out as I headed for the door. “It’s late, and I’m too tired to unpack your homophobia⁠—”

Declan cut me off with a frustrated noise. “Not at them. The characters were amazing. Who wouldn’t love that duo? No, I’m mad at the producers for making it seem like coming out is as easy as kissing in front of the whole neighborhood. As if.”

“Sometimes it is that easy,” I said gently, studying the array of emotions on Declan’s expressive face.

“Not in my world.” He shook his head, tone turning mournful as he buried a hand in Oz’s soft fur. “My first pro race, one of the older riders made sure to let me know there was no place for gay riders, only he used a far worse word. And that was okay because I’d already learned that lesson as an amateur. And how.”

“Wanna tell me about it?” I stepped closer to the bed.

“Not particularly,” he snapped. “This is the life I chose. End of story.”

“Well, alrighty then.” I didn’t like this version of Declan, hurt and miserable and shutting me out. “Guess I should head to bed. Come on, Oz.”

“You’re not gonna read?” Declan sounded genuinely surprised and disappointed. And that was all the more reason for me to decline, along with my neglected resolution. We were fast falling into habits that weren’t healthy for my heart, especially if Declan didn’t want to talk. Our friendship needed to be a two-way street, and even then, I couldn’t ignore the real risk of my more-than-friendly feelings.

“Not tonight.”

“Why didn’t you have a date? You should have had a New Year’s Eve date.” His tone was defiant. “Gotta be boring, hanging out with the kids and the cr⁠—”

“Watch how you talk,” I warned before he could finish the slur.

“I was going to say crappy excuse for a human being.” Declan rolled his eyes at me like that line was much better than what I’d assumed. “I am pretty worthless these days.”

“You are not, and with everyone else pulling a shift tonight, someone needed to be home with the teens.” I shrugged, trying to keep my tone casual despite his prodding. “Besides, I’m kind of on a break from dating.”

“That’s bullshit. You didn’t want someone to kiss at midnight?”

You. You. You. But I couldn’t say that, couldn’t let myself think it for more than a second.

“Good night, Declan.” Breathing hard, I summoned Oz with my hand and left the room before Delcan or I could say—or do—something we might regret.

Chapter Nine

Declan

Awakening on New Year’s Day with regrets was hardly new for me, but instead of a pounding head and hangover, all I had was deep-seated dread over seeing Jonas. I probably needed to prepare an apology for being so sharp when he hadn’t wanted to read last night. I’d acted more than a little spoiled, and being disappointed was hardly an adequate excuse.

My bad mood started from being cooped up on New Year’s Eve, but being pressed against Jonas in the blanket fort had been torture. And I said that as a professional in an extreme sport who pushed my body to the limit. But apparently, my body had never run into someone quite like Jonas. I’d been hyperaware of his every shift in movement, the brush of his leg against mine, the flex of his arm, the rise and fall of his broad chest. And he’d smelled amazing. I’d been half-hard most of the movie, and even a very cold shower after hadn’t alleviated that thrum of arousal. I’d been horny before, but nothing like Jonas inspired.

I’d also left Rowan and Wren’s festivities in a huff, and I likely owed them an apology too. Gah. Living in a group house was far harder than chilling alone in a trailer or hotel room somewhere.

However, I was hungry, and the scent of something sweet and carby had reached my room. Hunger won out over my desire to hide from awkward conversations, and I dressed in easy-on sweats and a loose T-shirt from a moto event a few years back.

In the kitchen, I discovered Jonas manning a giant skillet of bacon while Wren hovered over a griddle full of pancakes. Oz had been lying on his bed by the window, but he roused himself long enough to come greet me.

“The pancakes are edible today,” Wren announced solemnly as I made my way to a stool at the breakfast bar. Oz flopped down next to my scooter.

“Sometimes they aren’t?” I asked, trying not to sound too suspicious.

“Often.” Maren, the oldest of Eric’s teens, who was home from college on winter break, breezed into the kitchen. I’d only seen her in passing thus far, but she helped herself to two cups of coffee and plopped next to me like we were old pals, sliding one cup to me. “Please don’t ask how my New Year’s Eve went.”

“Same.” I grinned at her. “Thanks for the coffee. And actually, my night wasn’t terrible. Wren and Rowan went to a lot of trouble. I was the grumpy one who went to bed early.”

“Darn. I was hoping to hear about a New Year’s Eve kiss.” Maren laughed merrily, but I choked on something. “Jonas could use one.”

“Maren.” Cheeks bright red, Jonas used a warning tone. “Declan is Sean’s kid. And straight.”

I frowned, hating his use of the word kid as well as the reminder that he was my dad’s friend first and foremost.

“And?” Still laughing, she shrugged her slim shoulders. She had the same eyes and build as Rowan. “You know hot wounded messes are totally your type. And Declan needs a⁠—”

“Breakfast.” Jonas set plates in front of us with a loud clatter.

“I’m not a mess.” I ignored my food in favor of mulling over her tease.

“Yeah, you are.” She patted my shoulder like she was the older one despite me probably having three years or more on her. “But don’t worry. You’ll fit right in here. We’re all different flavors of hot mess.”

“Speak for yourself.” Wren leveled a skeptical stare at Marren. “I have an A average, several successful ongoing experiments, and my room is organized to my satisfaction.”

“Congrats.” Maren reached over to ruffle Wren’s frizzy hair. “I guess I’m the one with all the drama.”

“That would be Rowan,” Wren said right as Jonas asked, “New Year’s Eve party drama with Diesel?”

“I said not to ask.” Maren adopted a haughty tone as she scooped up her plate and coffee. “I think I’ll take my food to go.”

“Well, at least she was accurate about bringing the drama.” Wren nodded as they filled a plate.

“Be nice to your sister.” Jonas issued the reminder as Wren headed to the table in the dining room.

“I probably deserve a reminder to be nice too.” I seized the opening. Might as well get my apology over with. “I was kind of an ass last night.”

“You were in pain and⁠—”

“Don’t make excuses for me.” If anything, Jonas being so willing to forgive made me feel even worse. “I was rude. Full stop. And I ruined my chance to hear the next chapter of our book.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” Jonas held my gaze, hazel eyes darkening with some unspoken message.

“So we can read more?” I asked as Rowan flew into the kitchen, gesturing wildly at the back door.

“It’s snowing!”

“Doesn’t that happen around here a lot?”

“Maren and I grew up near the coast with barely any snow before the dads adopted us. I still haven’t gotten over how pretty snow makes everything.”

“I get that. Growing up in Seattle, I’m not super used to snow either.” The winter wonderland outside was rather pretty. The snow must have been falling for a while because the ground was already covered with a thick white blanket. Snow always reminded me of our sporadic family trips to the mountains near Seattle or to my grandparents here in Mount Hope, making me feel cozy and warm, like I’d had another cup of Rowan’s hot chocolate from the night before. “I like it though.”

“Me too.” Rowan sighed happily.

“Better think twice about being a big Hollywood star.” Coming back into the kitchen, Wren set their plate in the sink before joining Rowan at the window. “It doesn’t snow in LA.”

“Yeah, but he’ll be able to afford Aspen.” Some of my better-paid acquaintances and their minor celebrity hangers-on came to mind. I’d always used the off-season to train in warmer climates, but there was plenty of winter partying to be had as well.

“Exactly. Thank you.” Rowan gave a regal nod. “And all the more reason to enjoy this round of snow rather than get bogged down in more college applications.”

“Put the effort in. You want to make sure you pick well.” Jonas sounded like a guidance counselor, making Rowan roll his eyes.

“Come on. Who wants a snowball fight? Build a snowpeople family?”

“I suppose I could be persuaded.” Wren bundled up and headed outside with Rowan, followed by Oz, while Jonas started in on the post-breakfast cleanup.

“I’ll help you clean.” I pushed to standing and arranged my leg on my kneeling scooter.

“You don’t have to do that.” Jonas waved away my offer, tone distracted as he loaded the dishwasher.

“I’m tired of feeling useless.” I rolled up next to him, which was a mistake because I could smell his subtle woodsy scent. The same weird emotions that had led me to prod him about kissing at midnight gathered back in my chest, but I wasn’t about to retract my offer to help.

“Okay, how about you rinse and hand me dishes?” Jonas’s suggestion kept me right there next to him, painfully aware of how tall and broad he was, how soft his hair and beard looked, and how very much I wanted to touch him.

No matter how much I wanted, I couldn’t. Not only for my usual slew of reasons but also because the sting of that kid comment lingered as we worked together. Jonas came up with a few other tasks I could do with the scooter, including wiping the stainless fridge while he did the counters.

As we were finishing up, Wren burst back into the kitchen, bringing a gust of cold wind and snow with them. “Come see what we made!”

“I don’t know if this thing has snow tires.” I gestured at my scooter.

“You can use the ramp. Our snow installation is in the front yard.” Wren’s tone said I should have thought of that option. “Please? Come with Jonas.”

Jonas was already grabbing his coat from a hook by the back door. If he was going, I was too. I was nothing if not stubborn. I put my too-thin jacket on in the entry hall only for Jonas to arrive behind me, scarf and gloves in hand.

“Here. I’m always losing mine, so I have extras.”

Ordinarily, I would have been the tough guy and said it wasn’t that cold out, but the chance to have something of Jonas’s next to my skin even temporarily had me nodding. “Thanks.”

The gloves were a soft knit, a world away from the thick motorcycle gloves I was used to, and the scarf had the same woodsy scent I associated with only Jonas. I waited until I was trailing behind him to inhale deeply, letting myself wallow in the billowy flannel that felt almost like a caress.

Oz ran ahead of us, intent on getting back to the teens who were putting the finishing touches on a snow creature that was definitely not the typical snowperson. I paused at the bottom of the ramp to examine it from a distance. Rather than three stacked balls, this snow thing was long and boxy with a giant plastic horn stuck in what I hoped to God was the head.

“It’s a unicorn,” Rowan called out. He wore a sparkly purple parka with black fur on the hood. “I had a spare horn upstairs, but the rest is snow.”

“I argued for a narwhale, but someone said I lack imagination.” Wren shook a stubby finger at Rowan. Wren wore a green trench coat, equally as unsuitable to the weather as mine but somehow perfect for them.

“Your unicorn is…very impressive.” I searched for words of praise, but my tone came off a bit confused.

“You both worked very hard,” Jonas added as Oz romped around in front of the snow unicorn, digging and flinging snow around.

“Oz sure seems to like the snow.” Rowan and Wren were deep in a discussion about whether or not to attempt to dye portions of the snow, so I focused my attention on Jonas, not that my brain needed much encouragement to shift back to where it had been stuck for days now.

“He does.” Jonas’s tone was fond. “Must have some husky somewhere in his mutt mix.”

“Did you get him as a puppy?” I asked as Oz brought Jonas a stick to throw.

“He was closer to a year when I found him at the local shelter.” Jonas launched the stick away from the snow unicorn. “I asked which dog had been waiting the longest, and it was this chill fellow. He was my present for surviving my second divorce.”

“Pretty nifty consolation prize.” I chuckled, already hating both of Jonas’s ex-spouses.

“Oh, Oz is no runner-up.” Jonas accepted the stick back from Oz. “He’s worth a heck of a lot more than my ex, that’s for sure.”

“He’s a good dog.” I bent to pet him but forgot I was unevenly balanced on my scooter at the end of the ramp.

“Careful!” Jonas grabbed for my elbow as I lurched toward him, but all that ended up doing was propelling us both into a snow drift along the edge of the porch. The snow was likely cold and wet, but I wouldn’t know because all my senses were busy taking note of Jonas underneath me.

“You okay?” Jonas’s voice was a husky whisper against my cheek.

“Uh-huh.” I could barely manage that much speech. He was warm and solid and bigger than me, which I’d known, but now that we were stacked together, it was rather obvious he had a couple of inches on me everywhere. Moreover, his face was directly below mine, and his beard was every bit as soft as I’d imagined. His gaze was as startled as mine, but there was something else in his eyes. Heat.

I’d seen lust before, but this was the first time from Jonas, and that heat warmed me all the way to my toes. Insufficient jacket be damned because I wasn’t moving until spring. Unless it was to move closer. That arousal I’d felt last night was back times a thousand. If Jonas’s eyes were heated, mine must be a fucking inferno because my usual ability to mask my emotions was obliterated by Jonas’s nearness.

I exhaled, feeling his beard ruffle against my lips. Scratchy. Ticklish. Intoxicating. I did it again. It would be so damn easy to⁠—

“Here, let’s get you back inside.” Before I could register what was happening, Jonas sat up, rolling me off him long enough for him to stand. He hauled me up, righted my scooter, and started steering me back to the house, all in a matter of seconds.

“Jonas—”

“I need to get ready for the swing shift I’m covering.”

And we needed to talk, but I was no more eager for that than Jonas, so I let him go. Later, I’d let myself remember what he’d felt like underneath me, and that would have to do. Judging from Jonas’s haste to get away, I wasn’t likely to get a repeat experience.

Chapter Ten

Jonas

My swing shift had been due to end at midnight, but as usual, the clock inched closer to one before I could head home. Probably for the best, I reminded myself as I finished up with my last patients. If the household was asleep when I made it home, so much the better. And, of course, by household, I really meant Declan, who’d been on my mind the whole shift.

“Thank you, Doctor.” Mr. Egret, the nervous young father of Erin, a cranky preschooler with a sore ear, looked as ready to be home as I was, flyaway hair, flannel pajama bottoms, and all.

“I’m not a medical doctor,” I said lightly, correcting the common misconception. “I have a doctorate of nursing practice along with a nurse practitioner’s license. Here in the ER, I’m mainly a nursing supervisor, but I occasionally cover another NP’s shift, like today.”

I usually enjoyed these shifts immensely as I missed patient contact in my supervisor role and needed the relief from all the administrative tasks. Before I’d let myself be talked into the supervisory role, I’d been a full-time NP in the ER, and prior to that, an RN. I was quickly becoming one of the longest-tenured employees in the Mount Hope emergency department, but I wasn’t surprised when Mr. Egret’s face fell, his weary smile replaced by a deep frown.

“Oh. Can we see an MD before we leave?” he demanded sharply before changing his tone to smug superiority. “We just want to make sure it’s only an ear inflammation and that we don’t need antibiotics for an infection yet.”

We’d been over this several times already. Erin’s ear was mildly pink, showing minor signs of inflammation consistent with a common cold and no signs of bacterial infection at this point. Thus, in keeping with established current practice, no antibiotics were needed, but the Egrets had been reluctant to believe me.

“You understand, right?” Mrs. Egret was tall and thin but frail, with the air of a frazzled sparrow.

“Of course.” I adopted my most patient tone as I clicked open the tablet I used for patient notes. “The current wait time for a consultation with an on-call doctor is going to be another two to three hours, more if any acute cases show up to triage.” I managed to deliver this news in a bored yet sympathetic tone.

“Seriously?” Mr. Egret turned pink around the edges of his ears and narrow face.

“We’re packed,” I reminded him. “The winter weather means cold and flu cases are up, and the icy sidewalks and roads lead to more serious accidents that land people in the ER. Not to mention, it’s New Year’s Day, so we have plenty of dehydration cases and such from folks overdoing it on New Year’s Eve.”

I opened the cubicle door to show myself out. “I’ll let the desk know you’d prefer to wait for an MD. And you might want to collect your things.” I gestured at the bored, sleepy kiddo in the center of the exam bed, surrounded by discarded toys. “You’ll likely be sent back to the main waiting area in the meantime.”

“On second thought, maybe we can go home, see how she does the rest of the night, then try to get in with our regular pediatrician in the morning.” Mrs. Egret spoke quickly, undoubtedly hoping to make her point before her spouse could object.

“Excellent plan.” My smile was fake, but my relief that they would be taking poor Erin home to bed wasn’t.

“Thank you, Nurse.” Mrs. Egret called after me as I almost collided with my friend Judy, another NP, in the hall.

“Wow, that was an incredibly diplomatic handling of those parents, Nurse.” Despite the late hour, Judy was in a merry mood, with her long gray braid swishing across her broad shoulders as we walked toward the locker room.

“Hush, Judy,” I scolded while chuckling. “How was your shift?”

“The usual cough-and-cold winter mix. Gotta love January. But I did get a set of triplets with Hand, Foot, and Mouth.”

“Those poor parents.” I shuddered as we entered the locker room, and I went straight to my locker, more than ready to head out. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I might be getting too old for swing shifts.”

“Me too.” Judy grinned as she retrieved a thick wool coat. “I can’t wait until the new urgent care place opens.”

“You took the job?” My shoulders slumped. Another work friend down. Working in emergency medicine was hard on the body and soul, and turnover was a real issue for my role as supervisor and for work friendships.

“I was ready.” Judy shrugged, but her face stayed kind with sympathetic eyes. “Better pay, better hours, better patient experience. I can’t wait. And you really need to listen to the offer from the family practice group again.”

A local family practice had tried to recruit me to a full-time NP job a couple of times, and while I was tempted to get back to regular patient care and establish long-term patient relationships, I always ended up deciding to stay.

“I’m needed here.” I gave my stock answer.

“And you do love to be needed.” Judy sighed and patted me on the shoulder on her way out. After she was gone, I made quick work of exchanging my scrubs for street clothes of jeans and a long-sleeve thermal shirt.

I thought about Judy’s words my whole drive home. Was it so bad to want to be needed? It gave my life meaning and purpose. Sure, sometimes I put my own desires last, but I managed.

As I entered the house, I resolved to put my need for sleep above my urge to check on Declan, but then I noticed his door was open with a low light on. Oz lay sprawled on the foot of the bed while Declan reclined against the pillows, damp towel over his face, covers half off.

Uh-oh. So much for sleep.

“You okay?” I asked from the doorway as if it wasn’t already clear he wasn’t.

“Not really.” Declan released a groan. He had a bare chest again, but mercifully, he appeared to have on gray sweatpants. “Sick headache that won’t quit. Oz seems to think he’s my nurse.”

“He’s good at that.” I strode over to the bed. “Tell me about the headache.”

“You’re coming off a long shift.” Declan pulled the towel off his face and struggled to sit up. “You don’t need my complaints.”

I helped him sit up, arranging the pillows behind him.

“I’m still in nurse practitioner mode.” I tried to sound a little less worn out than I felt. “And you’re a heck of a lot less trouble than the parade of second-guessing parents I dealt with tonight. God save me from patients who love amateur medical research.”

“Helicopter parents are the worst.” Declan made a sour face. “I thought about calling my dad after I puked the second time, but I didn’t want the lecture.”

“You threw up?” I bent to examine him more closely. His skin was pastier than usual, a more sickly shade of pale.

“From the headache pain, yeah.” He gave a weak wave of a hand. “And it’s the usual headache stuff, just a bad one. Light sensitivity, upset stomach, throbbing pain. I’m exhausted, yet I can’t seem to sleep. The meds aren’t helping, and yes, I took them for once.”

“Hmm.” I made a thoughtful noise. If Declan had taken medication, he had to be really hurting. I pulled out my pen light and slowly moved it in front of his face.

“Ow.” He tried to bat my hand away. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your pupils,” I said patiently. “Trying to evaluate if this is concerning enough to take you in to rule out another hemorrhage.”

“It’s not.” Declan sounded like an authority, but I wasn’t so sure. “It’s a migraine. I know them by now.”

“I trust you to know your own body⁠—”

“Thank you.” He cut me off with a tight smile.

“But I think you should call your neurologist in the morning.”

“Maybe.” He sounded like he was only humoring me, which was hardly reassuring. Crossing the room, I dragged the chair closer to the bed.

“What are you doing?” Declan’s frown deepened. “You look dead on your feet. I’m not going to ask you to read after a twelve-hour shift.”

I stifled a yawn. “I’m not going to deny being tired, but I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone in case this worsens. I can stay, or I can set alarms to come back and check⁠—”

“I’m not a cake.” He threw up his hands before patting the bed next to him. “If you’re intent on keeping an eye on me, at least sit where it’s comfortable with your feet up.”

The offer to sit next to him was too tempting on multiple levels. The bed was cushy with a padded headboard and putting up my tired feet sounded heavenly. Before I could overthink the choice, I slipped off my shoes and sat beside him, trying to keep a reasonable distance between our bodies.

“Do you want me to read?” I asked, pulling out my phone. I needed the distraction from his nearness. He might be hurting, but that only made me want to touch him more. “I don’t want to accidentally fall asleep here.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” A slow blush spread up his pale cheeks. “Anyway, yeah, read a little if you’ve got energy.”

“For the vicar?” I smiled over at him, hoping like heck I could stay awake longer than him. “Always.”

Chapter Eleven

Declan

I woke up groggy in the weird not-quite morning, not exactly night hours, but remarkably, I wasn’t in pain. My headache had retreated, my leg wasn’t throbbing, and apparently, I’d found a sleep position that worked because I had none of my usual aches and stiffness.

Well, something was stiff. Very stiff, indeed. I was immediately and acutely aware of Jonas lying beside me, asleep with soft, even snores. The low bedside light was still on, allowing me to take stock of the situation. When Jonas had first sat on the bed, he’d left a good three feet of space between us on the queen mattress, but sometime after we both drifted off, our bodies had migrated.

We’d found each other, and the dog had found a new resting spot under the window. Like Jonas, Oz was sprawled out and fast asleep, but I was way more concerned with Jonas’s nearness.

We were facing each other on our sides, my head tucked near his neck, close enough so each inhale brought another intoxicating dose of Jonas. My bare stomach rested against his shirt-covered belly, making it so I could feel his every breath. My hand was resting on his biceps, and the smart thing would have been to remove it—and the rest of me—as soon as I was awake.

But as my high school grades clearly showed, I wasn’t that smart.

Instead, I lightly stroked his arm, measuring the curve of his muscle, tracing it down to where his hand lay loosely against my waist. His hands were larger than mine, wider with hairier forearms that had me wondering how fuzzy his chest was. I set my hand on his, comparing, then stroked back up his arm so I could coast down his shoulder and back.

Part of my curiosity was the novel opportunity to explore another guy outside of the confines of my own brain, and even that, I’d tried to limit. But this was also Jonas, and I’d spent the last twenty-four hours battling attraction and arousal both. I wasn’t simply curious about how any male chest would feel. I liked his. The fuzziness turned me on in a way nothing else ever had. Apparently, I had a thing for hairy? Who knew. But I liked everything I was discovering about Jonas.

Continuing my exploration, I tried deepening my breath so I could feel even more of the flex of his belly against mine. My cock was growing harder by the second, and I instinctively rocked my hips.

Oh.

Jonas was hard too. Did he like me touching him in his sleep or⁠—

“What are you doing?” he mumbled into my hair.

Experimenting. The word was right there, but something told me Jonas wouldn’t take kindly to it. Instead, I went for the truth.

“I don’t know, but it feels good. Right.”

“Declan…” Jonas sighed but didn’t move away, which I took as a major win. “How is your head?”

“Better. Lots. Check my pupils.” I tilted my head so he could gaze directly into my eyes. Holy fuck. Looking deep into Jonas’s hazel eyes, centimeters away from mine, lips so close I could feel the warmth of his exhale was heady stuff.

“Your eyes look good.” His voice was husky with more than sleep. “Fine. They look fine.”

Continuing to hold his gaze, I did what I’d been longing to do for days and ran a thumb down his beard. I hadn’t intended to bring his face even closer, but I wasn’t about to argue with that result either. In fact, the easiest thing in the world was to try a barely there kiss, the lightest press of my lips against his.

“Oh.” We made the same sound at the same moment. Jonas’s eyes went wider and darker, surprise replaced by heat. He tightened his grip on my waist, holding me firmly against him.

“Can I do it again?” I whispered, wanting the chance at another kiss more than any holeshot or victory lap.

“We shouldn’t,” he murmured, staying exactly where he was.

“That’s not a no.” I leaned up for another soft kiss, letting myself linger this time. His beard was ticklish against the edges of my mouth, but his lips were soft and full. My tongue darted out without permission to lick along the seam of his mouth.

“It’s not a no.” He groaned low before returning the kiss. He matched my feathery intensity, little brushes of his lips until we were both groaning. I cupped his jaw to encourage more but got distracted by the rasp of his beard against my palm.

“Your beard feels good,” I whispered. The early hour encouraged cozy secrets and lowered voices, and the last thing I wanted to do was spook either of us back to the land of logic.

“So does yours.” Chuckling, he dragged his fingers down my cheek.

“Guess I need to shave.” My skin heated under his caress. I’d been more than a little lax on the shaving and hair styling front since the accident. To my mind, there was no point in looking good without cameras nearby, but I suddenly wanted to look red-carpet-ready for Jonas. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He kissed my chin, tongue tracing the dimple lurking there. “Stubble looks hot on you.”

“You think I’m hot?” I couldn’t resist preening.

“You own a mirror.” Jonas rolled his eyes at me as he dropped his hand to my side, lightly tickling my ribs.

I squirmed against him. “So that’s a yes?”

“It’s a yes.” He groaned and claimed my mouth in the boldest kiss yet. If our first kisses had been all sweet, fluffy bites of cotton candy, this was a cannoli with layers of flavor and texture, an experience I couldn’t get enough of. My lips parted on a gasp, welcoming his tongue tangling with mine. Along with desire, a calm certainty settled over me. This. This was what kissing was supposed to be.

I’d waited years for anything to feel this right, and now that I was here, I was going to kiss Jonas as long as humanly possible. In fact, if there were any kissing records, I was down for breaking every last one. The sun could come up, and I’d still be happily kissing him.

As Jonas’s tongue retreated, I followed it, exploring his mouth, thrusting my tongue against his until he released a groan that had a pained edge.

“Am I doing this correctly?” I asked, rubbing our cheeks together. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Trust me, you’re killing me, but I’m hardly in pain.” Jonas chuckled, holding me close in a way that made me feel more content than I could ever remember. “And there’s a wrong way to kiss? News to me.”

“I dunno. I always feel clumsy,” I whispered my confession into his neck. “More than one ex said I’m a bad kisser.”

Jonas made a rude noise. “Screw them.”

“They might be right.” I shrugged. “Before this, kissing always felt like I was missing some key ingredient that would make it feel…better. More spectacular. More like the movies and stuff. But this feels way different.”

“Think you found the right ingredients?”

Or the right person. That thought was far too big and scary, so I said nothing. Instead, I kissed him like my life depended on it, like this was the last-chance qualifier for the championship round. And amazingly, wonderfully, Jonas returned my enthusiasm, meeting me kiss for kiss. Far from complaining when I clutched his shoulder and back, he held me every bit as tightly.

Being squashed against another person had never felt so good. And that it was Jonas made it even better. The kissing and touching were almost too much, too good, yet not nearly enough. My hips started to rock, cock pushing into Jonas’s erection. I was hard for him, so hard. He matched my motion, and I made a delighted moan.

Panting, he broke the kiss. “We should⁠—”

I cut him off with a frustrated noise. “Don’t say stop. Please. I don’t wanna stop.”

I tilted my head, trying to earn more kisses, doing everything short of batting my eyes to keep this thing going. Where exactly we were going was as dangerous a question as what was happening next, so I focused on the present moment. More kisses. More touches. More.

“God, you’re convincing.” Jonas followed my unspoken demand and kissed me. We’d kissed so long that my lips were hypersensitive. Tomorrow, they’d likely be chapped, but that was more of the future thinking I wanted to avoid.

I kissed him back, wanting to imprint myself on him as well, wanting him to know my taste and smell, to feel me every time he smiled or moved his kiss-swollen lips. I hoped I made him feel even a fraction of the pleasure coursing through me. I delved deeply with my tongue against his, starting a rhythm that matched our grinding. A silent beat seemed to thrum between us, urging us on.

“More. I need more.” I moaned, not entirely certain what I was asking for, but needing something, some relief from the growing pressure in my balls and tension in my muscles. My whole body was rigid with anticipation. “Jonas. Please. I need…”

“I know.” He made a soothing sound as he kissed my ears and neck. He skated a hand down my torso, hovering right above my aching cock. “You want me to touch you?”

“Yes, yes. That.” I thrust my hips upward to meet his hand, and when he pulled my waistband down, my cock sprang into his palm with embarrassing eagerness. He’d barely grasped it when my back bowed. I wasn’t sure I could survive a single stroke from his strong grip. “Holy fuck. Gonna…”

And then he did stroke, and I did come, and it was all over in a matter of seconds.

But those few seconds lasted a lifetime, not unlike a bomb detonating or a bike crash, time slowing and distorting, shock waves of pleasure spreading out from my pulsing dick. My throat was raw, my skin clammy, and I shook like a leaf even after my cock was done erupting all over Jonas’s fist and my stomach.

“Okay, that was fast.” I attempted a laugh, but it came out as shaky as the rest of me.

“You needed it.” Jonas stroked my hair with his other hand and kissed my forehead. “Don’t ever let someone say you’re a bad kisser again.”

“What do I do for you now?” I rolled more toward him. I might be epically bad at sex, but even I knew both people were supposed to come. Running a hand down his shirt, I offered a tentative smile, but he captured my hand before I could reach his jeans.

“Nothing.” He squeezed my hand and lifted it to his mouth for a brief kiss before releasing it and me. Moving away, he sat up. “That was for you. I’m good, promise.”

“But you’re hard.” I stared pointedly at the rather prominent bulge straining his zipper. I wanted to make him feel amazing too.

“Uh-huh, and you’re about five minutes from a heap of regret, and I’d rather not be mid-orgasm when the second-guessing hits.”

“That’s not fair.” I frowned. “I’m the one who started the kissing. I’m not going to regret something I started.” I said the words, but my conviction was already wavering. “And like you said, now I know I’m not a bad kisser. Among other facts.”

Fuck. There it was. Remorse. Not for what happened as much as what I now knew with startling clarity. All the girlfriends, all the posturing, all the hoping and praying couldn’t hide my attraction to men.

“Want to talk about those other facts?” Jonas’s expression was kind, eyes soft and kiss-swollen lips gently parted. God, I wanted to kiss him all over again.

“No.” I squished up my face, pouting like a little kid. “I don’t want to think about any of that. I’d rather not think at all, honestly.”

“And here comes regret.” Jonas bent to give me a last kiss on the top of my head before scooting off the bed.

“Where are you going?” I sounded entitled, especially given the early morning hour, but I really didn’t want him to leave. I wanted more, and I desperately did not want to be alone with my brain.

“You need time to process.” Jonas exhaled hard as he adjusted his clothing while standing near the closed door. “As do I.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t exactly argue with him needing a break. Fuck. Maybe I’d overwhelmed the guy by more or less jumping his bones, or perhaps I wasn’t the only one with regrets.

“If you want to talk about what happened later, you know where to find me.” Jonas paused with his hand on the knob to look back at me, expression hard to read. “And if you’d rather pretend this didn’t happen, I’ll understand.”

If only. I wanted nothing more than to pretend this hadn’t happened, that I didn’t just have the orgasm of my life with Jonas, but I couldn’t. As he left, soft footsteps echoing down the hall and then on the basement steps, I missed him already. I’d never been so fucked in my life.

Chapter Twelve

Jonas

The disadvantage to having the large finished basement as my room was that Oz and I shared space with the washer and dryer, which led to chatty visitors when I’d rather veg out alone with the TV or a book. I was doing everything in my power to avoid seeing or thinking about Declan, but my efforts to hide out were thwarted by a super chatty Rowan, who was humming a show tune and twerking his scrawny frame while holding a stack of hangers.

“Laundry almost done?” I asked from the couch because Rowan so clearly wanted interaction, as evidenced by the three prior trips up and down the stairs while giving a running commentary on everything from the scent of the detergent to the state of the towels already occupying the dryer.

“Yes, thankfully.” Rowan grinned at me. “I cut it close, but I let Maren have the washing machine yesterday because she had to head back to college this morning. However, I need my lucky hoodie for tomorrow.” He narrowed his eyes. Tomorrow would be the first day of school after winter break, and the house was full of sullen teens. “My hoodie might not be enough protection. Do you have a spare sword? Maybe some chain-link armor?”

“Chainmail,” I corrected with a smile. “And more drama in the drama club?”

“I think Sheila is about to stage a revolt to win the presidency from me. God, I’m so over high school.” Rowan gave an over-the-top moan worthy of any stage production.

“A few more months.” I set aside my e-reader because reassuring Rowan came before finding something new to read. I couldn’t return to the series with the vicar anyway, not now, not with every interaction with Declan more tense than the last. It had been a few days since we kissed, and not surprisingly, he hadn’t asked me to read. We passed in the hall. We made small talk in the kitchen. It was awful, and I had only myself to blame. Hence, my need for a new book.

“I might not survive until graduation.” Rowan’s voice was mournful.

“College will be⁠—”

“Better. I know.” Rowan huffed a breath as he placed another shirt on a hanger, this one silky with silver stars. “But college means applications, and I’m so over filling out forms. However, I found the perfect distraction from application hell.”

“What’s that?” From the way Rowan was bouncing on his feet, he was dying to share, and predictably, I barely had to prompt before he continued.

“There’s an open audition call for a new TV series about high school⁠—”

“I thought you were so over high school.”

“I am. For myself.” He took on a haughty tone that sounded a lot like his sister. “But acting? Acting is in my blood.” He gave a regal sniff, tilting his head skyward. “Anyway, likely thousands of kids will put in audition videos, but I figure, why not?”

“Why not?” I echoed, trying to look encouraging. “Good for you.”

“Thanks.” His expression turned sly. “Part of the audition is singing, so I signed up for a karaoke contest at the Heist. You should all come watch me.”

“You’re going to sing at the bar in the old bank?” That didn’t sound like the best idea to me, but Rowan gave me a look like I was old and exhausting.

“I’m eighteen. Contest rules say eighteen and up. It’ll be fun. I asked Dad, Sean, and Denver too. You should come.”

“Sure. If I don’t have a shift.” I prayed I’d have a shift because bad karaoke and an overhyped Rowan weren’t my idea of a good time.

“Good. Bring Declan.”

“Uh…” I made a strangled noise, but by the time I’d thought of a suitable reply, Rowan had already disappeared upstairs with his pile of laundry.

A short while later, a knock sounded. I still hadn’t picked a new book despite more browsing and was even less in the mood for company, but if Rowan needed to do another load of laundry, I couldn’t exactly bar the door.

“Come in,” I called. However, the tread on the stairs was way heavier than Rowan’s, and I swiveled in time to see Declan painstakingly making his way downstairs, black walking boot and all. I frowned. “Wait. It’s you.”

“It’s me.” He took another few steps.

“Don’t do the stairs.” I held up a hand before hoisting myself off the couch and making my way to the base of the stairs. “What do you need? Laundry? I can do a load for⁠—”

“You.” Declan finished for me. “I need to talk to you.”

I’d been expecting this, but I sighed, nevertheless. So much for my peaceful evening hiding out. “At least let me come up to you.”

“Already here.” Declan took the last few stairs at a faster pace. Bump. Bump. Bump. He wore an oversized motocross hoodie and black sweatpants, which hung loosely over his walking boot. “And no offense, but I’m so fucking tired of my room.”

“Perhaps you should let Rowan help you decorate?” That might keep them both occupied and give me more time to stew, so I made my voice overly enthusiastic. “The walls are well overdue for fresh paint. And there’s likely a spare TV somewhere if you’re bored.”

“It’s still the same four walls.” He groaned as he leaned against the banister at the bottom of the carpeted stairs. “Also, doing the stairs is good practice for me. I gotta up my activity level before I get back to the team.”

I grimaced at the unwelcome reminder that his time here was temporary and his end goal was a return to his former life.

“How’s the team doing?” I asked, totally stalling on the conversation we actually needed to have. “Do your friends call to check on you?”

“Some. Cyrus is trying out the new bikes. Joey wants to try something different this season with the suspension.” Declan’s voice was flat. “Wish I was there. Kind of glad I’m not.”

“Because being there and not riding would be harder?”

“That, and I don’t regret the other night. Probably wouldn’t have happened anywhere else, definitely not on the circuit.”

“Huh.” I made a noncommittal noise, not sure how to respond to his declaration. He leaned more heavily against the banister, shifting his weight off the walking boot. I might not want to have this conversation, but my caretaking impulses took over as I motioned him to the couch. “Here, sit down.”

I offered him an arm, but he waved it away in favor of hobbling the short distance. The basement space had been a playroom prior to my moving in. I used the wet bar along the far wall as a place to store snacks away from the teen horde, and I was grateful for the private bathroom down here. The vibe, though, was distinctly lacking, especially since I’d left most of my own furnishings in storage.

Other than helping Eric box up books and toys from when the kids were younger, I hadn’t done much decorating, leaving the assortment of movie posters up and merely adding my bed catty-corner to the couch. The couch was a gray older model that had seen its share of hard living from the kids, and as soon as Declan settled on it, Oz jumped up and took command of the far corner, leaving me the choice of sitting in the middle next to Declan or perching on the corner of my bed.

Not surprisingly, I chose the bed.

“I’m glad you don’t have regrets.” I wasn’t lying there. I had my own share of misgivings, but Declan being at peace and not guilt-ridden was better than I’d expected. “But why couldn’t something like that happen on the circuit?” I’d gone round and round in my head over Declan’s apparent inexperience with men. “I’m no expert, but statistically speaking, every sport likely has men who enjoy sex with other men, no matter how macho the sport seems from the outside.”

“And the inside. It’s a relatively small fishbowl. Everyone knows everyone. The gossip network is crazy. You do one stupid thing, and it follows you for years…” He trailed off, expression going pained.

“What happened?” I asked gently, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. I was too old to get involved with someone closeted, but I couldn’t seem to turn off my care and concern for Declan.

“Other than me being an idiot?” Declan shook his head, gaze locked on a movie poster for a popular cowboy flick. “When I was still an amateur, traveling back and forth between events and school, Billy Hozer asked if I wanted to go jerk off together in the woods. He was slightly older than me, about to turn pro, and I’d been following him all weekend like a damn puppy. So I said, yeah. Should have said no way because he laughed. And told all his buddies. It was a fucking trap.”

“I’m so sorry.” My chest squeezed, and I wanted to touch him in the worst way. “But surely not everyone in motocross is like that.”

“Probably not, but I can’t take the risk.” Declan exhaled hard, chin dropping to his chest as he studied his hands. “The rumor alone dogged me for years. Hell, one of the sponsors asked about it when I first got invited to be on the manufacturer’s team. Luckily, I’d dated enough chicks that my reputation had started to speak for itself. Problem solved.”

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow, not at all sure this was the flex he thought it was.

“Okay, well, other than the fact that I knew. Knew I looked at men differently than my friends, knew the things that made me hard weren’t all on the straight path, but I just couldn’t…”

His iron-clad control was both amazing and infuriating. Why couldn’t he let himself have what he so clearly wanted? “But the dating women? That was all just show?”

“Sorta?” Declan’s mouth twisted. “I’m not sure. I like women. I’ve always found it way easier to have female friends than to make friends with dudes, especially my fellow riders, but even when I was younger, all my best friends were girls. My sister’s friends were much easier to get along with than the guys in my class. Dating lots of women seemed like the next logical step if one looked beyond the whole me being a terrible kisser and bad in bed thing.”

“Are you as bad in bed as you are at kissing?” I asked pointedly, tilting my head. However, when his face fell, I had to chuckle and soften my tone. “I’m kidding, Declan. You’re not bad at kissing. The other night was…”

“Good?” Declan sounded adorably hopeful, and I had to clench my hands to keep from reaching for him.

“Spectacular.” I groaned because feeding Declan’s ego wouldn’t help, but I also couldn’t lie. “Which is why I’m laughing at the idea that you’re bad in bed.”

“I’m hopeless.” Declan sounded robotic, like he was repeating someone else’s judgment. I already wanted to smack whoever had put that idea in his head. “Or maybe it’s that I’m selfish. I don’t know. I just know it’s easier to lie there and let someone else do the work…” He cut himself off with a frustrated noise, burying his head in his hands. “Okay. Selfish is the better word. But figuring out how to get someone else off is hard work.”

I blinked, trying hard not to chuckle but failing miserably.

“Quit laughing. I’m serious.” Raising his head slightly, Declan glared at me. “You have to think about angles and pressure and order of operations and talking enough but not too much.” His glare reached positively lethal levels. “And you wouldn’t even let me try to get you off.”

“Because it would have been a bad idea, not because I didn’t want to.” I held up my hands, way too close to admitting how quickly I’d jerked off after leaving his room. “And definitely not because I thought you were selfish or wouldn’t be able to make me come.”

“I like knowing that.” Declan straightened, shoulders going back as he puffed like a proud penguin. “Maybe it wouldn’t be as confusing with you.”

The hopefulness in his voice made me shift around on the bed. We were quickly wandering into dangerous territory, but I also couldn’t let him continue thinking he was terrible at sex.

“And I’m also saying that with the right person, it’s not work. Also, not everyone wants or expects you to take the active role.”

“God, when my girlfriends try to teach me, it’s worse.” Missing my point entirely, Declan narrowed his eyes. “Like I said, I’m selfish⁠—”

“You are not.”

“I am.” Declan might not be selfish, but he sure was stubborn. “My favorite thing is getting blown. Or hand jobs. Hand jobs are good. Anything where I can drift off on how good it feels and stop thinking for a few minutes.”

“Making someone stop thinking is kind of the goal,” I countered, trying for a reasonable tone. “And someday, you’ll meet someone who wants nothing more than for you to lie back and be pleasured.”

“And this is where you tell me it can’t be you.” Pushing up from the couch, Declan clomped over to stand in front of the bed and scowl down at me.

“It shouldn’t.” I gazed up at the ceiling light, anything to avoid meeting those compelling eyes of his.

“Which is different from can’t.”

“I don’t want to argue semantics⁠—”

Declan cut me off with a rude noise. “I’m not sure what that word is. School wasn’t my strong suit. Never fit in there. My whole life, I’ve just wanted somewhere to belong.”

Oh, Declan. My heart twisted painfully, and I could no more avoid looking at him than I could skip my next breath. His soft blue eyes were so sad that the urge to touch him finally won, and I took his hand in mine.

“I’ve been there.” I squeezed his hand. “But you have your family⁠—”

“The infamous Murphy clan.” Declan snorted and shook his head. “They’re great in theory. But I always feel slightly out of step with the rest of the family. The cousins were all Mount Hope locals, while we were the out-of-towners. My sister had a big group of nerdy friends who tried to include me, but I didn’t fit there either. Then, out of all the sports I tried, I thought I’d found my place with motocross. And I tried so damn hard to belong there.”

He sounded so heartbroken that I was powerless to do anything other than pull him onto my lap.

“I tried to fit in with my family as well,” I admitted in a broken whisper. “Tried to follow the prophet’s rules. My efforts didn’t matter in the end. And with who I am now, I know I never would have belonged there, but that doesn’t make the rejection sting less.”

“Yeah.” Declan released an unsteady breath, slumping against me. He wasn’t a small guy, but his weight on my lap felt incredibly right. I wrapped my arms around him, as much to keep him there as to prevent us from tumbling backward. “I guess I’m lucky no one ever rejected me as terribly as your family⁠—”

“It’s not a competition. Pain still hurts.”

“And that’s the point I’ve been trying to make. It hurt thinking I was broken and bad at sex⁠—”

I cut him off with a growl. “You’re not broken.”

“For the first time, I might believe you.” He let his head fall against mine. He smelled like shampoo mingled with some sort of expensive aftershave. “The other night with you, that was the first time I felt like I truly fit somewhere. I didn’t need to make myself smaller or bigger, less or more. I could just be, and I want that again. You can tell me it shouldn’t be you, but what if I never get to feel that way again?”

“You will.” I stroked his hair and face. He’d recently shaved, and the smoothness of his cheeks against my fingertips made my stomach quiver. “I promise you will.”

He gave me the softest kiss ever, looking up at me with big eyes. “Please?”

“I don’t think I know how to tell you no.” I brushed the uneven sections of hair off his forehead. “A secret fling is a terrible idea.”

“I won’t tell.” He smiled slyly.

And that right there was a huge part of the problem. I groaned. “I know.”

“Kiss me again,” he demanded as if there was a chance I might refuse.

Chapter Thirteen

Declan

After the quickest of all kisses, Jonas gently pushed me off his lap and onto the bed. I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up a hand.

“I need to lock the door.”

“Yes.” My triumph as he trotted over to the stairs and locked the basement door before flipping on the dryer on his way back to the bed was on par with the adrenaline of winning a qualifying heat. I kicked off my slip-on sneaker from my uninjured foot, already thinking ahead to potential naked time. “I win.”

“You win.” He didn’t sound too sad about that turn of events. I grinned up at him as he sat back down on the bed. Riding the high, I straddled his lap again. I arranged myself so I wasn’t putting stress on my walking boot before pushing him backward.

I’d waited to seek him out until the house was largely quiet for the night, and he was in a soft gray sweatshirt advertising some sort of nursing union and blue flannel pants. Between the flannel and his lumberjack beard, he looked like an ad for the best pancakes on earth, and I couldn’t wait to gobble him down. I had to laugh at my awful internal joke.

“Tell me what to do,” I demanded. Anticipation thrummed through me. I was rock hard, yes, but all my energy was directed at making Jonas come. “Tell me what you like. I want to know how to get you off.”

“Getting you off gets me off.” He provided the non-answer of the century, and I groaned.

“But it didn’t the other night.”

“Because I didn’t let it.” Jonas’s tone was patient, but I still groaned again as he continued, “Trust me, I was plenty turned on. Pleasuring you is my biggest turn-on.”

“So I just…” I trailed off as he reversed our positions in a nifty move I needed to learn.

“Lie back.” He gave me a feral grin. “Like you wanted. Let me make you feel good. I promise I’ll get there too.”

“I’d rather do stuff to you,” I said weakly, ending on a happy sigh as he kissed me again, a lingering exploration that left my fingers curling against the covers. Jonas made it hard to stick to my resolve to be less selfish, especially when he yanked my hoodie aside to kiss my neck. I shivered, giving in to my urge to let him have his way with me. “Okay, this works too.”

“Glad you approve.” He chuckled against my collarbone, a warm rush of air against sensitive skin. “May I undress you?”

“I can undress myself.” I struggled to sit up under the warm, wonderful weight of Jonas’s thighs pinning me down.

“I know you can. I asked if I may?” Jonas raised the hem of my hoodie, revealing the T-shirt underneath, his fingers teasing their way under both layers of fabric. The sensation was intriguing enough that I settled back down and let him do as he wanted.

As it turned out, that was a supremely good idea as he turned undressing into a slow dance. First the hoodie, then my T-shirt, then kisses on all the skin he’d exposed. He kissed, licked, and nibbled his way across my arms and pecs and down my torso. He gently helped me out of my loose sweatpants, easing them over my cast, leaving me in my black boxer briefs. My cock had shifted to press against the waistband, head peeking out, but Jonas seemed in no hurry to give it attention.

Instead, he returned to my chest. I had small, pale nipples, and I’d never really given them much thought beyond wishing for more pec definition, but when Jonas sucked on the right one, I practically levitated off the bed.

“Do that again,” I ordered, and thankfully, he complied, sucking harder while teasing with his tongue. My ass clenched and my back bowed, and I had a new number one goal of spending a whole day with Jonas doing exactly that. “More.”

“I think we found something you like.” He laughed warmly before switching to my other nipple.

“I like everything.” I moaned and arched my chest higher, trying to encourage more nipple kisses. Jonas indulged my unspoken request with more rhythmic sucking and tongue flicking while his fingers twiddled with my damp right nipple. My cock pulsed in my boxers, and I ground against Jonas’s sturdy thigh. “Fuck. I’m trying not to come before you reach my cock.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Jonas managed to sound truly indifferent to when and where I shot. “Whatever feels good, baby. You don’t have to hold back with me.”

I liked it when he called me baby, liked it even more when he returned to torturing my nipples, switching back and forth between them as I lay there, quietly panting. He was still clothed, a surprisingly hot contrast to my near-nudity, and I clutched at his sweatshirt as he continued teasing my nipples. They were pinker and slightly puffy now, hypersensitive to the air and his touch. Jonas kept stopping every so often and admiring his handiwork, making pleased sounds in the back of his throat.

It was all I could do to keep breathing without shouting or babbling about how good it felt. Yes. Please. More. God. That.

“The basement is pretty soundproof,” Jonas said conversationally. “Especially with the dryer going. You don’t have to try so hard to be silent.”

I pursed my lips, pretty sure he wanted more than the stream of nonsense words clogging my brain. “I’m not good at dirty talk.”

“I’m tired of hearing what you’re bad at.” Jonas nipped at the center of my chest. “And I didn’t say talk, but if you want to let out a little moan here or there…”

“That isn’t very…” I trailed off. Fuck. Was I so deeply trapped by notions of what was or wasn’t macho that I’d deny myself more of this exquisite pleasure? Clearly, Jonas wouldn’t think less of me if I carried on. In fact, he seemed to want it. “Would it turn you on if I was noisier?”

“Oh yes.” His answering smile was downright wicked and made me want to shower him with sounds that turned his crank.

“Okay.” My voice came out all breathy. I didn’t immediately get any louder, but when Jonas returned to licking and sucking my nipples while stroking my sides, some of that babble escaped. “God. Why does this feel so good?” Not waiting for an answer, I rubbed my cock more deliberately against his thigh and moaned. “So good. Jonas.” I’d never been harder without shooting. “It’s too good.”

“No such thing. It’s okay, baby.” He rocked back, giving me even more friction against my aching cock. Feeling his hardness against my hip bone was another level of turn-on. “Let it feel good.” His voice was gruff now, and I loved knowing I was affecting him as well. “If you come, you come.”

“Want it to last.” I made a frustrated noise because I was torn between wanting it to last forever and wanting to come. And the more Jonas played with my nipples, the more wound up I became. He’d said I could come, but I remained maddeningly one breath away from orgasm, body rigid, cock painfully hard, fingers and toes clenching. “Touch me. Suck me. Something.”

“You want me to suck you?” Continuing to tweak a nipple with his fingers, Jonas started kissing his way closer to where my cock stuck out of my waistband.

“Yes, yes. But keep touching my nipple like that.” Giving him orders and knowing he’d do his best to comply was heady fucking shit. Better than pounding shots of Jack. “God, I wish you had two mouths.”

That earned a loud chortle. “Me too.”

Yanking my boxers down, Jonas freed my cock at last, greeting it with a series of long licks that felt better than anything he’d done so far. Considering how the nipple play had almost transported me to another realm, which was saying something, Jonas was undeniably skilled at oral. More than skill, he brought heaps of sexy enthusiasm, making hungry noises as he licked and teased my cock. When he started sucking in earnest, my back arched and my ass clenched, my body right on the edge again.

“Jonas. Want you to come too.” I’d never heard myself beg like this, but as with moaning, letting myself go felt good. Right. “Please come with me. Please.”

“I will, baby. Promise.” Jonas thrust harder against my leg so I could feel his erection. Damn. I didn’t have to see or touch his cock for it to turn me on like crazy. His voice was rough, reassuring me he was enjoying himself. “Don’t worry about me. I’m in heaven.”

“Me too. God, I need—” I cut myself off, reflexively holding my breath as the inevitability of my orgasm took over. The first wave hit like the perfect double jump, floating high through the air, no terror, no worries about the landing, only flying. Flicking my nipple with his thumb, Jonas pulled back to work my cock with his other hand, directing my come onto my stomach as he panted and groaned.

“I’m there, baby.” He ground harder against me, his obvious pleasure enough to coax out one last spurt from my cock. “Coming.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” I celebrated his orgasm, dampness against my leg included, like a goal in a soccer game. I’d gotten him off, and I hadn’t had to do a damn thing. A miracle. “You really came?”

“And how.” Jonas was breathing as hard as me, both of us sweaty and shuddering. He wriggled higher on the bed, dropping kisses on my stomach and chest on his way north. Rolling to the side, he retrieved a small towel from a cabinet near the bed. “That was…”

“You say mistake, and I’m gonna punch something.” I mustered the energy to glare at him.

“Please don’t hurt yourself.” He kissed my shoulder as he mopped up my stomach. “More sex wasn’t my brightest idea, but I wouldn’t call it a mistake because hell if I can bring myself to regret anything with you.”

“I don’t have regrets.” I leveled him with a hard stare. “You’re ruining me for everything and everyone else, but I don’t care.”

“Good. I want to ruin you.” He groaned, head falling back against his pillows. “I shouldn’t, but⁠—”

“No, buts. Ruin me. Make me remember every last kiss forever. My life is so fucked up right now. At least let me have this.” I rolled to my elbow so I could continue to hold his gaze, trying to will him to see how much I needed him, needed this. “When I’m with you, everything makes sense and nothing hurts, at least for a little while.”

“I’m glad I can give you that.” He sighed when I settled in near him before wrapping an arm around me, holding me closer. “You probably shouldn’t sleep down here.”

“Yeah. Darn.” I rolled the rest of the way into his chest, rubbing my face against his sweatshirt. “You make a good pillow.”

“Thanks.” He kissed the top of my head. “If you promise to not let either of us fall asleep, I suppose I could be persuaded to read a chapter before you go upstairs.”

I grinned, loving that he was as reluctant to part as I was. “Only if you agree we can do this again.”

Jonas exhaled hard, looking skyward for several long seconds. “Yep. You win.”

Chapter Fourteen

Declan

I’d done more laundry the past few weeks than at any point in my life, including my teen years when my parents had a color-coded chore list. But four dirty T-shirts, a hoodie, and a pair of jeans were the perfect excuse for a trek to the basement. I’d clomped down the stairs around nine, and now it was nearly eleven. We’d made it through my laundry, his laundry, and now a load of sheets.

And still, we were talking. Since the door was closed, we could have been sneaky kissing or more, and I figured we’d get there eventually before I snuck back upstairs, but right then, I was enjoying leaning against the warm dryer, quizzing Jonas on his unusual upbringing.

“How many siblings do you actually have?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” Jonas screwed his face up like he was thinking hard. I had no idea how one could have so many as to not know every name, birthday, favorite ice cream flavor, and more. “Some kids undoubtedly arrived after I was kicked out, but when I left, there were…seventeen? Eighteen?”

“How do you explain that at school? Or the hospital?” I shook my head, imagining a whole bus load of kids coming to visit a new baby in the hospital or a classroom with half the kids related. “That’s a lot of half and full siblings.”

“And cousins.” Jonas shrugged. “And we were homeschooled and coached not to talk to outsiders, ever, or reveal any details about the plural marriage. Heck, when I was first sent away, I didn’t trust anyone and barely knew how to talk to people not in our sect.”

“That’s terrible.” I reached out to pat his arm. “At least you got over the not-talking thing.”

“Yep. And as for hospitals, pray you don’t get sick. And pray the group has access to a decent midwife.”

“Wow. Practically pioneer living.” I couldn’t keep the horror from my voice. Had they even had indoor plumbing? “Makes my having the one sister and growing up in Seattle seem easy.”

“There were things that weren’t so bad.” Jonas stretched as he moved the sheets to the dryer where I stood. “Always someone to play with. Never lonely.”

“You like being surrounded by people, don’t you?” I leaned in for a quick kiss while he was close, loving the pleased sound he made every time I was the one to initiate contact or kissing. His obvious delight made it far easier to keep touching him.

“Yep. Eric accuses me of needing to be needed too much, but I’ve always liked doing things for others.” Jonas offered a crooked smile, which earned him another fast kiss. “I was one of the middle siblings, and it was kind of nice taking care of the younger ones or running errands for the older kids.”

“Work.” I shook my head at the notion of having so many siblings to manage.

“How about you?” Jonas asked, tickling my side lightly through my T-shirt. “Would you rather spend an afternoon alone or with others?”

“With you.” I grinned at him, proud of my spot-on answer, but he groaned.

“Be serious.”

“I am.” I held up my hands. “You’re my current favorite person to hang out with. It doesn’t feel like work. I like the energy of groups and parties, but I hate feeling like I’m on the outside looking in. And social obligations, like the Fan Zone on race days, can pump me up, but they’re always exhausting. Gah. I sound like such a⁠—”

“Introvert.” He captured my hands in his before I could call myself a loser. “It’s okay to not be a people person, and it’s definitely not something to beat yourself up over.”

“You make being a homebody fun.” I went for the flip answer because the truth was I had beat myself up over social stuff for years. But with him, it was all so easy. It felt warm and natural to spend time together, not like solving complex equations.

We’d been playing music on his phone to cover our talking, and a goofy oldie came on, and of course, Jonas started singing along, nailing the deep baritone perfectly.

“That is the worst song in the history of songs,” I teased, rolling my eyes at him.

“You’re just too young.” He wagged a finger at me as he added a shimmy to his singing.

“Am not.” I stuck out my tongue, which probably proved his point, but making him laugh was worth it. “Maybe you just have bad musical taste.”

“Maybe.” He leaned in for another quick kiss.

“At least your music is better than my dad’s.” I chuckled thinking of every car ride growing up. “I swear he listens to the most grandpa of grandpa music.”

“Speaking of our favorite firefighter, have you seen your dad lately?” Jonas phrased the question too carefully to be spontaneous.

“Some.” I spent a lot of time trying to avoid thinking about my dad.

“How are the cats?” Jonas seemed to have no such difficulty.

“I haven’t been inside their place lately,” I admitted with an airy wave. “It’s more just seeing each other in passing.”

“I see.” Jonas gave me a pointed look.

I grinned in response, forcing a light tone. “I don’t want him—or anyone else—guessing what we’re up to.”

“Doing laundry?” He held up a stack of folded T-shirts.

“You know what I mean.” I gave him a pout that wasn’t proving my maturity, but I so didn’t want to talk about my dad.

“Trust me, I don’t want him knowing about us—this—either, but you could talk to him about…other stuff.” Jonas had been quick to correct himself, but perversely, I liked that us. I liked being a duo with him, even if we couldn’t have anyone knowing about it. But the idea of talking to my dad? Please no.

“You mean come out?” I went ahead and called Jonas on what he was inevitably getting at.

“To him. To a counselor. Some other trusted queer friend. You can’t keep everything all bottled up.”

“I don’t.” I glared at him, hating how he sighed.

“Declan…”

“I’m not repressed.” I pulled off my T-shirt because conversation was overrated. Some more kissing was needed, and pronto. “And I know what I like. And what I like is you.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Isn’t that good enough?”

I swallowed his frustrated huff, offering him sweet kisses that quickly turned heated until I heard the creak of the basement door and footsteps on the stairs.

Crap. I’d forgotten to lock the door.

“Hey.” I grabbed my basket, trying to look like I did laundry without a shirt all the time. “I’m just…finishing a load.”

Of course, I’d been planning a different type of load. But now I had no choice but to head upstairs.

“Take your time.” Eric waved a hand as he set his basket near the empty washer. “Nice to see you feeling up to doing the stairs.”

“Yeah, being more active feels great.” I adjusted my basket, trying to hide my very active boner. Needing to redirect, I motioned at the navy sweater on top of Eric’s basket. “That’s a cool sweater.”

“Oh. That. Yeah. Montgomery always did like me in navy blue.” Eric’s cheeks turned pink. “It’s probably too nice for drinks with my crew…”

“Wear the shirt.” Jonas put on his stern voice. It was always fun to watch him and Eric bicker like brothers. “Have a good time. Maybe stay out past your bedtime.”

“No more lectures about socializing.” Eric threw up his hands after he finished loading the washer.

“You need it.” Jonas wagged a finger back at him.

“Declan, save me!” Eric let out a frustrated laugh.

“Ha. I like going out sometimes.” Even now, owning up to my homebody nature to anyone other than Jonas felt a bit…weird. “And maybe I like Jonas’s lectures.”

“Do you now?” Eric’s eyebrows shot up.

“I was joking,” I mumbled, but there was absolutely nothing funny about my feelings for Jonas. I’d never been this serious about anyone and that was a big problem, indeed.

Chapter Fifteen

Jonas

Yet another round of snow drifted outside the hospital windows, a dark and gloomy early evening waiting to greet me after my shift. Mount Hope had received a record amount of snow this month, but as I packed up my things in the locker room, my mind was more focused on a personal record.

I might have lost the battle to resist Declan, but I’d won a January to remember because Declan and I had kept our super-secret late-night fling going. Except fling seemed the wrong word for something based around a growing friendship rather than lust. There were nights when we cuddled while I read aloud, and we didn’t end up getting off. And other times when cleaning the kitchen would lead to a two-hour chat. In my experience, sex-only flings didn’t include the amount of talking and care we had going.

“You look sharp.” Judy, my friend and fellow NP, shook out her gray ponytail as she strode into the locker room. “Long day of meetings?”

“Yep.” I wore a blue button-down and gray slacks in deference to a packed schedule of administrative meetings. As the emergency department nursing supervisor, I walked a tightrope between advocating for my fellow nurses’ needs and serving the hospital’s whims and its never-ending stack of regulations. “More staffing issues. The hospital wants to reduce the number of traveling nurses, but as usual, they don’t want to pony up for more permanent positions.”

“Sometimes I miss my traveling nurse years, especially the pay. But if the hospital wants people to stay put, it has to offer incentives beyond money. The urgent care clinic I’m transferring to offers double the paid leave. Now, Maggie and I will be able to travel for pleasure rather than more work.”

“Where are you going first?” I asked, curious but also wanting to keep the conversation away from my own career future.

“We’re doing Hawaii next month after my last day here. I can’t wait.”

“I bet.” Other than my trip to Utah with Sean and Denver, it had been years since I’d been out of state and far longer since I’d traveled for vacation rather than necessity.

Judy gave me a long stare over the rims of her colorful glasses. “You could also have a better work-life balance.”

“Eh. I’m only tired today from all the meetings.” I was lying, but I wasn’t about to explain that my late-night conversations with Declan had majorly cut into my already erratic sleep schedule. “And I got assigned to two new committees. But I love it here.”

“More committees?” Judy shook her head as she shrugged into her heavy coat. “Someday, you’ll discover the word no and a reason to use it.”

“Here’s to hoping.” Unbidden, an image of Declan popped into my head. He was a reason to lose sleep. If our connection wasn’t so temporary, he would be more than enough reason to say no to other obligations more often.

“What’s that little smile?” Judy tilted her head as she considered me. “New fellow?”

“Nothing like that.” I gave a dismissive gesture even as I wished it were true. But Declan was so tightly closeted, along with being my friend’s son, that the chance to brag about him was likely never coming. “See you tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow.” She wrapped a long, wide, patchwork knit scarf around her neck and shoulders. “I’ve got this thing called a day off. Try it sometime.”

“Okay, okay, Mom.” I might groan, but I valued her friendship and mentorship.

As I headed for my SUV, my phone beeped with an incoming message from Sean.

Sean

Can you pick up Declan after his PT appointment? I’m hoping to be out of here before Rowan’s karaoke thing tonight, but I’m not going to make it in time to pick up Declan.

Me

Of course. No problem.

That was one yes I was happy to send. The PT offices were near the hospital, so I headed there, answering some administrative emails while I waited for Declan to emerge.

“Oh, it’s you.” Declan smiled as I waved him over to my car. His smile warmed me better than any car heater. His grin was wide and easy but also personal as if he genuinely was happy to see me. “I told Dad I could use a rideshare app.”

“I’m happy to be your driver,” I teased as I helped him stow his crutches in the backseat. He’d graduated from the kneeling scooter to crutches as he practiced putting more weight on his surgically repaired leg. “You don’t even have to tip me.”

“Don’t worry.” He winked as he settled himself in the passenger seat. “I’ll tip you later.”

“I might hold you to that.” I matched his suggestive tone, then groaned. “Wish that was all that was on the agenda tonight.”

“You don’t want to go out to the karaoke night?”

“I do,” I said weakly as I pointed the SUV toward Mount Hope’s quaint downtown.

Declan snorted. “You sound real convincing there, Jonas.”

“I’m just tired and cranky from a long day.” I tried for a brighter tone, but if anything, I ended up sounding more exhausted. “I’m sick of meetings where I have to fight for every position and paid hour when we’re already operating understaffed.”

“At least tomorrow is Saturday.” He gave me a hopeful look as I stopped for a red light.

“Not for me. I’m covering some NP hours. Swing shift again, so at least I can sleep in.”

“Oh. I was thinking…” His tone shifted to something more resigned. “Never mind. If you have to work, you have to work.”

“You wanted to do something?” My pulse sped up. Was he asking me on a date?

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve got a shift.” Voice staying pragmatic, he shrugged. “But I’m going stir crazy, and I’m sick of sneaking around. Eric almost caught us the other night. Thought maybe we could go into Portland, get some decent food, not have to worry about who sees us together.”

“That sounds wonderful, and I have a stack of recommendations for queer-friendly places where we can be…ourselves.” I didn’t want to assume a date, but Declan’s suggestion certainly sounded like one.

“Some other time.” Declan sounded further away, making my chest pinch. What if he never asked again? “Instead, we get karaoke fun while I try not to think about kissing you later while my dad’s around.”

“Same.” I shuddered as I started the always-fun game of hunting for a parking spot downtown. Ski season was in full swing at Mount Hood, which meant an increase in tourists, while longtime residents were more likely to drive in this weather versus walk or bike. “Maybe that’s why I’m not as eager as normal. Visualizing your father figuring out we’re more than friends has me quaking in my loafers.”

“Ugh.” Declan made a sour face that mirrored my own.

“Have you thought about telling your dad?” I asked gently.

“About us?” Declan visibly recoiled. “I also enjoy my life. He’d be pissed I’m messing with his best friend.”

“It’s cute you think he’d be more protective of me than you.” I chuckled, but the mere thought of Sean’s reaction made my skin cold and clammy. “And I meant more in general. You know he’d be supportive regardless if you’re gay or bi or⁠—”

“I don’t know what I am.” Declan gave me a stony glare as I finally found a spot close to the bar, and I tossed that stare right back.

“No clue at all?”

“Well, clearly.” Gaze dropping to my mouth, he huffed a loud breath. “And there’s no point in telling my dad I’m…not straight when I can’t tell anyone else.”

“Support is a good thing.” Not wanting to let his resistance rile me up, I tried for a measured tone. “And coming out doesn’t have to be all or nothing. I had a number of years where Eric, your dad, and a few others knew, but not everyone⁠—”

“Including your first wife?” Declan’s words were as sharp as his icicle-cold eyes.

“Including her.” Not snapping back was hard, but I didn’t take the bait. “I was young. Younger than you. And stupider. People make mistakes.”

“Yeah.” His shoulders slumped, much of his fight receding. “Sorry. That was a low jab.”

“It’s okay,” I said even though it wasn’t, not really. Declan had poked an old, never-quite-healed hurt. “And I’m saying, learn from my errors in judgment. I thought if I squished myself into a closet and bolted the door, life would be easier. I was so wrong. You don’t have to make yourself fit in someone else’s box or cut yourself off from people who love you.”

“I don’t want to fight about this.” Declan rubbed his temples. “Not tonight.”

“You okay?” Turning in my seat, I leaned closer to examine his pained expression. “We don’t have to go to the karaoke thing if you have a headache.”

“You look more tired than me, and you’re going.” He pushed open his car door, letting in a gust of cold air. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

I followed him out of the car. Nothing was fine, not even close, but I had no choice but to go pretend.

Chapter Sixteen

Declan

“Looks like Eric saved us a table.” Jonas pointed to the back wall as we entered the old brick bank that had been turned into a bar and grill. A massive oak bar took up much of the front area, with wooden booths and tables along the sides and rear of the space. Low lighting, exposed brick, and period details set a cozy vibe. A small stage was set up in the back left corner, opposite the bank of tables Eric had claimed.

“Looks like.” My voice was stiff because I was still smarting from the fight I’d picked in the car. I’d done it to myself, but that didn’t stop me from wishing I could grab Jonas’s hand and run far, far away from here.

“Are we okay?” Jonas asked in a low voice as we approached Eric.

“We’re cool.” There wasn’t time to say anything else. Like that I was sorry for arguing and even more sorry that I couldn’t see a path forward where I could come out and still race and not have every eyeball in motocross on me.

The worst part was that, for the first time in my life, I was surrounded daily by the benefits of coming out. My dad and Denver’s happiness. Their friend Tony had an adorable boyfriend a little older than me who spent most of his time wrapped around Tony. Somehow, Tony was a high school football coach and making it work, but I wasn’t sure the easy acceptance he’d found would happen anywhere else. Being around this many same-sex couples had me wanting things like my idea of escaping into Portland for a few hours. To go somewhere I wasn’t likely to be recognized and just…be.

But Jonas had a shift, which shouldn’t have irritated me, and my idea was silly anyway. Every day was a step closer to getting back on the track and away from this little pit stop in queer heaven.

“You guys made it.” Eric stood to help me with my crutches and directed me into an end seat so I was less likely to jostle my leg. He was such a dad, always looking out for people, but unfortunately, the end chair meant staring into the bright lights around the stage area. I didn’t say anything though. I was so sick of my light sensitivity and headaches being a thing, and I hadn’t been joking about Jonas looking in worse shape.

Jonas was in office attire with his usual neatly trimmed beard, but he had a decidedly rumpled and exhausted aura with paler skin and darker circles under his eyes. I had the unfamiliar urge to take care of him. I wasn’t a cook, but I wanted to feed him, hold him, something to make him feel better. I glanced at the empty seat next to me, silently urging Jonas to sit there, but Eric apparently had other plans.

“No, sit here, Jonas.” He directed Jonas to a different chair, closer to him and a good six seats from me. “Our new guy, Percy, came with me and is in the restroom. I’ve been wanting you to meet him. He’s around our age. Divorced.”

I hated this Percy already, and something of my dislike must have shown on my face because Eric turned back toward me.

“Don’t worry. Some other friends are coming too. Tennessee and Tate should be here later, along with your dad and Denver.”

“Great.” I loved being the odd person out in Couple Central. Just peachy. And Percy was old, older than Eric and Jonas, probably closer to fifty, with silver hair and a tall, lanky frame that made him look more like a sheriff than a paramedic. He had a loud laugh and kind eyes, and I wanted to spear him with my fork. My hands kept clenching and I had to grit my teeth as he chatted Jonas up because what the hell could I do?

Run over there and declare my undying love? Hang a Keep Off sign around his neck? A line from an older pop tune about the value of rings popped into my brain. I was staring at Jonas’s left hand while imagining a series of terrible fates for Percy when my dad and his massive boyfriend, Denver, finally arrived.

They greeted everyone before settling down near me. Lovely. I forced a smile.

“How was PT?” Dad asked as he arranged his coat on the back of his chair.

“Fucking wonderful.” Okay. Apparently, my ability to fake happiness was limited at best.

“Lan—” Dad started to correct me before he apparently remembered I was way over twenty-one and spent the whole damn racing season around dudes who spoke solely in curse words. “Was PT that bad?”

“I hate everything about PT.” My bleak mood made me far more honest than usual. “We’re working on getting more range of motion back in my foot and leg, but all the concentration makes my head hurt. Then, the migraine makes it harder to do the exercises and keep my balance. It’s an endless cycle of suck.”

“Maybe I could help you find a different PT⁠—”

“Lauren’s great.” I waved away that notion. “It’s not her fault my fucking brain won’t cooperate.”

“Lauren, huh? I think I’ve seen her a couple of times around the hospital. Your age? Cute? Lets you call her by her first name…” Dad trailed off meaningfully. “Better not go getting a crush.”

I released a pained noise. “Dad. Please.”

“Sorry. I was just teasing. I’ll shut up.” Dad sat a little straighter like maybe Denver had kicked his foot.

I shot Denver a grateful look and gentled my tone. “Sorry, I’m cranky.”

“You okay?” Dad kept the dad-ing coming. “Is the headache that bad?”

“Nah. I’m fine.” I busied myself with studying the drink menu because no way was I going to complain more. The last thing I wanted was for Dad to suggest I leave early. I needed to keep an eye on Jonas and Percy.

Eventually, everyone ordered drinks and food. Big platters of appetizers arrived, but I had no appetite for deep-fried goodies. Every time Percy made Jonas laugh, my stomach turned. A young DJ with long blond hair and numerous piercings introduced the various singers, trying to get audience engagement through some awkward questions and games.

I exhaled hard when Rowan finally performed because we were that much closer to being done with the evening. However, Rowan was also by far the best performer, singing some recent pop tunes with a clear high tenor and engaging style.

“Hey, Eric. He’s really good,” my dad called down the table. Rowan took a bow before escaping to a table full of similar-aged young people drinking sodas and eating giant baskets of sweet potato fries.

“He is.” Eric nodded proudly as the applause for Rowan died off. “And all of a sudden, he seems so much older and more mature.”

“Parenting, man. It hits you in the nads when you least expect it.” An older dude in a black T-shirt with the bar’s logo stopped by our table while holding a tray with a couple of beers.

“It does,” my dad agreed with the waiter guy. “Great place you’ve got here, Magnus.”

Ah. Not a waiter. Magnus must be the owner, which would make him the dad of Diesel, the friend of Maren’s that I’d heard far too much about the last few weeks from gossipy Rowan. Magnus was attractive in that older guy way with muscles and tats. Not the typical type I noticed, but ever since I’d started fooling around with Jonas, I found myself picking up more on which dudes might be into dudes and also letting myself acknowledge when someone was hot. And since he wasn’t hitting on Jonas, I liked him way more than Percy.

“Everything okay here?” Magnus asked Eric.

“We’re good.” Eric’s tone was clipped. Huh. That was as frosty as I’d ever seen Eric, which, if I were into gossip, would be interesting, but I was more concerned with continuing to glower in Percy and Jonas’s direction.

“Brought you another pale ale.” Magnus set the beer in front of Eric before clearing away empty appetizer dishes.

Eric pursed his lips. “Thanks, but think I’m done for the night.”

“Suit yourself.” Magnus shrugged.

“I’ll take it,” I volunteered. I’d been drinking soda because of my topsy-turvy stomach, but suddenly, a drink sounded awesome.

“Will you?” Magnus turned my direction, unmistakable interest in his eyes. “You’re new to this group, aren’t you?”

“This is Declan, Sean’s kid,” Jonas answered before I could, putting a heavy emphasis on kid. I started plotting his doom, but then Jonas jerked a thumb at Percy. “And have you met Percy?”

Oh my. If Jonas was also jealous, I could let the kid comment slide, especially if he was handing Percy off to Magnus.

“Well, hello, Percy.” Magnus turned all his charm on Percy. “Whatcha drinking tonight?”

I enjoyed the next round of drinks far more, not simply because I had a beer to sip. Percy had moved from flirting with Jonas to openly checking out Magnus, and I almost wanted to sing and dance myself.

As we finally settled up and headed out in the cold, my dad insisted on helping me with my coat and crutches.

“You want to ride back with Denver and me?” Dad asked.

“Nah, I’ll keep Jonas company.” I glanced over at where Jonas was talking to Eric. He likely didn’t need company, but it was as good a reason as any.

“I’m glad you and Jonas are becoming friends. That’s good.” Dad nodded. “You need more non-racing friends, especially now.”

If ever there was a moment to tell Dad that Jonas and I were more than friends, this might be it. If nothing else, it was a good moment to tell him I was struggling with who I was with and without racing. But instead, I merely nodded.

“It’s freezing.” Denver met up with us near the exit, and the moment evaporated like foam in a beer.

“See you tomorrow.” I gave them both a nod as I made my way toward Jonas’s SUV.

“Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite,” Dad called after me.

Jonas chuckled as he met me by the side of his SUV. “At least his dad-joke game is on point.”

“I’m not sure that’s a positive.” I groaned as I settled in the passenger seat.

Jonas echoed my groan with one of his own as he slid behind the wheel. “God, I’m exhausted.”

“I know.” I glared at him. “You need someone to take care of you for a change.”

“You volunteering?” He tilted his head, considering. And he had to be super tired if my big control freak was considering letting me do something for him. For all we made out and spent time together, it was almost always him taking care of me. Him blowing me or jerking me off or getting me settled with extra pillows, turning down the lights, bringing me snacks…

God. I really did need to take care of him. Letting him do stuff for me felt good, but that was no excuse for not doing my part.

“Yep. I’m gonna take care of you tonight.” My voice was firm and confident, and I sure hoped I could deliver.

Chapter Seventeen

Jonas

“You really want to take care of me?” I asked Declan as I parked at Eric’s. During the short drive home, my insides couldn’t decide between being slightly nauseated, exhausted, and excited. Finally, I simply had to ask for my own sanity because I hated the idea of Declan merely trying to be nice because he felt obligated.

“Someone needs to.” He gave me a pointed look that did nothing to diffuse my topsy-turvy stomach.

“Nah,” I countered. “That’s kind of my job for everyone else.”

“I’m aware.” Declan’s tone turned scolding as we entered the house through the back, pausing so he could navigate the steps thick with rock salt. “Which is exactly why you need taking care of.”

“Some people are simply born caretakers.” I stopped to greet Oz, letting him outside to do his business. “That’s me. I don’t need coddling or⁠—”

“Jonas.” Declan pivoted on his crutches in the empty kitchen. “I want to take care of you. Trust me, I’m surprised too, but you had a hard day, and I want to do something nice for you. Let me, please?”

“It’s been a long time.” My voice came out soft and unsure. I avoided meeting his gaze by busying myself with letting Oz back in. “What did you have in mind?”

Declan took entirely too long thinking, so I started getting twitchy.

“You could read to me for a change?” I suggested the easiest thing I could think of, but Declan made a sour face.

“Not that.” His shoulders slumped. “Told you. I sucked at school. Reading isn’t my strong suit, especially not lately with the stupid headaches and not to someone as good at it as you. “

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” I turned to head toward the basement stairs, but Declan pointed a crutch in the direction of his room.

“You’re not getting out of this so easily. How about I give you a massage?” He clomped off toward his room, leaving me and the dog to follow uncertainly behind. Once in his room, Declan’s tone became more confident. “I’ve had enough massages over the years from injuries. I think I could figure out how to make you feel good.”

“You always make me feel good.” I tried for a soothing tone, but Declan stayed bossy, gesturing toward his bathroom.

“And you should shower first. That always relaxes me. I’ll find some lotion while you do.”

“We could maybe both shower?” I’d be much more comfortable if I could take care of him as well, but Declan gave me a stern stare.

“Nope. Me showering is a whole production these days, and I want you to relax, not assist.” He gave me a gentle tap on the ass with his crutch. “Go shower. Take as long as you want. I’m good hanging out here.”

It felt weird showering in Declan’s bathroom. My skin pebbled with an extra chill as I undressed. I’d never used this particular room, other than helping out when Montgomery, Eric’s late husband, was ill. Declan had a whole lineup of expensive body products strewn around the accessible shower, so I shifted my focus to figuring out which scents made Declan so irresistible. There was something subtly sexy about using his body wash, and gradually, I relaxed into the warmth of the water.

Until, that was, I exited the shower and faced the question of what to wear for this massage. Skipping into his room nude wasn’t my style, nor was wearing a scrap of towel. When we fooled around, I intentionally stayed at least partially clothed.

I spotted a thick terrycloth robe on a hook near the door. Saved. I happily borrowed it, wrapping the belt securely around my too-soft middle.

However, Declan made a loud scoff as I left the bathroom and approached the bed where he was reclining, shirt already off, looking as chiseled as ever. Oz was asleep in his usual spot by the window.

“A robe?” Declan gestured toward me. “How am I supposed to rub you through that thing? Which, by the way, isn’t even mine. I think Tony left it behind.”

“I’m not as fit as you.” The words tumbled out faster and more honest than I intended.

“What? The hell you’re not.” Declan wrinkled his face. “Is that why I’m always the naked one? I thought you staying clothed was some sort of kink of yours.”

“It is sexy, but I’m also well aware that I’m older, heavier⁠—”

“And hot as hell.” Declan hefted himself off the bed to hop in front of me. He untied my robe, spreading the lapels so he could stroke my broad chest. “I love how fucking hairy you are. And thick. You’re my favorite pillow, but you’re also strong.”

“Thank you.” My eyes burned, and I had no idea what else to say, especially once Declan pushed the robe the rest of the way off.

“And quit saying you’re old.” Declan wagged a finger in my face. “You’re not. That Percy dude, he’s old.”

“Too old for me?” Despite my discomfort with being naked, I had to chuckle at Declan’s obvious jealousy.

“Hell, yes.” He nodded emphatically before shoving me toward the bed. “Now shut up and let me massage your hot ass.” Forehead creasing, he gave an audible gulp. “I mean back. Not asking for the other thing…”

“You could.” I shrugged as we both stretched out on the bed. Declan’s cheeks were rosy, but whether out of embarrassment or curiosity, I couldn’t tell. I flipped to my stomach, but I turned my head so I could see his face. “It’s not my usual thing, but if you’re curious about topping, I’m relaxed enough from the shower to let you play around.”

“I don’t want to top.” Declan made a face like he’d tasted something super salty. “Does that make me a bottom? Because I’m not sure I wanna get fucked either. It looks like it hurts.”

“You don’t have to get fucked. And it doesn’t have to hurt, but if it’s not sexy to you, it’s not sexy.” I tried to pitch my voice to be soothing without crossing over to patronizing. “Just like gay and bi aren’t one-size-fits-all terms, top, bottom, vers aren’t the neat little categories some like to pretend.”

“But you’re a top, right? You like being in control and doing stuff to me.” Declan nodded like he’d already decided he was right.

“I like giving pleasure, yes. And I suppose I like a certain amount of control.”

Declan interrupted me with a snort. “Just a bit.”

“But I’m honestly not that big on fucking, either receiving or giving.” I wasn’t sure exactly how to explain to Declan that I always found fucking a bit clinical compared to the more emotional and open-ended sensual encounters I preferred. “I’ll top if it gets my partner off, but it’s not my favorite thing by any means.”

“What’s your favorite?” Kneeling beside me, Declan started a slow massage of my neck.

“Man, that feels good.” I moaned softly when he kissed my neck. “And I love all variations on frot. That’s probably my favorite way to get off.”

“I like the rubbing together thing while kissing too.” Declan moved on to stroking my bare back, sweeping his hands up and down. He wasn’t particularly skilled at massage, but he was enthusiastic, which counted for a lot in my book.

“And, of course, hands, mouths, all that good stuff, are also great options.” I groaned again when he found a particularly tense spot under my shoulder blade. Being taken care of like this was unfamiliar but also nice. Sweet. I took several deep breaths as Declan continued rubbing my back.

Right when I’d reached a level of relaxation where I could doze off, Declan nudged my side. “Roll.”

“Now who’s bossy?” I groaned sleepily as I complied with the request.

“Still you,” Declan said absently as he stared down at my half-hard cock. “Tell me how to suck your cock.”

“You don’t have to.” I studied his face, which was back to that difficult-to-read flush.

“I want to. I kept thinking about it while massaging you and getting all distracted.” Declan shimmied out of his loose track pants, revealing his own erection. “But you’ve got a monster, and I’m fond of oxygen.”

He gripped my cock, a little too tight, but my cock didn’t particularly care as it had been too damn long since I’d felt a hand that wasn’t mine. It didn’t take much before I was fully erect. The risk of this being over embarrassingly fast was real.

“Try just playing,” I suggested, hoping that might buy me time to calm down. “Whatever feels good to you will feel good to me, baby.”

“What if you come? Will you tell me? Am I supposed to swallow?” Declan’s forehead creased as he tilted his head, adorably confused and eager to please.

“Declan. Yes, I’ll tell you.” I chuckled and resisted the urge to drag him up for a kiss. If he wanted to try this, I wasn’t about to talk him out of it. “Trust me, you’ll know what I like. And you only have to swallow if you want to, if that’s a turn-on for you. I’m tested and negative, but swallowing is a matter of personal preference. Doesn’t make you any better or worse in bed.”

I personally loved giving oral but was ambivalent about swallowing, not that Declan seemed to mind.

“I want to be fucking spectacular.” Declan didn’t give me a chance to reply before licking up and down my cock, which wasn’t nearly as huge as he seemed to think, but his awe was good for my ego.

“That’s pretty spectacular right there.” I gasped as he found the sensitive spot under my cockhead with the tip of his tongue. “Keep doing that.”

“Like this?” He redoubled his efforts, licking and sucking all along the underside of my cock.

“Yes. Yes. You’re so good, baby.” My head fell back against the pillows, and I closed my eyes. “Try using your hand on the base at the same time.”

My breath came in harsh bursts.

“Am I going to get you off?” Declan sounded so excited that I would have laughed had I not been so turned on.

“Uh-huh.” My body tensed, Declan’s enthusiasm having a predictable effect on my staying power. He figured out ridiculously quickly that I liked a fast, loose grip on the base of my cock and a lot of tongue action on the underside. “You’re doing amazing. Spectacular. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” Declan made the promise sound like the sexiest thing ever. “God, I can tell you’re close from how you keep holding your breath and arching your back. That’s so hot.”

“Close.” I moaned my agreement. “Keep going.”

“Please come, Jonas.” Declan pulled back from licking and sucking in favor of jacking me hard and fast. “Please come.”

“I am.” Apparently, I really couldn’t deny him anything as my orgasm hit the second he started begging. I came in a series of huge waves with sharp edges, pleasure so good it hurt. My balls ached, and my abs quivered. “Oh God. Yes. Declan.”

“You said my name.” He beamed at me as I opened my eyes, undeniably proud of himself.

“You liked that?” I pulled him down next to me, exhaling softly as his head found its spot on my shoulder. The brush of his silky auburn hair never failed to make me shiver. And this time, he was shuddering too, and his cock was straining skyward, slick drop at the tip. “Do you need to come now too?”

“Fuck yes.” He moaned as I took him in hand. I knew how he liked it by now, tight and fast. He had a bottle of lotion on the bedside table, so I used that to slick up my grip. “Oh, I like that. Why does your hand feel so good?”

“Because it’s not yours?” I chuckled.

“It’s more than that.” Declan turned rather serious for someone on the verge of orgasm. “And more than you being fucking amazing at jerking me off. You’re…different.”

“Thanks.” My chest pinched deep inside, and I had to bite my lower lip to stop the tide of emotions. “You’re special too.”

“Say that again.” He gasped as I kept stroking his cock.

“You’re special? You are, baby.” I jacked him faster. “You’re so special to me.”

I wasn’t simply spewing sex words to get him off. He was special to me, more than he’d ever know. I looked forward to seeing him at the end of the day, loved his eagerness and vulnerability in equal measure, loved how he made me feel hot and wanted.

“Oh fuck, coming.” His back bowed, cock fucking up into my fist, as come jetted out of his tip. We were both a mess, and I retrieved the towel from my shower to clean us up.

“I’m tired.” Declan yawned and tried to cuddle into my side. “I didn’t calculate how tired I’d be after getting you off.”

“You did work hard,” I teased.

“I did.” Declan managed to yawn and preen at the same time.

“You sleep.” I dodged his questing hands even though I wanted nothing more than to stay cuddled up with him. “I’ll sneak back downstairs.”

“Soon, I want to sleep the whole night with you.”

Well, now I had a new goal in life. I smiled at him as I made my way to the bathroom to retrieve my clothes, rather glad the basement door was mere steps from his. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter Eighteen

Declan

“Don’t ask me how the doctor went.” I slid into the front seat of my dad’s truck at the Portland medical complex he’d given me a ride to. Between my healing right leg and the TBI, the doctors continued to advise against me driving, which was a pain in the neck. Dad had actually asked off from work for the occasion, which was one of the reasons I was in a foul mood at this complete waste of time. I’d much rather he use a day off for something productive.

“That good?” Dad asked, mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to smile as he teased. While I was in my appointments, he’d gone to one of those big warehouse stores Mount Hope didn’t have, and the backseat was piled high with paper goods, pet food, and assorted snack items.

“The doctor—the neurology specialist worth driving all this fucking way for—refuses to sign off me being able to ride again. As of now, I’m still in the tour’s concussion protocol and unable to ride or race. And because it was a TBI, they are being even more strict than usual about deciding whether I’m healed enough.” I thumped my head against the seat back. “Also, the doctor has had how many years of school? And yet no ability to predict when I might be cleared, nor does he have a clue what might work on these motherfucking headaches.”

“Wow.” Dad shook his head as he stopped for a busy pedestrian crosswalk. Unlike Mount Hope, Portland in February was cold and rainy with no trace of snow. “I thought we weren’t talking about your appointments?”

“I’ll shut up.” I clamped my lips shut.

“That’s not what I meant.” Dad released a sigh like my drama was taxing, which it likely was. “Rant away.”

“Fine.” Talking to my dad wasn’t at all like the easy comfort I enjoyed with Jonas. With him, I could complain and feel better because of Jonas’s calm presence and judgment-free attitude. But my dad was right here, and we had a long-ass drive back to Mount Hope. “It’s February. Everyone is gearing up for the start of the season. The racing team is asking when I’ll be ready, and I don’t have a clue. At least the orthopedist is better than the neurologist. She graduated me to the cane and more intense PT. Treadmill time. Woo-hoo.”

“That’s great.” Dad completely missed my sarcasm. “You need to celebrate each bit of progress.”

“Why?” I threw up my hands as we merged onto I-84, heading east to Mount Hope. And to Jonas, who was at work but, with any luck, would be back in time to help me not think about any of this for a little while. However, I couldn’t think about future make-out sessions and how they made me feel while in the truck with my dad, so I resumed complaining. “I’m not any closer to getting back out there. I’m stuck in Mount Hope⁠—”

“I was under the impression you weren’t hating the town,” Dad said mildly like he wasn’t in the middle of an all-out campaign to get me to stay. “The kids love having you around, and you seem to have made a friend in Jonas.”

This would be yet another great moment to confess that Jonas was way more than a friend, but I was a chickenshit who didn’t need another lecture. Also, the thought of coming out to my dad made everything else seem all too real. Once I told him, I might as well tell my mom in one of our sporadic phone conversations. Ditto my genius sister, who would undoubtedly say she’d always known. And once the rest of the Murphys knew, well, it was a short ride through the whoops to the whole damn world.

“I don’t hate the people in town,” I said instead. “I hate being trapped. I’m bored as fuck. Too much TV brings the headaches on. Ditto reading. The occupational therapist suggested I take up a craft. Uh-huh, as if.”

“Knitting not happening?” Dad laughed at his own joke. I didn’t. “I’m kidding. Never known you to sit still. Maybe it’s time to think about what you’ll do if you can’t race? Take some classes at the community college?”

Oh, fuck no. I was so not ready to have this conversation. “What would you do if you couldn’t be a firefighter?”

“I…I don’t know.” Dad went predictably pale and stricken. The son of a firefighter, he’d never imagined a different life for himself, whereas I’d never wanted to follow the family legacy. I’d wanted to blaze my own path, and now that was in jeopardy.

“Exactly.” I shot him a pointed look. “Riding isn’t a job. It’s my life.”

With that, we drifted into awkward silence, first me, then him fiddling with the stereo. Music made my pounding headache worse, but trying to eke out more conversation with Dad was even less appealing. We arrived back in Mount Hope as the too-early dusk settled over the town and neighborhood lights came on as folks returned home from work and school.

“You don’t have to walk me in,” I said as we exited the truck. Not for the first time, I noticed we had a similar manner of gesturing when we wanted to minimize a conflict. “I’m sorry for being so cranky.”

“It’s okay. You’re allowed.” There it was. He made the same gesture, the same resolute expression with the addition of a half-smile. Dad always had smiled easier than me, something I’d always envied him for. Despite my protest, Dad headed up the back steps with me. “And Denver volunteered us to help Wren with dinner tonight. Almost everyone will be home, so it’s a chance to catch up and see what everyone’s been up to.”

I suppressed an inner groan because the last thing I wanted was for him to know what Jonas and I had been up to lately. “Cool.”

I would have much rather been alone with Jonas and not thought about a damn thing. But Jonas wasn’t home yet, and being alone wasn’t an option, so I suffered through my dad kissing Denver hello while I washed my hands at the kitchen sink.

“Okay, Chef, put me to work,” I told Denver. Ever since my accident, I’d been making more of an effort to be friendly with Dad’s boyfriend. Anyone who’d dropped everything to come with Dad to the hospital deserved respect. Clearly, he planned on sticking around. “What can I make?”

“Salad,” Denver said at the same time Dad said, “You don’t need to help.”

“I want to help.” I clomped my way to the fridge with my cane and yanked out a package of mixed lettuce. “Trust me, salad isn’t that taxing.”

“Excellent.” Denver had a too-hearty tone as he shot Dad a look. “Happy for the help. Here’s a cucumber you can add.”

“Sorry.” Dad came over to the island where I was chopping cucumber on a cutting board. “It feels like I’m always saying the wrong thing with you.”

“You’re not.” I exhaled hard. I would be hard-pressed to deny we’d always been an awkward pair, but I’d never once doubted his love. “Or at least not intentionally. You care. I get it.”

Right then, John, the football-playing teen, came in with a gust of chilly air.

“Hey! I was hoping you’d be here.” He sidled over to the island.

“Me?” I was surprised because, unlike Rowan, John hadn’t shown much interest in my presence.

“Yeah. A couple of guys on the team are looking to do some motocross this off-season. I told them you lived with us, and they were super stoked. Would you want to meet them?”

“Uh…” I wanted to say no, but at the same time, I had a personal rule to never be mean to fans. But hell, this was Mount Hope, and I wasn’t supposed to be famous here. Guilt crawled up my back, lodging in the base of my neck as the resurgence of my headache. I supposed I should be happy my name was still out there. The sport hadn’t forgotten about me. Yet. “Maybe?”

“Awesome.” John beamed like I’d given an enthusiastic yes. “There’s a booster fundraiser coming up. Movie night. Perhaps you could come to that? Give my friends some advice?”

“Maybe,” I said again, distracted by Jonas arriving home.

“Something smells great.” He greeted everyone with a wide smile. It must have been an administrative day because he wore dress pants and a crisp blue shirt with a tie I wanted to remove with my teeth, nibbling his neck in the process.

But I couldn’t do that, couldn’t even risk a nod or a lingering look. Jealousy joined guilt in contributing to my growing headache. Why did my dad and Denver get to corner the market on PDA? I wanted that too.

“What you smell is dinner.” Wren gestured at all the cooking prep. “Firehouse spaghetti, garlic bread, vegetables, and Declan made a salad.”

“Awesome.” Jonas darted his gaze toward me long enough for a quick, silent acknowledgment that we couldn’t wait to be alone.

“I’ll set the table.” Jonas headed toward the dining room.

Grabbing my cane, I opened my mouth to volunteer to help, but John got there first, damn his quicker feet. “I’ll help.”

Yet again, I was stuck watching Jonas from a distance, including at dinner, as I ended up between my dad and John, who kept pumping me for riding tips for his friends.

“We need them in one piece for next football season.”

“They might want a different second sport.” My mouth twisted, my tone turning old and jaded. “Injuries are simply part of motocross.”

“Football too.” John shrugged. “Everything fun has risks.”

“Word.” I glanced over at Jonas, who was in conversation with Eric. He was the most fun risk I’d taken in a long time.

After everyone had their food, a very bouncy Rowan clinked his water glass. “I have a big announcement.”

“The drama club drama is over?” John rolled his eyes in the way only a sibling could.

“No, this is much bigger than petty high school sh—stuff.” Rowan sniffed, angular nose pointing at the chandelier. “And Dad already knows, but the rest of you don’t.”

“Better tell us before you detonate,” Denver advised.

“I’m going to LA,” Rowan all but chirped. “That new show loved my audition and singing, and they’re flying me out for an in-person interview and read-through next weekend.”

“Valentine’s?” Wren made a disgusted face. “Thank God that’s the weekend of the state science fair competition. I’ll be gone all weekend.”

“Way to make it about you.” Rowan glowered at Wren.

“I’m just saying I won’t have time to miss you or hear about how much you hate Valentine’s Day.” Wren’s tone was all logical, but Rowan looked far from appeased.

“Heck. I forgot about the science fair.” Eric released a groan. “I was thinking of going with Rowan.”

“Because you don’t trust me in LA alone.”

“Because you need an outside opinion, especially since you’ve got a head full of stars and aren’t exactly known for your street smarts,” Eric countered.

“You should go with Wren on the science fair trip.” Rowan’s face scrunched up, making him look far younger and on the verge of a legit tantrum.

“Hey, I’m off that weekend.” My dad, ever the peacemaker, spoke up. “Denver and I could go watch Wren, so you can go with Rowan.”

Denver blinked, clearly not having been consulted about whether he’d like to spend Valentine’s Day weekend with a bunch of teen science geniuses.

“Yeah, that would work,” he mumbled. “Can you feed the cats, John?”

“I would, but that’s the same weekend I’m snowboarding with Scotty and a bunch of the team. Who needs Valentine’s?”

Me. Suddenly, I had a desperate need for the holiday I’d never had much use for before. “I could feed the cats.”

“You could, or you could come with Denver and me if you don’t want to be home alone.”

“He won’t be alone.” Jonas managed to sound as casual as if he were reporting the number of plates needed for dinner. “I’ll be around. We can toss on a movie or something if we get lonely for the rest of you.”

Or something. It took all my willpower not to grin. “We’ll be fine.”

I can’t wait.

Chapter Nineteen

Jonas

I counted down to my weekend alone with Declan like it was my birthday and Christmas rolled into one. An entire weekend with the house all to ourselves? No need to walk on eggshells or pretend to be casual friends? All week, every time I’d think ahead to the weekend, my stomach would do a funny little quiver, and I’d have a burst of energy.

By Friday afternoon, I was only too happy to arrive home to discover Rowan lugging a big rolling suitcase out to Eric’s SUV.

“Think you packed enough for two days?” I teased as I locked up my car.

“Maybe.” Rowan took my question far too seriously. “I couldn’t decide which shirt says boy-band lead better, so I packed five.”

“The show is about a boy band?” If so, Rowan was indeed perfect for the part. He’d looked like a boy-band escapee for the past few years.

“Yes, and they all go to a regular high school, juggling fame, fortune, and fifteen-year-old super fans, all while trying to pass algebra.” Rowan delivered the summary with all the solemnity of a State of the Union address.

“Sounds like a surefire hit.”

“I hope so.” Rowan shrugged as he closed the back of the SUV. “It’s an Ambrose Sterling production, so it’s bound to be good. However, Dad won’t shut up about how college is the more secure choice.”

“He loves you and wants you to be happy.”

“Yeah, and if you love something, set it free,” Rowan countered in a sing-song voice. I’d seen that quote on numerous motivational posters over the years, but it hit a little closer to the bone now. If I cared for Declan, did that by necessity mean letting him go? Encouraging him to get back to riding even if I was terrified of that outcome?

I wasn’t sure, and I stood in the driveway thinking after Rowan retreated to the house to fetch Eric. Wren emerged a few minutes later wearing a heavy backpack and toting an enormous tray of deadly-looking plants.

“Well, I think that’s everything.” Wren bustled over to Sean’s truck and lovingly set the plants on the floor of the backseat. “Thank goodness Sean’s driving. I can’t risk my experiments on the bus.”

“Of course not.” I helped Wren heft their backpack in next to the plants.

“Guard the kitchen in my absence.” Eyes narrowing, Wren frowned.

“Eh?”

“While you were at work, Declan attempted cooking. I’m concerned.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him.” I tried to sound detached and not like I intended to spend every spare minute with the guy.

Finally, Rowan and Eric departed for the airport while Sean, Denver, and Wren headed south to Salem, the state capital, for the science competition. Alone at last with Declan, I rapped gently on his cracked door.

“Come in.” I opened the door the rest of the way to find him sprawled on his bed, petting Oz, with a gold mining reality show on the TV he’d finally agreed to. A neat line of paint samples danced on the wall next to the TV, with sketches of potential room decor below each sample.

“You’re letting Rowan decorate?” I gestured at the wall.

“Possibly. He was so nervous about the audition that decorating seemed like a good distraction for him, so I asked him for paint suggestions. He kind of ran with it.”

“He is a force of nature.” My chest warmed over Declan caring about Rowan’s nerves. “And what’s this I hear about you cooking?”

“Ugh. The short one tattled on me.” Declan laughed good-naturedly. “I made us the one thing I’m good at. Brownies with some add-ins. And despite Wren’s clucking, they turned out fine and I cleaned up my mess.”

“I didn’t know you baked.” I lounged against the doorway, enjoying simply looking at Declan. As usual, he wore loose sweatpants and a motocross-related hoodie, but his expressive face never failed to captivate me.

“Don’t get your expectations up,” he warned. “Mom always used to have an unused stash of baking mixes in the pantry, and with the long hours my sister and I were home alone as teens, I got good at making brownies and turning boxed cake mix into cupcakes. You can laugh, but I thought I’d make us a dessert for tonight.”

“You did?” My pulse fluttered. “And I’m definitely not laughing.”

“Well, it’s our weekend alone. And Valentine’s weekend as well. I thought about suggesting we go out to eat, but we probably don’t want to risk being seen.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, but inside, I was conflicted. Declan had cared enough about the holiday to bake for me, but that closet door continued to loom large. “Staying in is probably our best bet.”

“Yep.” Sitting up, he grabbed his cane from next to the bed. Oz jumped to the floor and finally deigned me worthy of a greeting with a furry tail wag. Declan followed the dog to the doorway, but his greeting was a sly kiss and a smile. “This weekend is going to be epic. What goes with brownies with some caramel candies added?”

“Everything.” I chuckled and kissed him back longer because we could. No one to catch us necking in the hallway. “My sweet tooth says brownies can be dinner, but let’s see what we can make together.”

We found some frozen cordon bleu chicken breasts and paired those with some twice-baked potatoes cooked at the same oven temperature. I was plotting to use the baking time for more kissing, but Declan got a call from someone related to his racing world.

I left him in the kitchen for privacy and busied myself setting the table. Eric kept the wine glasses and some prettier dishes in the china hutch, and I took the time to make the table look nice with candles and Declan’s pan of brownies front and center.

“You made the table look great.” Coming into the dining room, Declan hugged me from behind before setting his cane against one of the empty chairs.

“Well, you made the dessert.” My cheeks heated. Maybe the candles were too much. Too romantic for what this was. I couldn’t decipher Declan’s guarded expression. “Everything okay on the phone?”

“Yeah.” His loud huff said the opposite. “It’s just my team wanting answers I don’t have. The higher-ups didn’t like the answers from the doctors, so they asked my mechanic to call me on the pretext of checking in. Good guy, but he grilled me about how I’m doing. And fuck, I wish I knew.”

“I’m sorry.” I stepped closer so I could hug him.

“Not your fault my stupid brain won’t cooperate.” He dodged my arms, instead stalking toward the living room without his cane. I grabbed the cane and followed behind him, stopping when he stooped to pick up a small brown box. “And I don’t want to ruin our weekend with racing talk. I got you something. It’s not wrapped.”

“I don’t care about wrapping.” I grinned as I traded him the cane for the box. “You got me a present. That’s special.”

Declan sucked his lower lip in as he moved his hands restlessly. “Fair warning, it’s kind of dorky.”

I opened the book to reveal the first three books in the vicar series, each hardbound with limited edition covers and illustrations.

“Our series?” I struggled to keep my tone light as my eyes burned and my hands shook at his thoughtfulness.

“Eh. Figured you might want something other than the e-books eventually. And more snow is on the way. Figured we could read all weekend. Heck, we can hang out naked all tomorrow if we want.”

“I have to cover a nurse practitioner shift.” I groaned because I should have told him the second I’d walked in, but I hadn’t wanted to ruin our happy little bubble with the ongoing hospital staffing problems, especially now that Judy had celebrated her last day. “But I should be back by dinner⁠—”

“Whatever.” Declan waved a hand and forced a ghost of a smile. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” I hated how matter-of-fact he was, and I hated myself that much more for not saying no when I’d been asked earlier in the day.

“I’m used to it.” He shrugged. “I’m the latchkey kid of a firefighter and professor. I’m well used to work coming first.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

“It is what it is.” He limped back to the dining room, leaning heavily on his cane. “Let’s eat. I don’t want to ruin your efforts with the table.”

“Or yours with the brownies.” I came up behind him at the doorway to the kitchen, and this time, he allowed the hug. “I’m sorry, Declan. Really. And I appreciate you and your efforts more than you can know.”

“Ditto.” He spun in my arms to offer a sad, sleepy kiss before we rescued the food. We both seemed to make an attempt to keep the dinner conversation light. Funny enough, we spent most of the time sharing stories about others—the teens, Declan’s family, my friends, etc. And we very carefully avoided heavier topics like Declan’s phone call or my work, but even so, Declan rubbed his temples as we cleared the dinner plates.

“Headache tonight?”

“Yeah.” Sighing, he let his head fall onto my shoulder. “No idea what triggered it either.”

I had an idea, but I also didn’t want to point out the obvious.

“Come on,” I said instead, taking his hand and leading him back to the living room. “To the couch with you.”

“Are we making a blanket fort?” He managed a small smile. “The kids will be jealous.”

“Let them.” I kissed his head as I urged him to sit on the couch. “And simply cuddling in here on the couch is enough of a novelty.”

“True.”

“But we can add some couch blankets.” I tossed a few fleecy throws in his direction. “And we can keep the lights low. I’ll turn on the fireplace.”

“This is cozy,” Declan said a short time later after I had the gas fireplace going. We’d stripped down to our boxers and were cuddled together under the stack of blankets. The couch had a matching ottoman and chaise on one end, and we shared that space along with the ottoman. Our legs tangled as we reclined together. “The fireplace is almost pretty enough to make me forget about my head.”

“Need your meds?” I shifted slightly, but Declan yanked me back down beside him.

“Nope. None of the different meds I’ve tried help much. I’m so sick of this.”

“I know.” I petted his silky hair and arranged us so he was mainly resting on me. Simply being cuddled like this in front of the fire was a top-ten experience for me, and we hadn’t even cracked the new books yet. “I wish things were better for you and that you had the sort of improvement you want.”

“Me too.” Declan slumped against me, wrapping my arms tighter around him like an additional blanket. “I was so mad when Joey called earlier. I don’t have answers for the team. Or me. But then, here with you like this, I’m not as angry about the delay in getting back out there.”

“Here is a pretty good place to be,” I agreed, trying not to dwell on how fleeting this moment in time likely was.

“Can I ask you something personal?” Declan turned slightly to gaze up at me. “How did you move on after your family kicked you out? Like, you’re not a bitter person now. But in your shoes, I think I’d die mad. How do you start your whole life over without letting the anger win?”

“I didn’t have much choice.” I exhaled hard. This was something I’d thought about a lot over the years. “But more to your point about being bitter, that part is more of a choice. I could have easily been bitter. Or let sadness win.”

“Sadness is almost worse than anger,” he whispered in a pained voice I felt down to my soul. “It feels miserable, like wearing wet sneakers all day. And there’s absolutely nothing to be done for it.”

“But there is,” I countered, snuggling him even closer, like I alone could keep him warm from the world’s chill. “You can move on. It’s not easy, especially when the loss is huge.”

“And not your fault.” Declan sounded righteously enraged. After his accident, several motocross commenters had remarked on what a fluke the crash was. One wrong rut, no one’s fault, especially not Declan’s. And he seemed to have transferred that to anger on my behalf. “Your family should be miserable, not you.”

“But I’m not miserable. That’s what I’m trying to say. Sometimes bad things happen that aren’t our fault, but moving on, that’s a choice.” I paused, but Declan didn’t say anything, merely continuing to glower like he was ready to do battle with problematic birth families and the realities of motorcycle racing. “I moved on with my life, literally picking up and leaving the state. I could have continued to try to stay in contact, to be a part of my family’s world, but that wouldn’t have been healthy for me. Instead, I tried to find a life here that would give me new meaning and joy.”

“What if racing is the only thing that brings me joy?” Declan scrubbed at his eyes and didn’t give me a chance to answer before he made a rude noise. “Gah. I’m tired of being a sad sack. Maybe I do need a hobby.”

“Finding new sources of happiness isn’t a bad idea.” I tried not to sound condescending. Moving on was easy to say and hard to do. “Isn’t there anything else that makes you at least a little happy?”

“You.” Declan gave me a stubborn stare that dared me to object. “Being with you, reading, cuddling, touching, all that. I’m happy here. But I can’t stay here forever.”

“You could.” I stroked his shoulders and neck. Give me a star, a lucky penny, a wishing well. Something. Because if I could ask the universe for one thing, it would be exactly that. But he didn’t need my heaviness right then, so I forced a chuckle. “I mean, eventually, we might get hungry or need to pee.”

“Screw reality.” Declan yanked me down so we were almost face to face. “Kiss me.”

Chapter Twenty

Declan

Making out under fuzzy blankets in front of a roaring fire felt like something out of a movie, not my real life. I’d tried to be a romantic boyfriend for my previous short-term girlfriends but had usually failed to deliver. That was why I’d made an effort with Valentine’s Day. Not that Jonas was my boyfriend, but I didn’t want to miss the mark yet again.

And unlike with others, I wasn’t in competition with Jonas. The success of the evening wasn’t based on who did more or better than the other. Instead, we’d worked together, his efforts with the table and our cozy blanket nest complimenting mine with the brownies and books.

We’d already stripped down to our boxers to huddle under the covers, and all that skin-to-skin contact magnified even the simplest of kisses. I loved how fuzzy Jonas was—beard, chest, legs—and how his body hair rasped against my smoother skin. I had a decent amount of reddish chest hair, but nothing like Jonas. One of my favorite things was wriggling against him, luxuriating in all the contrasts and sensations.

“Why do I like kissing you so much?” I ran a hand down his torso. During kissing, I’d rolled so we were facing, and I was sprawled half on top of him.

“Maybe I’m that good at it?” Jonas teased, eyes sparkling. He waved his fingers in the air like he was casting a spell. “Or maybe it’s magic.”

“I’m going with magic.” I nipped at his neck, savoring that strip of bare flesh under his beard. I coasted a hand lower, hovering near his cock. It would be super easy to fall into our usual mutual jerk-off or oral thing, but my neck prickled. “Since it’s Valentine’s, should we do something…special?”

“We are.” Jonas chuckled and kissed me again, long and lingering, the sort that made me happy sigh and wriggle all over again. And almost, but not quite, forget my point.

“That’s not what I meant.” I pulled back to peer down at him, trying for a serious expression. “Sex. Something new. You said fucking isn’t your favorite thing, but maybe we should try you fucking me.”

I’d been wrestling with this offer for a while now. I still wasn’t sure whether I was gay, bi, or something else, but if I was having sex with a dude, shouldn’t I be all kinds of eager to either fuck or get fucked. I’d never particularly liked penetrative sex with my female partners, so doing the fucking wasn’t high on my priority list. And Jonas said not everyone had to be a top or bottom, but I wasn’t sure I bought it. Maybe he was simply being nice.

“Do you want to try it?” Jonas predictably threw the question back at me. “Or do you feel obligated because of the date on the calendar?”

“Not exactly.” I sucked the inside of my cheek. “I just figure we should do it for real. If I’m gonna lose my gay cherry, I want it to be you.”

Instead of swooning at my declaration, Jonas groaned. “Gay cherry. Lord, save me from some archaic notion of what constitutes real sex.”

“Archaic?” I wrinkled my face, trying to simplify all his big words. “You mean I don’t have to fuck to lose my virginity?”

“Declan, you are definitely not a virgin in my book.” Jonas shook his head like he was struggling to grasp my idiocy. And that was okay. I was too. “And if you want to try fucking, I’ll go there with you and do my best to make it good for you.”

I nodded like a loose foot peg and tried like heck to look game, not super nervous. “I trust you.”

“But there’s no rule that says Valentine’s requires fucking or anything else sexual for that matter. At least for me, the holiday is about romance and connection.” Jonas wrapped me up in a hug, holding me against him in a way that never failed to make me feel like I’d discovered the best mattress on earth or the perfect relaxation exercise.

“I feel really connected to you right now.” I nuzzled his chest. “And the whole night has been weirdly romantic.”

“Weirdly?” Jonas scoffed, and I sensed another lecture about expectations brewing.

“Well, I mean, we’re two dudes.”

“And we can’t appreciate or need a little romance?” Jonas peered down the bridge of his nose at me, making me feel more than a little foolish.

“True.” Needing to hide my heated cheeks, I looked away at the crackling fireplace, which cast a warm glow on the whole room. “And I like the romantic stuff. More than I thought I would.”

“Good.” He sounded like he was trying hard not to laugh.

“I guess what I want is, like, really romantic sex. To feel even more connected. And a lot of people would say that’s what fucking is. But now I’m not so sure. Gah. I’m like the one dude in America who doesn’t jack off to fucking scenes in porn.”

“You’re hardly the only one.” Jonas did chuckle then, but it was kind, and he held me close. “Maybe it’s my nursing background or maybe just how I’m wired, but I find a lot of ass play, especially in porn, really clinical. One finger, then two, add more lube, and so on.”

“Yes. Clinical.” I exhaled, relief coursing through me at finding the right word. “Not gross or disgusting, but just not sexy. And I thought all day I’d offer to fuck, but then you said we don’t have to, and I felt relief, but I don’t want to wimp out⁠—”

“Breathe, Declan. That’s a lot of thinking.” Jonas kissed the side of my head.

“Overthinking,” I agreed weakly.

“Drop this notion that sex with another man is an extreme sport.” He wasn’t wrong, so I had to snort-laugh at myself along with him. “We’re not out here trying to level up. How about we get back to what we’re good at?”

“Kissing?” I asked hopefully, tilting my mouth up. He obliged me with a soft kiss, one that made me shiver and smile at the same time.

“And connection.”

“Yeah, that too,” I said breathlessly as he skated his hands over my back. Huddled under the blankets together, I lost all sense of time, all my focus saved for the next kiss and the one after that. We kissed and touched, and despite having done exactly this before, the living room locale in front of the fire and under the covers made each caress feel brand-new. Special.

That was what I’d wanted for tonight, but I wasn’t sure why I’d ever thought we needed something extra to make it special. Simply being in the same room with Jonas was special. The way he made me feel was special. He looked at me like I was the unveiling of a new dirt bike model, and he couldn’t wait to discover all my bells and whistles. But deeper than that, he made it safe to share secrets and worries, and he made me feel understood on a very basic level.

That was special. What we’d found here together these last few months was special.

“Can I show you something?” Jonas whispered as he readjusted our positions so he was spooning me from behind.

“Yeah.” I tensed, though, more of those weird nerves as his cock brushed the crease of my ass.

“Relax.” He kissed the back of my neck and stroked my chest and abs. “No penetration. Just holding you like this and moving together.”

He shifted so his cock was between my thighs and he was holding me closer than I’d ever been before. A light, airy feeling took hold of my insides.

“Oh, I like this.” I exhaled into his embrace, relaxing fully against him. His arms were strong and sure, biceps flexing around me, thick thighs bracketing mine, sturdy torso giving me something to lean into. “It might be my new favorite.”

“Mine too.” He teased my earlobe with his tongue, making me shiver, but I was hardly cold, not with a warm, wonderful man behind me and covers over me. I was as comfortable as I could ever remember being.

Over the last few weeks, Jonas holding me had become a sort of guilty pleasure—something I adored but also felt vaguely weird about how much I craved it. However, there was nothing weird or guilty about this. Letting him hold me and enjoying it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

And when he snaked his hand down my front to grasp my cock, all I could do was moan. All my guy friends liked to talk about coming. Nutting. Getting their rocks off. They made it sound like orgasm was the only point of sex, but with Jonas, the point, the entire point, was how he made me feel inside.

Yes, I was going to come, embarrassingly quick, but this kind of sex was about as far from jerking off alone as one could get. I wanted to come, not to take something as mine but rather as something we shared together.

He’d either spit on his cock or found some lotion because his cock was slick as it slid between my thighs.

“Squeeze your legs tighter.” Jonas moaned low as soon as I did, which made me want to do it again. I rested my uninjured foot on my walking boot, as close to crossing my legs as I could get. “Oh, that’s good. Perfect.”

“Yes. Jonas.” I wasn’t sure what I wanted. Something entirely too big and scary welled up in my chest, words I couldn’t think, let alone say. I wanted him. Needed him. And if he stopped stroking my cock and thrusting against me, I might cry. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t, baby. I won’t,” he promised. With his free hand, he flicked one of my sensitive nipples.

“That.” I moaned, head tipping back onto his shoulder. Our faces rubbed together, as close as the rest of us. I turned my head to demand a kiss, and he was right there, waiting for me. Perfection.

“Can you come, baby?” His voice was gruff. Good lord, I would have given him anything he asked for in that rough tone.

“Yes. Yes. Harder.” I wanted to feel his strength moving against me, his power, all tempered by his care for me and how he held me so preciously. Each hard thrust between my legs sent a jolt of pleasure up my balls and carried me that much closer to the edge. The tighter he held me, the more he growled, the faster he stroked, and the more urgently he moved, the more I thrilled to it.

If he hadn’t been holding me, I would have floated away somewhere up by the crown molding or over the fireplace. But he was holding me, and everything was right with my world. We’d long since kicked the blankets free, but our bodies and the fire provided all the warmth we needed.

The fire crackled, and Jonas pinched my nipple. Pleasure jolted through my body. Ignition. My body tensed, back arching into him, and he moaned like he was also on the edge. Go. Knowing he was right there with me was all the gate drop I needed to come. Boom. Done. Let’s go racing.

Jonas came too, between my legs, sticky and thick, our come mingling as we breathed in frantic unison.

“God, that was good,” Jonas said sometime later.

He’d fetched a towel, and newly clean, we were cuddled again with a plate of brownies between us, the perfect after-sex food.

“Yeah.” What I wanted to say was that I now understood why people called sex making love. Because we certainly had made something together. Something special, exactly how I’d wanted. And getting everything I’d hoped for was terrifying, especially in a season where nothing else had gone my way. But what came out was, “It was nice. Really nice.”

“Just okay?” he teased, light fingertips dancing up my ribs.

“Stupendous. Wonderful. Amazing. You’re the one with the big vocabulary.” Chuckling, I wagged a finger at him.

“Your brownies are amazing.” He held up a second piece, toasting me.

“Thanks.” I grinned and claimed one more for myself. “Is it wrong that I’m really excited to go to bed?”

“Oh?” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “Round two?”

“I mean, other than the obvious.” My cheeks heated. Maybe this was too sappy, even for him. “We get to spend the whole night together. Feels like a gift.”

“It is.” Eyes shining, Jonas pulled me in for a hug. Apparently, I hadn’t said the wrong thing at all. “You are.”

I inhaled deeply, letting his embrace feed me every bit as much as the brownies. I wanted this weekend to last, wanted it to snow and snow so we could be happily trapped together forever.

Chapter Twenty-One

Jonas

On Valentine’s Eve, I slept better than I had in years until I woke up in Declan’s bed to Declan’s hand landing on my face.

“Hey, hey.” I moved out of thrashing range and stroked his arm and sides. “It’s okay.”

“Oh no, did I wake you?” He woke up enough to scrub at his face, then nuzzled right back into my chest. “You’re warm.”

His love of cuddling and touch was one of my favorite things, and I happily welcomed him back into my embrace.

“You were having a bad dream.” I stroked his back as he snuggled in against me.

“Yeah.” His voice was muffled by my chest, but he didn’t seem to mind, rubbing his face on me as though he liked the ticklish sensation.

“Want to talk about it?”

“I don’t remember much of it.” His cagey tone said he remembered enough, but then he yanked my hands closer, arching into my touch. “Your hands are making me feel plenty better already.”

“Like this?” I rubbed circles and he made happy little noises, and all was right in my world. I wanted to know what the dream had been about, but I didn’t want to burst this cuddly bubble of perfection.

“Uh-huh.” He wiggled against me, already mostly hard again. The joys of being in his twenties. “It’s the middle of the night, and neither of us has to sneak back to our own beds.”

“You’re so happy about that.” I kissed the top of his head, fully intending to kiss a lot more in a few moments.

“You seem surprised.” Declan tilted his head up, an ideal angle for kissing. “I love cuddling you. You’re my favorite pillow and blanket all in one.”

“Good.” I imitated his wiggle so he could feel that I was hard too.

“Wish I could do this every night.”

“Me too.” He had zero idea how much I wanted that to be true, nor how much I knew it couldn’t be, which was why I couldn’t waste this weekend.

The next day, I wasn’t about to waste our golden weekend with another minute more of work than I had to. Accordingly, I practically bolted up the walk from the driveway to the backdoor. I’d spent all morning counting down to being back home with Declan, and his pleased expression as I opened the door was worth every bit of hassle.

“You’re back early.” He was installed at the breakfast nook, Oz at his feet, a cup of coffee in front of him along with the remnants of a sandwich.

“I am.” I grinned at him. “I called in a favor from a friend so I didn’t have to stay as late.”

“You did that for me?” Declan’s cheeks were pink and his eyes sparkled. Making him happy was both heartbreakingly easy and incredibly gratifying. Like last night, he appreciated little things more than anyone I knew.

“For us.” I held his gaze. I needed this as much as he did, and learning to flex my no muscles wasn’t a bad thing either. We’d left our cozy blanket nest on the couch, and I couldn’t wait to get back to it. “This is our weekend alone, after all.”

“What’s that?” Declan gestured at the white paper bag in my hand. I’d visited the hospital gift shop on a break, and although limited in selection, I was pleased with my discovery.

“A potential hobby.” I handed him the bag to open. He withdrew the large, colorful rectangular box.

“A puzzle?” He made a slightly suspicious face.

“You can say no, but it’s got a mystery component.” I gestured at the picture on the front of the box, which depicted a drawing of a tall Victorian house not unlike this home. Unlike Eric’s, this house was decorated with period details and lots of great-grandmother-esque knickknacks. The artist had provided a peek at crowded rooms and secret hallways, and the back of the box revealed the secret we’d be trying to solve. “I thought we could give it a try? Might be fun.”

“Sure. Why not? Guess we can’t spend the entire weekend in bed.” Giving me a toothy grin, Declan leered at me.

“Well, we could.” I glanced toward Declan’s room, but Oz barked and paced toward the patio door.

“I don’t think he’s ready for us to go back to bed.” Declan laughed as I let Oz out to do his business. “Let’s do the puzzle instead.” He started to set aside the paper bag but paused as an envelope fluttered out. “Whoa, what’s this?”

“A cheesy card.” My face went hotter than an autoclave sterilizer. I’d seen the card in the gift shop and thought of Declan immediately, but as he opened it, I had second thoughts. The Valentine’s card depicted a cartoon couple of older dudes on a vintage motorcycle, with a mercifully blank interior free of sentiment neither of us was ready for. I’d added a small bag of conversation hearts and scrawled a drawing of one saying. “Be mine?”

As Declan stared down at the card and candy, I shifted my weight from foot to foot, increasingly certain I should have added a “for now” or “for the weekend” qualifier, but then Declan smiled broadly.

“My first real Valentine’s card. I love it.”

“Good.” I bent down to give him a soft, relieved kiss. I’d been accused of being too mushy before, so I was glad Declan appreciated my efforts.

I helped him clear the breakfast nook table, and we started working on the puzzle. We made a good team, Declan coming up with an order of operations and me happily finding him edge pieces while we hunted potential clues for the puzzle’s hidden mystery.

“You’re good at problem-solving.” I smiled at him as he linked together several more pieces. He was cute when he concentrated with the tip of his tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth and his brow wrinkled.

“Thanks. Tell that to every math teacher I ever had, but I’m good at strategy.”

“Your race record shows that.”

“It does.” Declan’s blue eyes went cloudy as he nodded. Breaking eye contact, he glanced down before brightening. “Hey look, these pieces fit together to make another clue.”

“Good work.” I made my voice overly enthusiastic because Declan clearly wanted to shift the conversation away from racing.

“I like this puzzle.” Declan pushed himself up from the table to refill his water glass. “It was a great idea.”

“I’m glad.” After he set his water down, I pulled him onto my lap. He let out a little squawk.

“We’re gonna break the chair.”

“Nah. These things are sturdy enough to survive a house full of teens.” I tightened my embrace before kissing him.

“Mmm. Okay, worrying less about falling.” Chuckling, Declan kissed me back. I slid a hand up the back of his hoodie as he deepened the kiss. Shutting my eyes, I lost myself in the magic of making out with Declan. The kitchen was sunny with late afternoon sun. The outside world was chilly, but things were getting plenty heated indoors.

Until the backdoor creaked.

Declan rocketed off my lap right as Oz barked and Maren burst in, muttering to herself.

“Maren?” I couldn’t seem to keep the distress out of my tone. Meanwhile, a bright-red Declan launched himself back into his own chair. “What are you doing home?”

“I could ask you guys the same thing.” She gave us a pointed look. Yep, she’d totally seen the kissing. She wore the typical college kid uniform of a sweatshirt and leggings as she toted a stuffed backpack and a full laundry bag. “I thought no one was home this weekend.”

“We are.” I sighed. “But it’s your house too, of course.”

“Yeah, but I don’t suppose you could pretend not to see me?” Dropping her bags, she offered a tight smile before adjusting her messy bun.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, shifting from thwarted lover to concerned faux-uncle. Yeah, I wanted more time alone with Declan, but Maren mattered too, and she and I had always gotten along well as two take-charge people pleasers.

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Absolutely.” I steeled my expression. No matter how ridiculous, I could save my laughter. If I’d learned nothing else about teens and young adults, it was that they took everything super seriously.

“I might have a Valentine’s date tonight.” Maren managed to look both petrified and pleased.

“That’s great.” I stood to give her a quick hug.

“I guess.” She leaned against me. “It’s weird, right? Really weird?”

“It’s not weird if you’re happy,” Declan said sagely. I wished the dude could take his own advice, but I shot him a grateful look nonetheless.

“Diesel sent me this.” Maren fished a stuffed animal out of her bag. It looked to be an axolotl, which I could only identify thanks to Wren.

“It’s cute.” Declan was clearly lying, but Maren smiled shyly.

“Diesel gets me. And he wants to take me somewhere as a surprise tonight, so I came by here to get ready.”

“So, get ready.”

“I brought all my laundry and most of my clothes because I can’t decide what the heck to wear.” She gave Declan a desperate look. “Hey, you’re bi, right? What should a chick wear that says up for whatever the surprise outing is and casual but more than friends?”

Declan blinked, and I waited for him to correct her on the bi assumption and slam that closet door once again. However, he didn’t. Instead, he took on a thoughtful expression as he considered the question.

“Tight jeans, boots, cute top, show a tiny bit of cleavage?” he suggested. “What do you have that might work?”

“Thank you.” Maren gave a dramatic sigh worthy of Rowan’s over-acting. “Can I show you some options?”

“Absolutely.” Declan smiled wide. “I’ve got a younger sister, and I’ve helped plenty of female friends over the years. I can even French braid or work a curling iron.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Maren bounced over to give him a hug. “I’ll go see what I can come up with for clothes options. And figure out what in the heck to give him.”

“What does he like?” I asked. Thus far, I knew Diesel to be a year younger than Maren, blue-haired, tattooed, and possessed zero filter.

“Me. Apparently.” Maren turned a dusky shade of pink. “I mean, punk music. Traveling. Eating strange foods.”

“We’ll bake him something.” Declan had a more decisive tone than usual. “Now, go find some outfit options and give us a fashion show. Then we can talk hair.”

“You’re brilliant.” Maren beamed before scampering out of the room.

“You really are,” I agreed.

“Eh. I just speak fluent teen-to-twenties girl.” Declan shrugged. “Told you, I’m a better friend than boyfriend.”

“That remains to be seen.” I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Didn’t mean you,” Declan mumbled, blushing.

I didn’t think I could like the guy any more than I already did, but watching him with Maren made me fall that much harder for Declan. He helped Maren evaluate various outfit options with a critical eye, yet he also kept things light enough that she continued laughing rather than stressing about her date.

After she’d settled on an outfit, the three of us raided the pantry for a box of sprinkle cake mix. Declan had the idea of decorating the cupcakes to look like monsters with googly eyes and blue frosting rather than something more appropriate for Valentine’s.

While the cupcakes cooled, Declan showed his prowess with a curling iron, and I restrained myself from swooning at his gentleness with Maren.

“You look amazing,” I said once the primping was done. “I’m betting you won’t let me take a pic for your dad.”

“Absolutely not.” Maren’s eyes went wide. “And I…um…might not be back early.”

“I’d be worried if you were.” Declan gave a meaningful chuckle.

“You’re in college,” I added. “I’m not going to tell if you’re gone all night. Just send a text so we know you’re all right.”

“You’re the best.” Maren hugged us both before heading toward the door. As she put on a heavy wool coat, she turned back toward us. “And don’t worry. I’m not gonna tell either.”

With that, she escaped into the night. And she might not tell, but the clock was ticking on someone else finding out who wouldn’t be so discreet.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Declan

“Time is running out.” Joey’s voice in my ear made me wince on multiple levels. I shouldn’t have picked up the phone, but I was sitting at the breakfast nook, noodling with my latest puzzle while I waited to leave for the football fundraiser. Boredom. Got me every time.

“I know.” I’d been avoiding calls from the team, but Joey had known I wouldn’t continue to send one of my oldest supporters to voicemail. And I hated this for him, hated that he’d drawn the short straw to seek an update, and hated that he was also in a holding pattern, waiting for me to be race-ready. We were nearing the end of February. Time was indeed of the essence. “It’s the doctors at this point. I’m still having headaches, so they don’t want to release me from the concussion protocol. The doctors keep saying I’m not ready to ride or race.”

“But you could ride if they signed off?” Joey pressed. Outside, the early evening chill had arrived, or maybe that was simply my reaction to the question.

“Yeah. My foot feels almost normal. No more cane.” I’d graduated to walking in supportive shoes, no boot, at last. Like the first shoots of green showing up for spring, I could feel my old self returning. “I’m done with PT after this week.”

In fact, I was back to doing something resembling actual cardio and weight training. However, I could do without the headache and light sensitivity that intense cardio inevitably brought on. Weights were good as long as I didn’t push the overhead lifts.

“Good, good.” Joey made a sucking sound like he had a piece of gum in his mouth. I clicked another two puzzle pieces in place while waiting for him to continue. “That’s why the manufacturer wants a second opinion on your head.”

“Like another doctor?” I groaned. The last thing I wanted was more appointments. And yeah, my doctor in Portland frustrated me, but for all I complained, I did trust the dude.

“Yep. They’ve got someone here in Arizona for you to see.” Joey sounded unusually matter-of-fact and businesslike. “The team wants you to come on down so everyone can get on the same page as far as the season and your future.”

Oh fuck. I should have anticipated being summoned sooner, but instead, I physically recoiled in my chair, my body moving back as if I’d taken a punch to the stomach.

“When?” My voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a mine shaft.

“Next week. Tanya’s gonna be in touch to book your flight.” He mentioned the long-suffering assistant to the team who handled all our travel details and administrative duties. “Here’s to hoping the next trip is a one-way. We need you back, brother.”

“Yeah.” My tone remained hollow as my brain spun. I should have been relieved that I was this much closer to getting back to racing and that a second opinion might be the solution, but I was filled with a cold, drippy dread.

“Between you and me, Cyrus isn’t half the rider you are.” Joey’s voice was hearty, the same one he used for every pre-race pep talk. “He’s not fearless enough. Needs to give ‘em a tug.”

“Oh, I know how to tug ‘em.” I gave the stock reply, born of years of bantering, but inside, the word fearless kept rattling around. I wasn’t sure if I could ever be truly fearless out there again. No one other than Jonas knew that I’d been having nightmares, and even he didn’t know that I kept replaying the little snippets of the accident I could remember. Merely remembering the jolt of hitting the rut was enough to turn my stomach. I must have been convincing enough because Joey chuckled.

“I know you do. You’ve got brass stones. No one attacks the start like you. You’ve got that fire, so we just gotta get you back on the bike.” He was my number one hype person, and God knew I needed it right then.

“Yep.” I had to work to keep my voice confident. Thankfully, I heard footsteps coming down from upstairs. “Listen, I gotta run. I’m going to this high school football fundraiser.”

“Look at you, living the small-town life.” Joey whistled. “Gotta be bored silly, unless the local girls are taking good care of you.” He laughed at his own joke. I didn’t, but he continued anyway, “Damn, you’re gonna be so happy to get back on tour for the season.”

“You know it.” I hoped Joey was right, but as I hung up the phone, my main emotion was relief. I pocketed the phone and shook my hands out, trying to let go of the tension of the call as John loped into the kitchen. “Hey, John. You ready?”

“Yep. Nice puzzle.” He nodded at my work-in-progress, another mystery puzzle, this one a treasure hunt. When Jonas was around, he helped me with the puzzles, but I’d found a certain satisfaction in doing them by myself as well.

“The others will meet us there, I guess.” He shrugged before grabbing car keys off a hook by the backdoor. “Seems like everyone pulled overtime the same night.”

“It happens.” My tone was pragmatic, but in reality, I was also a little frustrated by the unpredictability of Jonas’s hours in particular. He always apologized and tried hard to make it up to me when he had to cancel plans, but I still hated not knowing exactly when I’d see him. I’d been looking forward to going to this movie night fundraiser with him, both because I enjoyed his company and as a buffer for these teen fans John wanted to introduce me too.

Predictably, the guys into dirt bikes were full of questions as they crowded around John and me.

“Which tires do you like for sand?” One of the kids, a skinny guy with glasses who apparently was the kicker for the football team, had the Notes app open on his phone and was legit writing down my answers.

“Everyone says you’re a born mudder.” Another guy, a brash giant who had to be some sort of tackle or lineman, wasn’t taking notes as much as pumping me for stories. “What’s the worst track you’ve raced?”

“Who was your first sponsor?” The third wannabe rider was a cocky dude, short but sturdy. He had dark hair, not red, otherwise I would have bet he was a distant Murphy cousin. “Yeah, give us the hookup on how to get free shit.”

“Hard work.” I didn’t have to force my smile. These guys were earnest in the way most fifteen- to eighteen-year-olds were, bragging about different rides and tracks they’d attempted. The giant kid had brought a motocross shirt for me to sign, which was cool. I’d forgotten how good a little hero worship could feel, how validating it was to be pumped for information and recognized for my success.

I hated some parts of being famous, and over the last few months, I’d focused more on those negatives. It was nice to feel a few flashes of my old self, reminders of how good it could feel to work a fan zone or appearance.

Eventually, the loud noises in the crowded gym started to get to me, all the questions along with the dozens of other conversations swirling around as we waited for the movie to start. A dull ache started in my temples, and the lights seemed about a hundred watts brighter.

“Hey, man, you okay?” John asked, tapping my arm.

“Yeah, just a headache.”

“My mom gets those.” The nerdy kicker finally put away his note-taking app. “Caffeine helps. You want a soda?”

“Sure.” I handed over some cash for the concession stand and sank onto a nearby folding chair, grateful for a few minutes of semi-quiet. However, my solitude was short-lived as my dad’s friend and the town football coach, Tony, wandered over to sit next to me.

“I saw you talking with the guys. That was nice of you.” Tony nodded at me. “All they’ve been able to talk about since football season ended is dirt bikes and racing, but they’re good kids.”

“Yeah.” I glanced across the gym where Tony’s guy, Caleb, was manning one of the concession stands with his younger brother. Caleb kept smiling and joking, and I didn’t miss the fond look he shot Tony. “None of the players…” I paused because I’d wanted to ask this question for weeks now, but I didn’t want to misstep. However, it was now or never as far as chances. “The players or their folks don’t hassle you? About Caleb?”

“First, I wouldn’t stand for that.” Tony adopted a sharp tone before softening. “And second, no. It’s a different generation than when I played ball in high school, for sure. Most of the press about the team and me has been good. Just don’t read the comment sections.”

“Yeah.” My voice came out weak and distant. I lived in dread of comment sections. Hell, I could all too easily imagine neutrally worded announcements or gossip being picked apart by amateur motocross commenters and internet trolls alike. “Maybe the world is changing.”

“It is.” Tony nodded, peering at me like he might see dirt on my face or something. “You okay?”

“Sick of being asked that.” I groaned. Tony was a nice guy and didn’t deserve my snapping. “Sorry. I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind tonight.”

“Anything in particular?” Tony managed to appear older and wiser but also approachable and compassionate as he leaned toward me. “We could step outside.”

“Nah.” I clenched my hands to stop them from shaking. Tony’s offer didn’t mean he’d guessed a damn thing, but ever since Maren had walked in on Jonas and me, I’d been steeling myself for the next discovery. “I’m cool.”

“Suit yourself.” Tony moved along before the movie started. The group of guys interested in riding returned with sodas and food, but the beginning of the family film about talking pets was enough distraction to keep their questions to a minimum. During the intermission, my dad finally showed up, shower damp hair and breathless as usual from being triple-booked.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, yourself.” He grinned and grabbed an empty chair near me. “See? I made it by the second half of the movie.”

“Good for you.” I tried to return his smile, but my mouth refused to move. I was tired, tired of this day, tired of always having a damn headache, tired of this fundraiser, tired of my dad always running behind, and tired of pretending like everything was peachy.

“You okay?” Dad leaned forward, exactly as Tony had, staring into my eyes. “Head hurting again?”

“Nah,” I lied. If I was headed to Arizona next week, I needed to get good at minimizing my symptoms in a hurry. No one liked a whiner. “Just a lot of noise and more people here than I expected.”

“I remember when you were a kid. You hated crowds.” Dad shook his head, eyes misty, clearly lost in a memory. “Now you race in front of fifty thousand fans on the regular.”

“Yep.” This whole evening had been a big reminder of who I was. I wasn’t the sporty, introverted kid anymore. I was Declan Murphy. I’d made a name for myself. I was, as Joey said, fearless. I attacked. I didn’t hide away in small towns like one of the rom-coms Jonas and Rowan loved. “Some of the kids here were fans. Talking to them was cool. Made me even more eager to get back out there.”

“Don’t be in too big of a rush,” Dad cautioned in what would be the perfect opening to tell him my news about going back to Arizona. Strangely, I wanted to talk it over with Jonas first, not chance him finding out via secondhand gossip. Also, despite the fact that my mid-twenties loomed, my dad’s warnings always managed to make me feel like an impatient and uncertain eight-year-old.

Instead, naturally, I did what I did best and changed the subject. “Any of the others coming?”

“The kids are over there.” Dad pointed out Wren and Rowan sitting near the front, holding large bowls of popcorn. Like me, Rowan was also in waiting mode, hoping to hear about the show soon, so I’d endured a lot of decorating talk the past few weeks. “Eric is on the way, but Jonas is stuck at the hospital. They’re so short-staffed lately. He’s having to cover NP hours and admin work.”

“Yeah.” Maybe I should have told my dad my news. If Jonas was alerting others about his schedule first, maybe I was less of a priority than I’d thought. I tapped my fingers against my phone in my pocket. “Guess it means Jonas is good at what he does.”

“That, and the guy is incapable of saying no to a damn thing,” Dad added.

I had no doubts Jonas was an amazing leader and nurse practitioner, but I still had to nod my agreement. My teeth gritted every time he said yes to another shift. Also, was I one of those things he couldn’t say no to? Afterall, I was the one who’d pressed for more kissing and usually sought him out first. What if he’d be happy about my news? More time for work, at least.

“Think you can give me a ride home after the movie?” I asked Dad, both as a matter of practicality and to force my mind away from Jonas.

“Of course.” Dad grinned, the same wide Murphy grin my grandpa had, the same eyes as mine sparkling. “Glad you asked.”

Dad would be sad when I went back to Arizona. Oh, he wouldn’t say anything, stoic to the end, but he’d miss me. And I hadn’t exactly done a great job of spending time with him while I was here. Now, time was running out on numerous fronts.

“Maybe I can stop in and see the cats for a moment.” I made the offer sound casual, but Dad’s obvious pleasure was serious stuff. Maybe I needed to look beyond our personality differences and make more of an effort.

“I’d like that.” He nodded, grinning even wider. “Denver doesn’t drink, but I’ve got a way better root beer than the generic soda they’re serving here and some vanilla ice cream in the freezer.”

“You’re on.” I smiled back. I’d break my dad’s heart all over again when I told him I was leaving. And as for Jonas, it was a toss-up which of us would be the heartbreaker first. Perhaps that was why I’d offered to spend time with my dad. Delaying the inevitable hard conversations sounded pretty damn good right then.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jonas

As I arrived home from yet another late overtime shift, I crept past the darkened kitchen. My last meal had been early afternoon. Maybe. The day was a bit of a blur. I’d need to eat before bed, but first, I needed to locate Oz and see if he needed to go out.

And okay, I wanted to see if there was any chance Declan was still awake. I wouldn’t wake him if his door was shut, but it had been a long, trying day. I wouldn’t mind a friendly face. As luck would have it, Declan’s door was cracked, and the glow from a low lamp escaped into the hallway. And there was my traitorous dog curled up with Declan, who was watching something on his phone while lounging in flannel pants and a gray T-shirt.

“You’re up late.” I stepped inside his room, happy to find him awake but also a little concerned. “Sick headache again?”

Once a nurse, always a nurse, and predictably, Declan released a long-suffering sigh.

“Nah. Just a lot on my mind.” Declan patted the scrap of bed next to him and Oz. “I’m glad the hospital finally let you go home.”

“Me too.” I yawned and stretched but didn’t approach the bed. If I laid down, I likely wasn’t getting up again until morning. “I’m starving, but do you want to talk about what’s keeping you awake?”

“Eventually.” Whatever was bugging Declan didn’t sound too urgent as he hefted himself off the bed, Oz at his heels. “Let’s find you some food first.”

Declan seemed in an unusually bossy mood, so I happily trailed behind him to return to the kitchen. He flipped on the lights for the stove and island individually, which made the kitchen seem smaller and cozier. Standing in front of the fridge, he made a series of clucking noises and shook his head.

“Everyone was at the movie night, so there’s not much in the way of leftovers. I’ll make you some eggs or something.”

“You don’t have to do that.” I tried to peer around him and find something I could simply grab and eat, but he pushed me toward a stool at the island.

“Sit and let me cook for you for once.” He punctuated the order with a firm stare.

“Yes, sir.”

“French toast, okay?” He pulled eggs, syrup, and bread out of the fridge.

“We’re out of bacon again, but there’s plenty of bread.”

“Sounds great.” I would have eaten canned beans at room temperature if he served them up, but Declan wanting to take care of me never failed to make my chest warm and light.

“French toast is one of the things I learned to make when my parents worked long hours.”

“Awesome.” I tried not to swoon as he expertly beat the eggs, milk, and vanilla together. “Speaking of, did your dad make it to the movie night?”

“Yeah, he was late, but no surprise there.” Declan shrugged as he preheated a skillet. “He gave me a ride home, and I played with the cats for a bit.”

“That’s good,” I said cautiously. Sean had been something of an off-limits topic for most of my friendship with Declan, especially since we started kissing. There was a lot of love on both sides of that father-son bond, but the love was complicated by the contrast between Sean’s sunny optimism and Declan’s more serious demeanor. “I’m glad you had the time with him.”

“Yeah, me too.” Declan exhaled hard, not looking particularly happy about anything, sizzling French toast included.

“What’s wrong?”

“You should eat.” He plated the first slice of French toast for me before adding more to the skillet.

“I will.” Getting increasingly suspicious, I accepted the plate and fork before adding syrup. “But talk to me?” I narrowed my eyes at him as he turned away from the stove. “Did something happen at the movie night or with your dad?”

“Nah. It was good meeting John’s friends. Always good to talk with fans and remember why we ride.”

“Ah.” I aimed for a sympathetic tone. His flat affect made more sense now. “You’re missing racing again.”

“I’m going to Arizona next week.” He delivered the news in more of that matter-of-fact voice.

“Oh.” The bite of fluffy French toast turned to ash in my mouth, and I struggled to swallow.

“Yeah.” Declan passed me a glass of juice.

“The neurologist finally cleared you to race?” I’d known this moment was likely coming, but I’d done an admirable job of tricking myself into thinking otherwise.

“No, but the team wants me to get a second opinion.” Declan quirked his mouth, not a smile, but not upset either. “Some doctor in Arizona they’ve lined up. The team needs answers for the season in a hurry.”

“That makes sense.” I used a professional, pragmatic tone. “Second opinions can be good.”

Declan made a rude noise. “Take off your nurse uniform and tell me what you really think.”

What I thought was that my soul was shattering and my heart would never recover from him leaving, but I couldn’t let him see that.

“I think TBIs are always subjective. And as we’ve seen in various sports, rushing someone back is risky.”

“You still sound like you’re in medical professional mode.” Declan glared at me, leaning across the island. “Talk to me like my boyfriend.”

“Oh?” Blinking, I coughed enough that he shoved my juice at me again. “Is that what I am?”

“Well, you’re not not my boyfriend, and friend really doesn’t fit how often we’re in bed together.” Declan shrugged like this stunning announcement was simply a matter of logic.

“Sometimes we’re only reading in bed. It’s not always sex.” I had zero clue as to what point I was trying to prove.

“You’re my best friend, okay?” Declan tilted his head as if he were as confused by my reply as I was. “That better? And yeah, it’s a secret thing, but that doesn’t make you not my boyfriend.”

“Fair enough.” The brief moment when my heart had thrilled with his casual use of boyfriend evaporated as soon as he said secret. However, the sting of that reminder was necessary. Secret was all this could ever be for him. No amount of sweet midnight food making, reading in bed, puzzle solving, or best friend acting could change that. The bitterness of that realization loosened my tongue. “And okay, as your best friend recently promoted to boyfriend, I hate the idea of the team medically clearing you before you’re ready. And I really, really don’t like the possibility of them minimizing the risk of future concussions. I’m sure the team cares about you, but they also care about winning. Your long-term health may not be their top priority.”

“I get all that.” Declan nodded solemnly. If anything, he seemed calmer, like he’d been anticipating my objections.

“But you’re still going.”

“Yeah. I gotta see what they say.” Another blasted shrug. He’d both wanted and needed my genuine reaction, but it apparently made no difference. “And I owe it to the team to at least show up and have the discussion. The season’s about to start. They need answers I don’t have.”

“And if the new doctor says you can race? What then?” I knew the answer, but I needed him to say it.

“I don’t know.” He paced away from the island, no trace of a limp. He’d worked hard in physical therapy. I wished like hell brains were as resilient as leg bones and tendons. Declan came around the island to slump onto the empty stool next to me. “I guess I race the season.”

“You sound super enthusiastic.”

“Well, I haven’t been on a bike in four months.” He said each word as if it were an overly salty fry. “I’m probably rusty as hell without a ton of time to prepare.”

“And that’s your only concern?” I gave him the most pointed look I could muster.

“Well, obviously, I don’t want to get hurt again.” He exhaled hard. I continued to stare him down, waiting. “And obviously, I don’t want to leave you. But I’m a rider. Hell, I’m a star. This is what I was born to do.”

“No one’s denying you’re good at racing.” My tone was just this side of snappish and my French toast was long forgotten. “And I’m glad to know you’ll miss me. I’ll obviously miss you too.”

“Even if I race the season, that doesn’t have to be the end of us.” Declan’s tone was earnest and, if I were honest, not unexpected. He had a good heart, and for all his flawed logic, he wasn’t an asshole. He might be walking away, but I didn’t doubt he was taking some real feelings with him. “I can visit. Maybe you can get some time off, and we can meet near one of the tracks.”

“Declan. I’m over forty.” I used my most patient voice. “I’ve been out a lot of years now. I’m too old to be someone’s secret sidepiece.”

Frowning, he held up a hand. “I’m not saying I’ll never come out. Give me time.”

“You think you’re the first closeted guy to ask for some indeterminate amount of time?”

“No.” His shoulders slumped, and he rested his elbows on the counter. “And okay, I get why you wouldn’t trust me about coming out eventually. However, I’m not ready to lose you. I…”

My breath caught, waiting to see if he’d say it. But he shook his head.

“You’re my best friend. The best friend I’ve ever had. Don’t take that away from me simply because I have to go back to work.”

God, he made a compelling case, one I was hard-pressed to deny.

“I’m not ready to lose you either. And I’m definitely not ready to watch you be hauled off the track with another injury, knowing I can’t even go to you.”

“It wouldn’t be forever.”

“I know.” And I also knew we meant two different things there.

“And you might not even miss me that much, what with all the hours you’ve been pulling lately.”

“I’ll miss you.” I gave up my attempts to stay detached. His dig hurt because it was true. I’d known since Valentine’s that our time together was growing shorter, yet I’d continued going about my life as if it weren’t about to crumble. “You have no idea how much I’m going to miss you.”

“I don’t like this.” Stubborn tilt to his chin, Declan grabbed my hand. “I don’t want either of us miserable.”

“You have to go.” I squeezed his hand. I could do this. I could be brave for us both.

“I do.” Declan clung to my hand like he was dangling off a cliff. “Look, I know I’m being unfair and selfish by asking for time. Hell, I don’t want to go if this is it, if it costs me you.”

“I’m not going to hold you hostage here, and I’m not going to send you off with an ultimatum that you have to come out.” I might want to. I really, really wanted to. But neither of those options would get me what I truly wanted, which was Declan in my life. “But I am realistic about what this means for us and what the future holds.”

“Do we have to be realistic right this minute?” Declan used our linked hands to pull me closer until our knees brushed. He held my gaze for several long seconds, ample time for me to pull away from the soft, sweet kiss he offered.

“No.” I kissed him back. Next week would come whether I kissed him or not. The way I saw it, I might as well store up all the wonderful things I felt in his presence while I had him.

“Can I come downstairs with you if I set an alarm to be back in my bed before the house wakes up?”

“I’ve told you. I can’t say no to you.” I kissed the top of his head before standing and offering him a hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey. It’s okay. Not your fault you’re so persuasive.” I forced a smile. And it wasn’t his fault. I’d known from the beginning that this was the only logical outcome, but when it came to Declan, my heart was anything but logical.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Declan

The dry Arizona heat greeted me on the short walk from the circle drive where our team manager, Brian, had dropped me off at the front doors of the medical complex. Neither Brian nor Joey were coming to my appointment. The concussion protocol was serious business, and while the team might have found this specialist, they couldn’t afford any suspicion that they’d influenced her findings.

Thus, I was alone as I made my way through the newer facility, which was large and sunny, with an open waiting area serving multiple specialists. After all the winter months spent with my various mobility aids, I felt practically naked in only sneakers, shorts, and a T-shirt.

After checking in with the receptionist, I paused to put on a thin layer of ChapStick. The dry desert air always took my Northwest blood a few days to get used to. And this trip, there was a lot more to get used to—changes at the track property where my team trained, new personnel, veteran crew moved into new roles, new equipment, even a few new trailers and smaller structures. It had only been a few months since I’d been here between rounds in the fall, but it felt like decades. So much had changed for me and not simply the accident and recovery.

Give it time. I’d been back less than twenty-four hours. Surely, things would start feeling familiar again soon. I found a seat near a magazine rack, none of which interested me. A half-finished puzzle at a nearby table only made me miss Jonas that much more. I glanced away. I couldn’t afford to let the deep ache in my chest distract me from the point of this visit.

“Declan!” Mark O’Shay, the network analyst for motocross, called my name. Crap. I’d forgotten he lived in Arizona during the off-season. He beamed as he helped himself to an empty chair near me. “Look at you, up and around and healthy. That’s got to make a lot of people happy.”

“Yeah.” I briefly considered whipping out my phone in the universal signal for not wanting to talk. However, I was also trying not to check for messages every thirty seconds. I’d let Dad and Jonas know I’d arrived safely but had only received short messages back.

“You racing the season?” Mark asked as he settled his cane next to him.

“Uh…” Yep. Should have gone for the phone.

“Off the record, of course.” Mark waved his hand with the wonky pinkie finger. “I’m not stalking you or anything. I’m here for a follow-up on some headache issues of my own.”

“Headaches are the worst.” Luckily, I had only a minor one after yesterday’s flight, which was probably dehydration and stress. I hoped.

“Yep. But when you get your bell rung as often as we do, it’s probably inevitable.”

I didn’t reply, nor did I nod. Inevitable. I didn’t like that word. I liked to think I had more control than that, and I really hated people telling me my accident was no one’s fault. Of course there was a fault. Mine.

“I’m sorry. I’m being nosy, and the team likely doesn’t want you talking about whether you’re out of concussion protocol yet.” Mark offered a sympathetic look. “That was one of the worst crashes I’ve seen, and I was in a few doozies myself.”

“I’m working hard to get back out there,” I said carefully. I’d known him long enough to trust he wasn’t pumping me for a story, but with this big of a riding community around Arizona, gossip would travel fast that I was back with the team. “The doctor is likely a formality. More boxes to tick off.”

“Ah.” Mark’s slow nod said he saw through my bluster, but he wasn’t going to call me on it. He knew how it was. Couldn’t afford to show weakness or give my competitors an angle to exploit. “Best of luck. Everyone’s pulling for you to make a full comeback.”

“Here’s hoping.” My gaze drifted to his cane. Not everyone got their comeback, and inevitably, every rider hit the injury, age, or motivation level where the comeback wasn’t happening. “Don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t ride.”

Fuck. Could I have said something more insensitive? Cringing, I didn’t wait for him to reply. “Sorry. That was beyond thoughtless.”

“No, you were honest.” Mark shrugged, not seeming as insulted as I’d feared. “You think your life would be over without riding motocross. I get it. I used to feel exactly the same way. Concussions. Broken ribs. Thumb surgery. ACL. MCL. All I could think about was getting back out there.”

“Yeah. It’s been a long four months.” I twisted my hands in my lap. “But I’m still sorry.”

Eyes narrowing, Mark pulled out his phone, which was in a hard red plastic case, the kind that could survive a lot of drops.

“See this?” He pointed to a photo of a smiling golden retriever lounging near a pool. “This is the dog we got the summer after my last race. Wife said no pets, no kids until I retired.”

“Cute dog.” I wanted to tell him about Oz, but that would mean mentioning Jonas and… No. Couldn’t risk it.

“Yep. Rickie is the best damn dog I’ve ever had. She sat right by the couch after all my surgeries.” He flipped to a picture of a grinning blonde woman holding a small boy. “My wife was pretty smart. I’m glad she made me wait. And this little guy? He came along that next winter after all the operations were done.”

“Looks like a smart kid.” I had a half-second flash of a house on a piece of land somewhere, kids running around with a hose and a pack of dogs. I made myself laugh instead of getting lost in the image. “Kid must take after your wife.”

Mark predictably took the ribbing in stride, laughing as he flipped to another pic, this one a tiny blonde girl.

“Little sister is the wife’s real mini-me and keeps us all in line.” He turned to a pic that had to be more recent, two slightly bigger kids on little bikes on a long driveway. “This is them on their bikes at Christmas time. Junior says he wants a dirt bike for his birthday.”

“You gonna get him one?”

“Of course.” Mark’s expression turned fond and parental. “And the best helmet money can buy. And to think, a few years ago, I had no clue what I’d do without racing. I was as low as I’d ever been when they carted me off for the last time.”

“I bet.” My chest went tight and my jaw stiffened, teeth clenching.

“But my life didn’t end.” Mark held my gaze. “It was just getting started.”

“Yeah.” I nodded because that was the point of this little exercise. He wanted me to see that he wasn’t lost without racing. But all I could see was his little family, the one he could show anyone, even a passing acquaintance like me. His pride and love shone through every word and picture.

No closets there. Jealousy, ugly and slimy, threatened to clog my throat. Mark was undoubtedly trying to help. He didn’t know each picture hit me like a sharp rock in the roost spray from a dirt bike.

“Mr. Murphy?” A medical assistant in pink scrubs mercifully called my name.

“Thanks for chatting, Mark.” I used the sort of professional tone he always ended interviews with. “Nice running into you.”

I could hardly share the truth, that I could have done without this encounter adding to my jumble of thoughts and emotions.

“Same to you. And, Declan? For what it’s worth, I hope you go out there and get the championship we all know you’re capable of. I meant it about life after racing, but I hope you get to go out on your own terms. Truly.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it,” I said gruffly, motioning to the medical assistant to let her know I was coming. I could see it, holding the championship plate high, the crowd roaring, champagne flowing. I’d visualized that moment for years, and someone like Mark, an absolute legend in the sport, believing in me was huge. I had to blink repeatedly. Damn dry Arizona air.

“And down the road, when that day comes, you know you’ll have my bosses on the phone within hours, judging your interest in broadcasting.”

I made a sour face at his blatant flattery. “Oh, no one wants me in front of a camera sounding dumb.”

“What do you mean? You’d have options up the wazoo for post-riding jobs, but you’re one of the smartest riders I’ve ever met.”

“Mr. Murphy?” The medical assistant stepped closer.

“Coming.” I gave Mark one last nod. Smart. I’d been called many things over the years, but rarely that. Mark was the rider they’d called the mad scientist because he was smart and crafty. An analytical and natural rider who won championship after championship on the biggest stages.

Me? I was built of bone and muscle and determination. I might not be the smartest, but I was scrappy. I could out work anyone. And I’d worked too damn hard to get here, ready to give it one more shot. Like Mark said, I was capable of championships. Whatever my doubts and reservations, I owed it to myself, my team, and the whole sport to give it my best effort to get back out there and ride.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Declan

Get out there and ride. A few hours after my appointment and assorted tests, my brain kept returning to that weighty thought. What would it mean if I never got the chance to try? Could I really walk away like Mark had? I didn’t see myself as a commentator. What if I had no choice? The wait for the final determination on my future made every minute feel like a century.

I stood near the gates where we practiced starts over and over, resting a hand on the battle-scarred metal. Familiar sounds of dirt bikes and machinery filled the afternoon. I gazed off into the distance, where Cyrus and others were putting in laps on the latest model bikes.

“Want to give it a go?” Joey wheeled one of the new bikes toward me. Brian, our team manager, walked beside him, holding one of my helmets. Clearly, this was a planned effort.

“You want me to ride?” Despite the direction of my thoughts a few moments earlier, my pulse sped up. I’d inspected the new bikes last night after my arrival, let Joey show off all the new features and little tweaks. I’d half-listened to all his ideas for customizing the ride for me while the other half of me had fixated on my silent phone. Predictably, Jonas had been at work, but later, we’d texted more before I’d fallen asleep in a spare bed in one of the trailers. My sleep had been fitful, and the doctor visit had been long and tiring. I hardly felt ready to hop on a motorcycle. Excuses. “Before the doctor’s report is in?

“Doctor Bareilles’s report just landed with the tour higher-ups.” Brian’s tone was triumphant. “You’re cleared to ride. She wants to see you again before the first race, but you’re good to go for some practice.”

“Oh.” I nodded slowly, probably too slowly. The doctor had been young, probably early thirties, with bright eyes and sharp questions. She’d reviewed all my various tests from Oregon, ordered a few more, and given a lengthy warning about repeat concussion risks and cumulative damage. I’d left her office in a somber mood that was hard to shake, even with this surprising news.

“Oh? Dude. This is what we’ve all been waiting for.” Joey pumped a fist in the air. “Time to celebrate, Number Eleven.” He pointed at the number plate on the bike. My old number. This wasn’t simply any bike. It was mine. My chest caught. Joey’s tone and expression softened, undoubtedly knowing he had me. “You need that championship mindset back.”

“Get the first ride out of the way. It might give you a boost of confidence.” Brian gestured widely, like he was revealing a prize on a game show. And I supposed he was, in a way. My place on the team was a prize many riders would happily grab, and it had been waiting for me all along.

“Yeah, we need you here, Declan.” Cyrus pulled up on his bike. Ha. He didn’t need me here, competing with him. He likely had a contract now for his own spot on the manufacturer’s premiere team, but racing was always a competition, even within a team.

“Thanks.” For all I’d spent years with my fellow riders, I couldn’t say as I counted any as close friends. We were all competitors first, even those of us who trained together. Like Cyrus, I’d arrived in Arizona young and hungry when I first got my shot. And sure, I’d learned a ton from the veteran riders, but I remained wary of Cyrus’s sincerity.

“No one’s suggesting you go out and tackle the jumps. Just put a few easy laps in,” Joey coaxed. Brian nodded, expression shrewd. Ah. Realization hit me square in the chest. This was also a carefully calculated test, no different from the ones I’d been put through at the doctor’s office.

The team wanted to judge my mental readiness, and right then, I was pulling up short, finding none of my old competitive fire. Why wasn’t I drooling with anticipation to try this bike out? I should be like a dog on a leash, desperate to run, or a kid playing Little League, eager to get in the game.

I forced a smile, summoning a ghost of that energy. “Sure. Guess it would be nice to celebrate the good news.”

“Exactly. You’re back, baby.” Joey slapped me on the back.

Baby. Man, that landed differently coming from Jonas. I missed him. Briefly, I closed my eyes, inhaling as if I could sniff him, exhaling like I was relaxing into his embrace. Opening my eyes, I was still in Arizona, Joey handing me goggles and gloves, Brian standing back as I geared up. No Jonas.

“I’ll ride with you.” Cyrus made the offer all casual, but I knew better. This was part of the test. He’d report back to the others, and I couldn’t afford any more hesitation or a case of the yips. I need to simply do what I did best: get out there and ride.

“Let’s go.” Helmet on, gear in place, I flexed my hands as I straddled the bike, the familiar feeling taking over. As always, Joey had the bike dialed in perfectly, clutch, throttle, suspension, everything working together to provide a first-rate ride.

Perhaps the guys had been right because my tension faded as soon as I took off on the bike. I blocked out Cyrus, all my worries and uncertainties, everything other than how good it felt to be back on the bike. The vibrations raced through me, every jolt and jostle linked to my decade-plus experience riding. I hadn’t forgotten a damn thing other than how right this was.

Almost as right as being with Jonas.

Damn it, I didn’t want to think about anything other than riding. But as I rode farther out on the property, Jonas was right there with me, on my mind and in my heart. I wanted to show him the rugged beauty of this vista, the red rocks, scrubby plants, and endless sky. In a perfect world, I’d get cleared to race, and someday, I’d bring Jonas right here and⁠—

My brain tripped up.

Most of my worries around coming out were about fan reactions, competitor comments, and slow distancing from sponsors. Tony had been right that things were changing everywhere, even in macho-dominated sports. I no longer expected outright hostility, but nevertheless, I had a hard time picturing Jonas as a key part of my racing life. I felt strangely protective of him and what I’d found with him. I couldn’t stand the thought of any negativity reaching him.

But you’ll hurt him if you don’t come out. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

My bike was kicking up too much dust and roost for me to release the groan rising in my chest. I didn’t want to eat dirt—in more ways than one.

Breathe. I tried to harness my churning emotions. However, as a side effect of fixating on the ride itself, I noticed every bump, every rut, every damn rock, and all the various tweaks Joey and the mechanical team had made to improve this bike over last year’s model. The brakes were slightly more responsive but touchier than I preferred, not as linear. The chassis was more stable, which was a positive, but it wanted to stand up more in the corners, giving a more rigid feel.

Part of the bumpy ride might have been my long layoff or little differences in the suspension that we’d need to work on in the coming weeks. I started making more mental notes for Joey and the team. I liked how the bike was revving, but I wasn’t crazy about how the power seemed to flatten out on top. Slowly, I dropped back into professional racer mode, getting nitpicky about tiny details that would make a difference come race day.

Yeah, I’d missed this. A lot. The whip of the wind, the speed, the power thrumming through me, the ability to block out the rest of the world. Even Jonas. The ever-present dilemma of what to do about him would wait until later. I wasn’t going to settle anything out here other than⁠—

Thump.

Hell, I’d lost focus for a split second and hit a deeper rut than intended while coming out of a corner. That stiffer chassis wasn’t doing me any favors, and I had to work to stay upright and in control.

What if I crash?

I wasn’t even thirteen the first time I rode a dirt bike after going to some races with my family. I’d been hooked on the sport and fearless from the start. If I crashed, I crashed. Fall down. Get back up on the bike. Everyone said I was fearless, but really, I was simply determined. I fucking hated to lose, and if it took a hundred practice crashes for one race win, then bring it on. If I wasn’t dirty, tired, and bloody, had I really practiced?

What if I crash?

I’d laughed after my first big wipeout. Spit the dirt out of my mouth, cleaned off my goggles, looked at the impressive scrape on my forearm between my glove and jacket, and laughed, high on adrenaline. I’d waved off help and gotten right back on the bike.

“Look at that kid. Brass stones. He’s raw as hell, but he’s got what it takes.” I’d heard the pit dads talking later, and the more I crashed, the more people talked about my potential. I wore every crash after that as a badge of honor, one step closer to a championship, to proving I belonged.

And now, I didn’t want to crash.

For the first time, the fear of crashing outweighed the fear of losing or being seen as weak.

I’m definitely not ready to watch you be hauled off the track with another injury, knowing I can’t even go to you.

I wasn’t afraid for myself as much as for Jonas. I was no longer riding only for myself. I carried my dad’s worries, Jonas’s fears, the team’s needs all on my shoulders, pushing down like the gravity I was fighting so hard against.

Whoosh.

Muscle memory took over, and just like that, I was upright, through the corner, near fall behind me. But my head pounded, and the sun in my eyes felt like metal chisels chipping away at my sanity.

Fuck.

Now what?

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jonas

Work was a blessing because it limited my ability to text with Declan while he was in Arizona. I’d pulled another slow NP shift on a rainy night, the usual early spring assortment of colds, flu, sinus infections, and pulled muscles from overzealous spring cleaners and seasonal exercisers.

Obsessing over what Declan might be doing wasn’t going to help anything, and I needed to give him space to be with his team and have the discussions and appointments he’d gone for. But working another long shift was a curse when I finally had a break to check my phone, only to find Declan had finally messaged, and now it was too late to call and risk waking him up.

Hours earlier, he’d sent a pic of a desert sunset over craggy rocks and scrubby plants. Wish you were here. Doctor went okay. I’ll be home the day after tomorrow. Will tell you everything then.

Texts sucked. Declan’s expressions were cryptic enough in person. Reading his mood via text was darn near impossible. The picture was gorgeous, even in the shitty late-night cafeteria lighting on my phone. I could easily see why Declan enjoyed training in Arizona in the winter. The rugged desert with vivid colors reminded me of growing up in Utah near the various national parks. While I had no desire to return to the scraggly compound where I’d spent my first fifteen years, I could see sitting in the desert with Declan, watching the sunset, holding him, talking.

Hell, I’d hold him anywhere, and that was the entirety of our problem. Not wanting to alarm the bored cashier in the otherwise empty cafeteria, I suppressed a groan. Instead, I took another bite of a bitterly disappointing chicken croissant.

I’d be happy to openly claim Declan as mine, to have a real relationship. I’d risk losing his father as a friend, but I’d gain Declan, who was everything I’d spent my life searching for. Someone to take care of. Someone to take care of me. Someone who let me spoil them in and out of bed. Someone who valued time in bed for more than simply sex.

The last few nights I couldn’t look at my bookshelf or my e-reader app. I’d never been happier than when I was cuddled up, reading with Declan. But as much as I cared about him and wanted a future, I wasn’t prepared to spend years miserable and stuck in a closet of his own making.

That risk was made crystal clear as I scrolled through my messages to discover a series of texts from Rowan.

Rowan

OMG. Declan’s riding?!?!? They wouldn’t let him do that without the doctor clearing him, right? Cyrus posted this video on social.

Helpfully, he’d provided a link where Cyrus indeed had a video of him and Declan riding together.

Training with one of the GOATs. Bucket list moment and so f’ing happy to see Number Eleven riding again.

Fuck. Guess that answered that. Racing had won. I couldn’t see Declan’s face while he rode, not with the helmet and goggles and distance of the camera, but his body language was loose and fluid. I couldn’t say I knew a ton about riding motorcycles, but Declan certainly looked the part of the natural everyone said he was, one with his machine, zooming down straightaways and taking curves smoothly. He’d said numerous times that he was born to ride.

Now, I believed him. No way could I take that from him.

He could come out, be a trailblazer for his sport. But would he? Likely not, no matter how much “time” he was granted. I’d always known he’d return to racing, much as I’d hoped otherwise. I couldn’t hold him here and should have known better to dream of trying.

Stomach decidedly sour, I scrolled on. My other messages were a laundry emergency from Rowan, a request from Eric asking if I could handle getting the teens ready for school in the morning because he had an early shift, a message from Wren that Oz missed me, and oh, by the way, we were out of bacon and cereal again. Tony had forwarded word of another football fundraiser, and Maren had sent a line of cryptic emoji.

I was trying to decipher those when my hospital phone blared, summoning me back to the ER.

“We’ve got a multi-vehicle I-84 crash,” the triage nurse reported. “Two cars tangoed with a motorcycle in the rain. One fatality on the scene and three critical patients inbound. Life flight is grounded by the weather. All hands on deck.”

I didn’t have to ask which was the fatality, and my esophagus twisted into a tense knot right behind my sternum. Was I ever going to be able to hear motorcycle and not immediately think of Declan? And lord, I hoped Sean wasn’t on duty. He was a pro, a longtime firefighter, but he’d take this one hard.

I made it back to the nursing station at the ER, where the teams had assembled as we awaited the ambulances. One victim had burns, so the burn team would need to handle that case, bringing in the burn cam and other equipment to stabilize until they could airlift the burn patient into Portland.

Triage continued briefing us on the other victims.

“Munson’s on call and on the way.” Munson was the trauma surgeon, and he’d be required if we had to send anyone back to the OR. Doctor Griffin would take point on the most critical case until Munson arrived while I would assess the third patient, a female with a possible head injury among some probable broken bones but stable vital signs.

I’d worked in emergency departments for twenty years, and the concerted team effort as critical cases rolled in never ceased to amaze me. We might be short-staffed, but we knew our roles.

The ambulances arrived in a flurry of activity as the patients were transferred to our care amid reports from the paramedics and EMTs. I had the briefest interaction with Tate, an EMT friend, in the hall while awaiting the second ambulance.

“Motorcyclist was the fatality?” I asked in a low voice.

“No, that one’s yours.” Tate’s eyes narrowed. “Everyone is in rough shape, but miraculously, the rider was thrown clear of the worst of it.”

I had almost no time to digest that news before the second ambulance arrived. Eric was the lead paramedic on the call, and he relayed the vital information as the patient was wheeled in. As a dad, Eric was an inspiration both for the struggles he’d overcome and for his caring, involved style, but as a paramedic, Eric was a force of nature, impressive in a whole different way. I trusted that he and his crew had done everything they could to give this woman a fighting chance.

“Marissa Darcy, female, thirty-eight, license says The Dalles, no known prior conditions. Was wearing riding gloves, jacket, helmet. Helmet was removed at the scene prior to transport. Law enforcement is going to want toxicology, but she self-reports no substances or alcohol.”

“It was the truck.” The patient was indeed alert enough to look righteously pissed off from her position on a gurney, strapped to a backboard. “Stupid fucking speeding teenagers.”

“Stay calm, Marissa.” Eric patted her shoulder as we wheeled her into one of the trauma rooms, which was larger than a typical ER cubical. “We’re here to help.”

“The police will do the investigation fairly, I promise,” I added as I moved beside her gurney.

“They better.” She had wild, curly dark hair, banged-up pale skin with a pasty tinge I wasn’t crazy about, and piercing blue eyes that reminded me far too much of Declan’s. “You a doctor?”

And here we went. I was all Marissa had at the moment, and if she had a problem, she would have to deal, but I continued my gentle tone.

“I’m Jonas.” I crouched so she could see my face before I resumed assessing her condition. “I’m a nurse practitioner, and I’m going to help evaluate you.”

“Thank fuck. Midwife here.” Forehead creasing, she briefly shut her eyes. “Coming back from a birth, not a wild bar bender.”

Eric chuckled at that as he backed out of the room. His job was done, and mine was just beginning. We exchanged nods as he left. He’d gotten her this far, and it was up to me to keep her stable. While she was conscious, she was still a critical case, and I’d already noted a concerning lump on her temple, a possible broken leg, and more.

“Oh? How’d the birth go?” I needed to keep her talking. Her breathing was labored, undoubtedly from pain, but I had one eye on her vitals all the same.

“You planning a report?” Marissa narrowed her blue eyes.

“I was a homebirth myself, as were my siblings.” I didn’t go into detail beyond that, but I’d always respected the midwife profession. “Just curious.”

“Ah. In that case, it was a wonderful birth. Third baby, quick labor. Big sisters watching his arrival. Left the family with both grandmothers making midnight pancakes.” She paused to wince, a deep shudder. She was undoubtedly in a lot of pain. Eric had started an IV, but we were limited in what I could give her until more severe head or spine injuries had been ruled out. “I’m supposed to go back to the family in the morning. Stupid fluffing drivers.”

“Who can we call to cover for you?” I asked as we cut her ripped jeans off. At least the leg wasn’t a compound or open fracture, but I had no doubt the X-rays would show a break.

“My mother.” Marissa’s expression shifted to one of pride. “Already asked someone to call Mom. She’s on her way.”

“You’re a second-generation midwife?” I guessed. All this talking was a decent sign as far as head injuries went, and she was moving her hands and toes with good neurological signs. Her pupils were dilated from pain but otherwise fine.

“Third generation.” Marissa’s tone was proud, even as her speech was labored.

“Did the other two ride motorcycles too?” I asked as one of the nurses and I cut off her motorcycle jacket. Sucked to ruin something I knew was pricey, but I needed to examine her torso.

“Just me…” Marissa trailed off with a pained gasp as we revealed her torso. “Fuck. It hurts to breathe. Why does it hurt to breathe?”

I didn’t like the panic in her tone or how her skin had paled further. “Where is the pain?”

“Mountain. No.” Frowning, she licked her lip and then tried again. “Left. Left side.”

Confusion. That was a bad, bad sign, as was the pain being localized to her left side. I touched her rib cage, and she groaned. Spleen. I’d seen it enough times, and it was never good. Had to hope it was bruised, not rupturing, but I moved with more purpose, as did the rest of the room.

“Blood pressure’s dropping.” The nurse who had helped me cut Marissa’s clothes off pointed to the monitor.

Fuck. A rupture was a definite possibility, or other internal bleeding.

“Stay with us, Marissa,” I urged as she shut her eyes. “Tell me about the baby?”

“There’s a baby?” She frowned, voice going high and thready. “Where?”

More confusion. Her blood pressure continued to dip as her heart rate increased. Yeah, we had a bleeder somewhere.

“She’s crashing,” I called out. “Where’s Munson? We need an OR stat.”

“Working on it,” a nurse called back. “Munson’s evaluating the other patient, and we’re waiting on anesthesia.”

“We need an E-FAST.” There was no time for an ultrasound or CT scan to check for rupture, but the rapid portable sonograph to look for free fluid was standard in cases where we suspected internal bleeding. “Prepare for transfusion as well.”

Transfusion would only get us so far, but it might buy us enough time until a surgeon could get in here.

“Blood pressure still dropping.”

“Heart rate unstable.”

The room descended into a controlled storm of activity as we worked to stabilize Marissa as a team.

“Come on, Marissa.” My voice was more strident now. “Stay with us.”

Time was running out, and lord, where was that surgeon? My own heart rate was sky-high and sweat ran down my back.

“Elroy’s here.” One of the other nurses announced the arrival of an anesthesiologist I thought had retired with Munson fast behind him.

“We need to intubate.” Munson nodded at me with razor-sharp brown eyes as he took an immediate assessment of the situation. “Assist?”

“Ready.” I didn’t do a lot of intubations, but as an emergency nurse practitioner, I was trained and able to help Munson and Elroy get the patient prepped for surgery in record time.

“Let’s roll.” Munson didn’t waste a second in directing the team toward the OR, gurney racing through the hall, and I’d never been more relieved to leave a patient in surgery as the OR team took over. It would likely be a few hours before we knew more, but at least Marissa had a chance if Munson could stop the bleeding in time.

I needed a minute or twenty. Breathing hard, I headed toward the locker room, only to almost collide with Eric.

“She gonna make it?” he asked. From the concern in his eyes, he’d evidently heard some of what had happened with Marissa.

“God, I hope she makes it.” I let out a whistle, talking in a low voice. “Destabilized in a hurry. Internal bleeding, likely ruptured spleen.”

Eric took a long breath. “She seems like a fighter. Scrappy.”

“I know.” Some patients wiggled under our skin more than others, and Marissa was definitely in that memorable category. “What are you still doing here?”

“Paperwork.” Eric made a sour face. “Electronic reporting system is down because of the storm.”

“Ugh.” I made a sympathetic noise. “Was Sean on the call too?”

“No, thank God. He handled dinner at the house. I’m sure he’s already worried enough about Declan back in Arizona.”

“Yeah.” I tried for a neutral expression but apparently failed as Eric gave me a pointed look.

“As are you.”

I held up my hands. “We’re friends.”

“And you miss your friend.” Eric’s sympathetic but curious tone said he’d be open to hearing a confession, but I couldn’t. Which sucked because I could have really used an ear right then, but I couldn’t risk others finding out.

“I do.” I offered a little sliver of the truth. “No one else at the house gets my corny jokes or likes my mystery books.”

“Nice someone does.” Eric smiled broadly and jostled my shoulder. It was nice to see him smiling more these days, traces of his old humor back.

“Speaking of the house, don’t worry. I should be out of here in time to help with school in the morning.”

“Lifesaver. John and Rowan can usually handle mornings on their own, but I appreciate knowing Wren had something other than milk and microwaved bacon for breakfast.” Eric shook his head fondly. “Don’t know what our family would do without you.”

Our family. Eric’s words lingered even after we said goodbye and my shift continued. Eric appreciated me, no doubt. And the kids loved me. I was an honorary uncle, but I’d always be adjacent to the nuclear family. And hopefully someday, Eric would find a new partner, and I’d be the old bachelor uncle, pining for the boyfriend no one could know about.

Marissa’s injuries stayed at the forefront of my mind. I wasn’t Declan’s family. No one would call me if he were injured. Sean would pass on the news, but I wasn’t part of the Murphy clan either. Declan talked about how he’d never quite fit in with his big, boisterous family, but they’d claim him, no matter what. Unlike my own birth family. I was tired of always being on the outside looking in, wanting what I couldn’t have.

With Declan, for the first time, I’d had a glimpse of a happy ending for myself. We could be a little family, us and Oz. Maybe toss in a few more pets for good measure. The two of us simply fit together. But could I settle for remaining a secret?

I was still mulling over that question when I saw Doctor Munson coming down the corridor from the ER. He had his surgical cap still on, a mask around his neck, and heavy lines around his deep-set eyes.

“Doctor.” I stopped him, my pulse pounding. I almost didn’t want to ask, but I had to know. “How’s Darcy? The midwife motorcycle rider?”

“Jonas.” Munson managed a weary greeting. “She made it through. Not out of the woods yet, but we cleaned up the ruptured spleen, tracked down a few other bleeders. I was about to go talk to the family. Come with me?”

“Me?” I’d talked to plenty of families on my own and had delivered my share of good and bad news, but once we handed off a case, the surgeons or attendings usually handled family contact.

“You helped save her.” Munson nodded solemnly. Sharing credit was even rarer, and I nodded back before following him down the corridor. “Besides, you’re better with people, and I hear there’s a crowd for her.”

He was right. The waiting area was full of curly-haired folks with bright-blue eyes, many of whom looked to have been crying. An older woman sat in the center of the bank of chairs, women on either side of her, holding her hands. A few chairs down, a slightly younger Marissa clone was breastfeeding a tiny baby in a sling. A tall woman swayed in the corner, a toddler asleep in a back carrier. Two twenty-something young men dozed in chairs while another one watched something on his phone. This was family. This was love, right here in the open.

“Doctor?” The older woman’s face went ghostly white as she noticed Munson and me approaching. “Is she…?”

“There was a complete spleen rupture from blunt impact trauma and associated internal bleeding for us to contend with.” Munson hadn’t been joking about his people skills. He was stiff and overly formal and likely scaring this family further.

“She made it through surgery,” I interrupted to add before Marissa’s mother could pass out from worry. “She’s still critical, but Doctor Munson stopped the bleeding.”

“As best we could.” Munson’s mouth twisted. He was even worse at accepting praise than me. “The next twenty-four hours are going to be key.”

“She’s alive. You hear that, Mom?” One of the women holding the mother’s hands squeezed her.

“She’s a fighter,” another added, echoing Eric from earlier. “Thank you for giving her a chance.”

“She’s lucky to be surrounded by so much love.” I gestured at the whole room. “Keep the good energy coming for her, but make sure you all get food and sleep too.”

“When can I see her?” the mother asked.

“Mom. You just want to lecture her about the motorcycle.” The guy on his phone looked up long enough to gently joke. “Let Marissa rest.”

“She’s in recovery now. But once she’s transferred to ICU, we can see about some limited visitation.” Munson was still stiffer than a packing box, but his offer drew smiles from all around the room. He’d brought hope, and that was the important thing.

Walking back to finish my shift and clock out, I was flagged down by another supervisor, Dottie, one of my least favorite coworkers, who managed a lot of our scheduling.

“Jonas!” Dottie called out in a high trill. “Just the nurse practitioner I was hoping to see.”

“You need another shift covered?” I didn’t even try to hide my yawn. “I’m about to clock out, and I’ve already agreed⁠—”

“Not today, luckily,” she chirped. “You go home and sleep. But we had a callout for tomorrow. You’ll cover, right?”

Tomorrow. It was long past midnight, which meant tomorrow was the day Declan returned. Sean had already said he’d do the airport run, so I could accept the shift, see Declan a little later, have the talk we most definitely needed.

But I was tired. So very, very tired. I covered for everyone else to the point I seldom took my own advice to rest. Self-care? I had no clue what that would even look like for me. I turned to stretch, buying a few seconds to think, and caught a glimpse of Marissa Darcy’s family. They were all gathered together around Marissa’s mother, heads bowed in some sort of prayer or moment of thanksgiving. Family.

Longing hit me square in the chest.

Life was too short and precious to keep burying my deepest wants. It hurt to unearth those wants and acknowledge them in the daylight, but something had to change. Something had to give, and that something was me.

“Not this time.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Declan

A cold, drippy March rain greeted me upon my return to Portland, and by the time I made my way to my dad’s truck in the pickup line, full-on sheets of rain poured from the sky. For a moment, I missed the desert. Funny how fast I’d become used to the dryness again.

“You hungry?” Dad asked as we left the airport. “Denver will tease me about cheating on him with Portland food, but I’d rather get an early dinner and avoid the worst of this rain and rush hour.”

“Sure, we can eat. I skipped lunch,” I admitted as Dad turned away from the highway and toward the nearby shopping area filled with big-box stores and chain restaurants. He wasn’t nearly the foodie his boyfriend was, and I wasn’t surprised when he picked a local chain burger place. “And sorry for making you battle traffic. I know the flight was at an awkward time. I could have caught the Mount Hope shuttle⁠—”

Dad made an indignant noise as he parked near the restaurant’s entrance. “I’m not letting my kid catch the shuttle when I’ve got a perfectly working truck.”

“You sound like Grandpa.” I snort-laughed because it was true. Dad sounded exactly like his fire chief father.

“Turns out he has some wisdom.” Dad adopted a superior tone. “You’ll see someday.”

“You do know I’m an adult now.” I was still bristling at the kid remark, more so because of the talk we needed to have. I supposed a public restaurant wasn’t the worst choice for said talk, but it sure wasn’t the best. Accordingly, I was grateful when the young hostess seated us at a booth in the back.

“Yep.” Dad slid in across from me. “You can even order a beer with the dinner I’m about to buy you.”

“I can buy.”

“Adult, check. Generous, check.” Dad ticked items off on an imaginary list. “But I’m buying. I know bike parts aren’t cheap.”

Once a dad, always a dad. I was tempted to show him my bank account, which, despite meager beginnings when I was a rookie rider, now had a balance that surprised even me. Instead of snapping back like I might have another time, I softened my tone. “Have I said thank you enough? For helping me get my start?”

“Eh.” Cheeks going pink, Dad shrugged. For all our differences, we were equally bad at taking praise. “It’s what parents do. And your sister’s college wasn’t cheap either.”

“Well, thank you.”

Dad shook his head, eyes strangely sentimental. “Still not sure where you got the racing gene from, but everyone says you were born to ride.”

I had to chortle again. “My mom’s off in Antarctica, and my dad runs into burning buildings for shits and giggles, and you wonder how I fell in love with an extreme sport?”

Dad paused before replying as a waiter around my age with an impressive collar of neck tattoos arrived to take our orders. We both got the same Oregon cheddar and caramelized sweet onion burger and fries combo, and I ordered that beer. I had a feeling I was going to need it.

“I guess you did get a thrill-seeking gene,” Dad allowed after the waiter left. “I just always thought you’d be⁠—”

“A firefighter. I know.” I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Generation whatever of Murphys operating the hose.”

“Hey. I never pressured you to be a firefighter.” Dad frowned, leaning forward across the table to give me a hard stare. “Sure, that’s the Murphy legacy, but I never tried to force it on you.”

“I know.” I exhaled hard as the waiter returned with my beer and Dad’s soda. He was right that he’d never pushed for me to go to the fire academy, but that legacy he spoke of was a weighty thing, present at every family gathering, a continuing reminder of how I didn’t quite fit as a Murphy.

“And honestly, I was going to say baseball coach, which is likely as silly as thinking you’d be a firefighter.” He smiled. I didn’t. However, he continued, undeterred, “You always seemed a little older, quieter than the kids on your team, but you had a good grasp of the game. There’s this natural kindness to you as well. And for all your math scores never showed it, you could spit out stats like nobody’s business.”

“A coach?” I made a sour face, deliberately ignoring his compliments as they made me more than a little itchy. I wasn’t sure I saw myself as kind. I was trying, like when I did nice things for Jonas, but Dad seemed to have a better opinion of me than I did. “I’m not good with kids.”

“Seriously? Eric’s teens adore you, you have tons of kid fans like at the movie night, and your cousins think you hung the moon.” Expression skeptical, Dad gestured to count off examples. “And someday, you’ll be a great dad.”

And there was the other heavy part of the Murphy legacy. No matter how much my dad and other family members complained, matchmaking was in their blood. And once one of them found happiness, they wanted that for everyone else. Not to mention the family’s ever-growing size and love of grandkids and cousins.

“Not sure about that either.” My tone was guarded, but as usual, Dad didn’t pick up on the subtext.

“Maybe after racing?” he suggested, oblivious to the gnarly section of track he was wandering into. “Much as you like to fight it, it’s a young man’s sport.”

I made a pained noise. “Dad.”

“Hey, I’m sorry.” He held up a hand. “I don’t have to like it, but I know you’re going to race as long as you can.” He used a resigned tone before softening. “I’m your dad. It’s my job to want to keep you safe, even as an adult.”

“You’re a good dad.” My voice came out sadder than intended. He was an excellent dad, and my chest clenched at how long it had taken me to acknowledge that. My demons were mine, not caused by him, but those beasts had certainly added to the distance and tension between us.

“And you would be a good dad too.” Not surprisingly, Dad misinterpreted my wistfulness. “The right person is out there⁠—”

“I’m queer.” Well, there it was, and after all these years, it was remarkably easy to say. I liked the word, which I’d picked up from Rowan and his colorful friend group. Trying to sort out whether gay, bi, pan, or some other label fit best was tiring. I’d had sex with women but had never felt the sort of emotional connection I did with Jonas. Demisexual was another term I’d picked up from Rowan and Jonas, but it wasn’t exactly accurate for me. Queer, though, worked. I wasn’t straight, and that was the point I wanted to make.

“Okay. This is unexpected.” Dad swallowed audibly followed by an impressive amount of blinking and deep breathing.

“Your food.” The waiter bailed Dad out as he delivered our food in what was either the world’s worst or best timing. I tried not to dwell on whether the waiter had heard us. Too late now, and Dad’s reaction was the one that truly mattered.

I took a small bite of burger simply to have something to do other than catalog the kitschy Portland-inspired decor while waiting for Dad to speak. And considering how talkative the man usually was, his quiet deliberation made my back tense and my feet dig into the hardwood floor.

“I guess what I want to say first is that I love you,” Dad said at last. “I’ve always loved you, and this news doesn’t affect that one bit. But why… I’m sorry.” He shook his head as if he’d changed his mind about something. “Sorry. It’s not my place to question your timing.”

“But you’d like to.” It wasn’t a question as the confusion on Dad’s face was answer enough.

“Well, I always thought you knew this was the sort of thing you could come to your mom and me with.” Totally ignoring his food, Dad quirked his mouth. “And then I came out, so you had to know…” Sighing, he trailed off.

“I was so angry when you came out,” I admitted. I didn’t like to think about that day, how stunned I’d felt, almost physically ill. “I reacted badly, and I apologize for that.”

“Why were you angry at me?” he asked in a low, pained voice. Two bright-red splotches appeared on Dad’s cheeks.

“Not at you. At the irony.” I met his gaze even though the hurt there made my stomach clench. “I’d obsessed about who to tell and what to say for years, and you just go and come out, boom, done. And everyone’s fine about it. You made it look so simple.”

“I promise you it wasn’t, and I wouldn’t say I handled it the best either.” Dad gave a shaky laugh. “You’ve always been more serious. More of a thinker. So you were mad I beat you to the punch?”

“No. It had nothing to do with you being first.” I gestured vaguely, trying to gather my thoughts. I took another bite of food to buy more time, then a long drink of my beer.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to be a Murphy?” I tried again to explain. “My dad is a literal superhero in a long line of superheroes. Murphy men are tough. They play football. They’re firefighters, police officers, military personnel. They’re not queer.”

“But—” Dad started to protest, so I held up a hand.

“Except, apparently, some of them are queer. And the Murphys are cool with that now, but that doesn’t change how I spent years wondering if I’d arrived from another planet. I never fit in. I felt different from the start. I didn’t want to be a firefighter, didn’t like talking trucks and football. Being queer was one more big difference from the rest of the Murphy men.”

“I’m sorry, Declan. So sorry.” Dad sounded way too close to crying, and I had to look up at the ceiling, start counting tiles, because if I saw tears in his eyes, it would be over for me too. “You do fit in. You’ve always fit in. And there’s room in the family for all sorts of people.”

“I get that. Now.” I gave a harsh laugh because if someone had handed me a time machine right then, I would have grabbed it with both hands. “But as a kid? It was hard to believe. And then I found motocross, this place where I might belong. Racing felt right in a way nothing else had.” Well, nothing up until Jonas, but we weren’t to that part of my confession yet. “But the more I raced, I was even more certain I couldn’t come out, couldn’t be fully myself there either.”

“Times—”

“Are changing. I know. Every few months, another major sports player or coach comes out.” I didn’t want to admit how often I’d scrolled various out sports sites, looking for a roadmap and not seeing it despite the strides forward. Like Tony had said, comment sections were the devil. “I’ve watched Rowan the past few months. And you. And Tony and Caleb. I wish I could have grown up like Rowan, where being out isn’t a huge drama.”

“I wish that for you too.” Dad reached across to touch the back of my hand. His eyes were as sincere as I’d ever seen them. “And while I wouldn’t say it’s always been easy for Rowan, I get what you’re saying. Coming out is big and scary, and I worried about doing it, too, but it’s also freeing. I promise you the other side is worth it.”

“I’m starting to believe that.” I exhaled hard before taking another sip of beer, letting it coat my parched throat. “And maybe easy isn’t what I meant. I want to be his kind of confident. To wake up on a random Wednesday and decide it’s an eyeliner and glitter top day and to be able to say fuck anyone who disagrees.” Dad laughed, and I joined in before sobering. “But that’s not me. I hate being the center of attention. I always have. And coming out in my sport? Every eyeball would be on me, and I want to say fuck it and not care, but I’m not there yet.”

“I’m glad you told me though. So, so glad. And proud of you.” Dad nodded so earnestly that I feared he might jostle some vital organ loose. “You don’t have to come out on anyone’s timeline but your own. I’m sorry if I didn’t provide a safe enough space for you to do it sooner, but I’m glad you did.”

I wasn’t sure how to reply to that. The sounds of the half-full restaurant swirled around us with clinking glasses and murmurs from other conversations. I wasn’t quite far enough into my fuck it era to go give Dad a hug, but I nodded. “Thank you.”

“And when—if—you’re ready to come out to others, I’ll proudly stand beside you. You do belong, Declan, and there are so many of us who have your back. Starting with the Murphys, but also Denver, Eric, the kids, Tony, Caleb, Jonas⁠—”

“I’m in love with him.” Might as well get everything out now. It felt like some gasket had been removed in my soul, and now the truth, all the truth, could spill feely out. “That’s the other thing you need to know. I’m in love with Jonas.”

“Oh boy.” Dad whistled in through his teeth. “You’re hell on my cardiac health.”

“Sorry.”

“Is that why you decided to come out? You have a crush⁠—”

“It’s not a crush, and no. I needed to do this for me. Living half a life was slowly killing me, and I see that now.” Being alone on a strange mattress in Arizona had made that clear. I was in one of the most beautiful places on earth and miserable. I’d felt both invisible and exposed the whole visit, and that was no way to live. I met Dad’s gaze. “Pushing it down and pushing it down only meant I was that much closer to exploding.”

“Been there,” he said thickly, eyes suspiciously watery.

“Please don’t cry.”

“I’m just so sorry you were hurting and no one knew.”

“Because I didn’t want them to.” I opened my hands, encompassing all the years I could have spoken up and hadn’t. “But falling for Jonas…” I scrunched up my face, trying to find the right words. “It’s been…healing? Not that I was broken or missing something, but having him in my life makes me see the world differently. And it makes me want to share. I found this good thing, this amazing thing, and I can’t talk to anyone about it because I’m too chicken to come out? Fuck that. I’m not coming out for him, but this thing is too big to keep inside, to keep a secret.”

“And you shouldn’t.” Dad gave a resigned huff, eyebrows going high and tight. “I take it he knows you’re in love with him?”

“Sort of? Maybe?” I offered a sheepish smile. “I mean, I haven’t used those words exactly.”

“Ah.” Dad took yet another deep breath, and I could sense him counting to ten and trying to find a way to diplomatically object. “He’s a lot older. Like a lot. What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

“I kind of think he does. But regardless, I needed to come out.” I wasn’t sure I’d ever find the words to explain to Dad that I’d needed to come out to him first, that this was possibly the most important conversation I’d ever had, and that his acceptance meant more to me than he’d ever understand. “Also, I need to try to make it work with Jonas. I need to know I gave this my best shot. If it doesn’t work out, at least I’ll know I tried.”

“I can respect that.” Dad looked like he’d chewed up a lime wedge whole and chased it with a shot. It’d be comical if the subject weren’t my future.

“You’re trying super hard not to lecture right now, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea.” Giving another sour look, he groaned. “And Jonas is one of the very best people I know. Anyone would be lucky to have him.”

“Including me.” I smiled around another sip of my beer.

“I’m trying to wrap my head around the age difference.” Dad downed half his soda in a single sip. “He’ll be sixty when⁠—”

“Let’s not math.” I held up both hands. “I want to grow older with him. Will he get older faster? Maybe. No guarantees there, especially with my sport. And I like cozy mysteries, early dinners, and puzzles. I’m practically a senior citizen myself.”

“Okay. No math. No lectures.” Dad took a decisive bite of his burger. “I’m going to say good luck and mean it.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“That’s pretty much it.” I managed my first genuine grin during the whole conversation.

“Thank goodness.” Dad wiped his forehead, and we both chuckled. This was going to be okay. Now, if I could only say the same thing for Jonas and me.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jonas

Footsteps sounded on the basement steps, and I knew exactly who it was before I turned from my place on the couch, especially once I heard the snick of the door lock.

“You’re back.” Despite whatever complicated emotions I’d been warring with the past few days, my chest lifted and my step lightened as I rushed over to greet Declan.

“I am.” Declan hesitated at the bottom of the basement stairs. He looked undecided about whether to kiss me, so I decided for us both and offered a hug with outstretched arms. Exhaling gratefully, he settled into my embrace. “Were you asleep? It’s later than I’d hoped.”

“I was pretending to read.” I kissed the top of his head. Reading simply wasn’t the same without him around. I’d helped Rowan fold towels, walked Oz, called the hospital to check on Marissa Darcy who was continuing to make good progress in ICU, and otherwise tried to keep busy while waiting. “I tried watching a movie earlier but kept losing track of the plot. Guess I don’t do downtime well.”

Declan raised an eyebrow. “Surprised you didn’t pick up a shift.”

“Me too. I could have. But I said no.” I wasn’t telling him to score points but rather to acknowledge that I had been working too much. One of the dating apps that I’d tried in the past liked to talk about love languages, and while I thought they pretty much all applied to me, Declan was definitely someone who valued time and undivided attention. I hadn’t done the best at offering that the past few weeks. “I wanted to see you more than I wanted to work. I would have volunteered to pick you up, but your dad jumped on that. Didn’t want to make it awkward.”

“Thanks.” Declan offered a crooked smile. “Dad and I…uh…had a good talk on the way back.” Something about Declan’s uncertainty put me on edge, but I let him continue. “That’s why I’m later than expected. We stopped for dinner.”

“I’m glad you had time with your dad.” I wasn’t about to get jealous over Declan being late because of family time.

“I told him. About us. And me being queer, all that.”

“You what?” Releasing Declan from my embrace, I fell into a coughing fit. “Should I expect pistols at dawn?”

“No one’s dueling.” Declan rubbed my back. “And he’s not mad. Skeptical maybe, but not mad, and not at you.”

“At you?” I asked warily.

“No, not at me either.” Declan steered me toward the couch, probably worried I was about to topple over from this news. And maybe I was. I sat before pulling Declan down next to me. “I think he was still reeling from me coming out when I sprung us on him too.”

“Did you plan to tell him?” I peered closely at Declan, trying to suss out his mental state.

“Yeah. Rehearsed the whole plane ride.” He gave a self-conscious chuckle.

“My overthinker.” I tugged him back into my arms.

“It’s funny. I’ve spent ten years building up coming out as this enormous deal. And in the end, it was pretty damn easy, at least with my dad. He loves me.”

“As do a lot of people.” Myself included, but this wasn’t the moment to reveal that.

“I’m…um…not sure when I’ll go public.” Declan looked down at his hands. “I told Dad he could tell Denver and my sister. I’m calling my mom tomorrow. And⁠—”

“Little steps. It’s okay.” I needed to be happy he’d done this much and set aside my own worries and desires for a moment. He’d come out to Sean, which was a huge deal and, frankly, unexpected. No way was he coming out to his team or the public any time soon. “When do you go back to Arizona?”

“It’s not okay.” Frowning, Declan turned to stare me down. “I don’t want to be a secret any longer.”

“There’s a difference between secret and private.” I tried to sound mature, but all I earned was a scoff from Declan.

“Not much.” He shook his head, continuing to glower. “I eventually want to be public. No more hiding from anyone. And I don’t know on going back.”

“What do you mean?” My stomach clenched around a ball of conflicting emotions. “I saw the video of you riding. Sure looked like the doctor cleared you.”

“The doctor did.” Declan shrugged, sounding pretty damn casual for someone who had received news he’d waited four months for. “But I’m taking the season off.”

“You’re what? No. No, you’re not.” I waved away the very notion.

“I am. Done deal.” Declan shot me his most stubborn expression, chin out, eyes icy blue.

“You’re taking off because you don’t want to come out publicly yet?” I didn’t care how done of a deal this was. I couldn’t allow Declan to decide his future based on an ultimatum I hadn’t made.

“No.” He put his hands on my shoulders, meeting my gaze. “I’m not going to lie and say that our relationship isn’t a factor, but it’s a small one. Mainly, it’s that I’m scared to ride.”

“You’re scared?” It was a word I’d never once associated with Declan. For better or worse, he was the most fearless person I knew. Even in the hospital, he’d been ready to return to riding, his only fear being the doctors not clearing him. “You’re scared of another concussion or injury?”

“Yeah.” Declan sounded far away, as if he were still working some of this out for himself. “For the first time since I started riding, I have something to live for, something I don’t want to lose other than the race.”

“Oh, Declan.” I didn’t want to think about all the years he hadn’t cared enough whether he survived, only whether or not he won.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” he ordered. “I had an amazing run. But when I took that first ride back with Cyrus, I was riding scared, and that’s as dangerous as riding reckless. I was tense and overthinking every move.”

“You? Overthinking?” I tried to joke, but inside, my brain was reeling. Declan voluntarily deciding to take time away from riding was something I hadn’t ever considered.

“Yeah. And then I started overthinking the medical stuff. I want a third opinion on my TBI and concussion risk.”

“That’s smart. You might be able to do that before the season starts.” My heart pounded. Was I really trying to talk him into racing?

“I don’t want to do that. I’m not ready.” Declan sounded frustrated. “I thought you’d be happy about me not racing.”

“I don’t know what I am,” I admitted. “Your mental and physical health matters. I just don’t want this thing between us to be the reason.”

Maybe Declan wasn’t the only scared one. I simply couldn’t believe I could offer him enough to make up for the loss of racing. Terror raced through me. What if I wasn’t enough? What if he was doing this for all the wrong reasons? I shuddered, and Declan frowned.

“Can’t you trust me?” This time, he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. “I’m not going to blame you for a decision I’m making for me. I want time to see who I am without racing.”

“Who you are is pretty wonderful. With or without racing, and I support either choice.” I held his face in my hands. “Don’t have regrets. If you want to race without coming out yet, I understand.”

“That’s exactly it.” Declan put his hands over mine. “I don’t want regrets. I don’t want to regret racing. I don’t want to regret doing long distance with you and always wondering what would have happened if I stayed. I don’t want to regret another concussion. The bottom line is that I need time to figure out what I do want.”

“Then you’ll get that time.” I’d go to battle to ensure he got anything he needed, time included. “All the time you need to make a final decision.”

“And it’s not only time for more opinions and research on concussion risk. I want time with you. Time with myself. I want to meet who I am when I live my truth, and yeah, I can do that and race, but I want space to discover that person away from the track.”

“Wow.” I gazed at him with utter astonishment and pride. So much pride. How was this creature mine? “I can’t wait to meet that person too.”

“Trust me,” he repeated before he kissed me softly. “Whoever I become, I’m still going to want you. This thing between us…” He paused to inhale sharply. “It’s everything.”

“It is,” I agreed. “And you’re everything I ever wanted. That’s why it’s so hard for me to trust. I can’t believe you’re actively choosing to be with me.”

“Jonas.” After making an exasperated noise, he gave me a firm kiss. “Anyone who wouldn’t choose you is a damn fool. I don’t want to miss out on a single minute with you.”

“Me either.” I kissed him back then because it was that or let him see me weep. Relief. I hadn’t realized how deeply I’d assumed he wasn’t coming back to me until he said he was staying. Ignoring my damp cheeks, I kissed him and kissed him until he started tugging at the hem of my black T-shirt from a blood drive a few years back.

“Off,” he demanded. “Skin now.”

“Shouldn’t we slow down?” I asked, even as I let him drag me the few feet to the bed while shoving our clothing off.

“I think we’ve gone slow enough.” He tossed his hoodie and T-shirt off in a single move. “Remember who I am? I’m all about the speed. And you.”

“I’m all about you too.” I chuckled and let him push my flannel pants down and off. “But should we talk more? About everything?”

“I don’t wanna talk more right now.” Declan stepped out of his jeans, naked and glorious. I loved his muscles, his freckles, his smooth skin, his hard and waiting cock. Everything. “I’m all talked out, and I missed you.” He tumbled us both onto the bed. I landed on top of him, and he wriggled like a happy rabbit under me. “Missed this. Need this.”

“Me too.” Gratitude coursed through me right along with desire. I kissed my way down his chest to his sensitive nipples, toying with them until he was bucking under me, dragging against whatever part of my torso he could get to. “I love how responsive you are here.”

I sucked one of his nipples into my mouth, strumming it with my tongue as he moaned. “Don’t wanna come this way.”

“I love that possibility.” I chuckled darkly. “But I suppose we should give some attention to your poor, ignored cock.”

I slithered lower, intent on taking him in my mouth, but I barely got a single lick out before he shoved at my shoulder. “Wait.”

“Wait?” I raised an eyebrow. I’d never known him to turn down oral. “Thought you were all about fast?”

“I am, but I wanna kiss you too.” Declan tugged at my arm. “Come here?”

“Yes.” Frot had always been one of my favorite things, and I loved how he seemed to crave it as much as I did. I grabbed the lotion from my bedside table and slicked our cocks before settling over him.

As always, I started off a bit self-conscious of our size difference, balancing my weight mainly on my arms. Declan was having none of that and yanked me firmly against him until we were as close as two people could be, with no daylight between us, sharing the same air as we kissed, long and leisurely.

In fact, the more I let myself settle against Declan’s body, the more turned on he seemed, wriggling and grinding, hooking a leg over mine to hold us even tighter together. His frantic movements did it for me too, made my cock that much harder, made me move more purposefully with him.

He ran his hands all over my back and arms, holding me tightly while making soft little moans. We were both trying to be quiet, and I kept kissing him to try to disguise our moans, but it was hard not to shout with how good this felt, how right, how my whole body burned for this man.

Declan grinned up at me, and my breath got lost somewhere in my throat. His joy was almost palpable, but the emotion in his eyes got to me the most. Connection. Caring. Gratitude. Maybe even love, which was definitely what we were making. Every kiss, every touch, every slide of our cocks against each other, every thrust, we were building and affirming that connection.

I loved the simplicity of frot, but that was also its beauty—the magnified sensations of my fuzzy chest rubbing against his, our legs tangled together, the stripe of hair on his belly against my cock, the salty-sweet taste of his lips, the rise and fall of our synced breathing.

“Jonas.” Declan’s voice had an urgent edge to it. “Close…”

“It’s okay. Come with me.”

“Yes. Together.” He thrust harder against me, his cock driving into the crease of my hip. His head fell back, mouth open on a silent moan. I’d been wrong. This, this was the beauty, the ability to witness his pleasure and satisfaction as he came between us.

“Me too, baby. Me too.” The extra slickness of his come always did it for me. A few more thrusts and I was coming all over his stomach.

The room smelled like sex, and I had no idea what time it was, early or late, because I was already partway asleep when Declan used one of our shirts to give the barest nod toward cleanup. He nestled in beside me, head finding its spot on my shoulder, and neither of us woke until bright sunlight filtered through the basement windows.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Declan

“Would this be considered a walk of shame?” Rowan lounged against the wall directly across from the basement stairs. I’d awoken to the bright morning light and the sound of an awake household. I’d scrambled for my clothing, grabbed a handy basket of clean towels, motioned to Oz to follow me, and hoped I could make it upstairs undetected before Jonas woke up.

“Uh…” I held up the basket of rolled towels. “I was doing laundry?”

“In Jonas’s shirt?” Rowan gestured at my shirt. Oh fuck. We’d both had on black T-shirts yesterday, and I’d totally spaced on using mine for clean up after we’d had sex last night. No way could I pass off Jonas’s blood drive shirt as one of mine. “And you didn’t sleep in your bed last night.”

“Um…” I made a distressed noise as I made a beeline to the backdoor like it was a holeshot and a championship was on the line. I set the towels aside since no one was buying my excuses anyway.

“Morning.” Eric saluted me from where he sat on a stool at the island. He pointed over at the coffee pot. “Coffee is ready.”

“Thank you.” After letting Oz out, I stumbled to the coffee maker and poured myself a giant cup, added enough sugar and milk to soothe my battered nerves, and turned back to Rowan, who’d followed me to the kitchen. “How do you know where I slept last night?”

“Simple process of deduction,” Wren spoke up from over by the fridge. Damn it. Of course, they were awake too. Might as well bring the whole house in on this. I’d wanted to come out to the house, but this was a bit…abrupt. Not that anyone seemed to particularly care. Wren pointed toward the back hallway. “If you’d seen what Rowan did to your room, you would have said something.”

“Should I be worried?” I decided to leave the question of where I’d slept last night for the moment. I headed toward my room, both kids right behind me.

“Perhaps.” Rowan sounded near giddy, and I was surprised he’d managed to last this long without showing me. “It’s not a black color scheme.”

“Or motorcycle themed.” Wren cackled, a perfect mad scientist laugh. “Which is probably just as well since you’re unlikely to be sleeping up here much.”

“Nuh.” I made a strangled noise as I turned back toward Wren.

“What?” They held up their hands. “Just an observational fact.”

“But regardless of where you sleep, the room needed the overhaul.” Rowan gestured for me to open the door.

“Wow.” I stepped inside, taking in the transformation. Gone were the avocado walls, replaced with a white with the barest hint of yellow without being ivory or cream. The heavier drapes and blinds had been replaced with airy curtains. My light-sensitive eyes would likely curse the dawn, but the overall effect was sunny and light. My bed had been remade with a light-blue puffy comforter, and the weird side chair had been replaced by a large wicker rocker. The dark dresser had a fresh coat of white paint as well as new hardware. “What a difference.”

“The color is called Fresh Start.” Rowan pointed at the walls. “It was time.”

“It was,” Eric added from behind the kids. His voice sounded nasal, like perhaps he was coming down with a cold or allergies. “And Rowan ran with a tiny budget and a lot of thrifting.”

“It’s impressive.” I turned back toward Rowan. “You should hire yourself out.”

Rowan snorted before cackling exactly how Wren had. “There are probably better ways to rent myself out in LA.”

“LA?” I grinned even as Eric looked rather grim. Rowan, on the other hand, looked utterly delighted. “You got the part?”

“I got the part.” Rowan gave a little shimmy. “And the streaming service ordered a full season. They’ve got Michelin Moses and Embellish signed on as consultants, so you know the soundtrack will be good.”

“I’m sure.” I didn’t recognize either musician name, but I trusted Rowan to have a finger on the pulse of teen tastes. “When do you leave?”

“Filming starts in June, after graduation. Funny, I’m graduating only to return to high school a week later.”

“No college?” I asked gingerly, having a feeling it was a loaded topic.

“Not yet.” Rowan pursed his mouth. “I deferred a year in case this doesn’t work out. Compromise with Dad.”

“I’m happy for you.” I patted him on the shoulder.

“Thank you.” He beamed, turning my pat into a full-on hug. “And I’m happy for you too. You give me hope. If you can find the older man of your dreams, mine is out there too.”

I gulped, but everyone else laughed. Clearly, my coming out had gone fine without me doing a damn thing.

“Lord, save us from that.” Eric released a low groan. “Maybe there’s a monastery renting rooms in LA?”

“Ooooh, single, older, devout men.” Tone mischievous, Rowan gave a sly grin. “I love it already.”

Jonas came up stairs right then to be greeted by Oz, who had been let back in the house. Approaching the crowd at the door to my room, Jonas pulled up short as his gaze dropped to my chest.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

“Apparently, I am.” Grinning, I smiled, but Jonas’s expression was one of wide-eyed horror.

“Must have been a laundry mix-up.” His voice came out way too hearty.

“That gate already dropped.” I gestured at the three others. “I think they figured it out.”

“We can be discreet though.” Eric shot warning glances at both teens. “No gossiping, especially around Sean⁠—”

“My dad knows,” I interrupted his warning. And surprisingly, that sentence didn’t feel as odd as it had last right. Rather, I had a new sense of calm, aided by Eric and the kids’ non-reactions. “Which means Denver knows. I’m not scheduling a press conference or anything, but you don’t have to keep my secrets.”

“Your dad knows, and Jonas is still alive?” Eric tilted his head, gaze swiveling between Jonas and me.

“I know.” Jonas still looked rather pained, mouth tight. “It’s a miracle to me too.”

“This calls for bacon.” Wren headed back to the kitchen. Phone out, Rowan followed distractedly behind.

“Seriously, you guys okay?” Eric asked me and Jonas. “No…drama?”

“Yeah. Being out is good.” I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of fresh paint and cleaning products. Fresh start. For all of us. I was far more at peace than I could have ever predicted. “And there’s about to be bacon. It’s a good morning.”

“It is.” Eric nodded, but his gaze had shifted from Jonas and me back to the newly redecorated room.

“The room looks good.” I gestured widely. “Thanks for letting Rowan paint.”

“It was time.” Eric’s voice sounded far away.

“Time for you to move back downstairs?” I made the suggestion because for my entire stay in the house, Eric had lived in a tiny room on the third floor. He deserved to reclaim the primary bedroom.

“Let’s not get crazy.” Eric offered up a ghost of a smile. “But the lure of my own bathroom again isn’t a terrible thing.”

“And where are you going if Eric moves downstairs?” Jonas asked as Eric wandered back toward the kitchen.

“Where do you think?” I gave him a meaningful grin, complete with an eyebrow waggle.

“Oh, you think so, do you?” Stepping into the room, Jonas put his hands on my waist as he adopted a scolding tone. “I don’t recall posting a roommate ad.”

“It’s a practical use of the space available here,” I said archly, confident he wasn’t about to kick me out of his bed. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good. I suppose you can stay.” He started to lean in for a kiss, then glanced back at the open door. “This okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it is.” I gave him a decisive kiss, which turned hot in a hurry. I glanced over at the bed. “Do you have to work today?”

“Nope. I turned down shifts for yesterday and today. Monday is an admin day though.”

“Two days off in a row.” I darted around him to close the door. I didn’t really intend to jump his bones with Eric and the teens in the kitchen, but making Jonas blush bright red was fun. “Let’s get crazy, indeed.”

“I’m going to do that more.”

“Get wild?” Returning to his side, I winked at him.

“Days off. I’ve never been good about putting myself first, but I want to work on it.” He pulled me toward him again. “For us. I want to put us first, and that means not always saying yes to everyone else first.”

“No, it means putting yourself first and then us.” I wagged a finger in his face. “You have needs and goals and dreams too.”

“I guess I do.” Jonas shrugged like he’d never bothered to consider his own desires.

“You do,” I said firmly. “Tell me a secret dream.”

Jonas shook his head like the very notion was silly. “You. Seriously, just having a partner. Someone to do life with. Someone to care about.”

“Okay, you’ve got me for that.” I turned my pointer finger into a magic wand. “And?”

“What do you mean and?” Jonas scoffed. “That’s the dream.”

“It’s hardly a secret one.” I rolled my eyes as everyone who’d ever met Jonas could likely guess he was the relationship type. “Come on, Jonas. Dream big.”

Closing his eyes, he scrunched up his face like letting this much hope in was painful. I held him close, silently encouraging him.

“I have a storage unit,” he said softly. “Sometimes I think about getting a little house. Eric won’t need me here forever. It would be nice to have someone to come home to, a partner like I said, and Oz, of course, and maybe a friend for Oz.”

“Pack of dogs, check.” I kissed him soundly on the cheek. “And I’m a Murphy.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.” I leaned into the mysterious tone before chuckling. Maybe Jonas couldn’t bring himself to say the words, but I could read between the lines of his little dream. “I’m bringing you to Easter dinner. Expect questions about adoption and surrogacy by dessert.”

“You want kids?” He pulled back to stare into my eyes. The cautious hope I saw in his was all the confirmation I needed to nod.

“I’m told I’m not terrible with them.” I shrugged like this was a totally casual, normal conversation instead of the most important talk of my life. “Maybe someday I’ll want some kids to get mini-bikes for.”

“Let’s get crazy.” Jonas sounded dazed, but I simply grinned.

“I could get behind that dream of yours, the house, dogs, family.”

Jonas looked all emotional as he swallowed hard. “A family. That’s the dream.”

“Then I want to give you that.” I made my voice as confident as I could, even as my insides shuddered. “I love you. Let me try to make your dreams come true?”

“Yes.” Jonas released the word with a gasp, then narrowed his eyes at me. “You love me?”

“How could I not?” I gave him a fast, hard kiss. “And I’ll probably screw up in trying to give you everything you deserve, but hopefully you’ll be patient with me.”

“How could I not?” He echoed me with a small, hopeful smile. “I love you too.”

“Good.” I’d been pretty sure he did, but hearing the words for the first time still made me giddy, drunk on endorphins. “Because I was serious about bringing you for Easter. Prepare to be a Murphy.”

I kissed his surprised reaction away, continuing until he was too distracted to ask whether the Murphy bit was a joke. It wasn’t. He’d see.

Chapter Thirty

Jonas

April in Oregon was one of those months we longtime residents looked forward to all year. The snowy days were behind us, tulips and daffodils flooded front yards, and mild temperatures greeted the return of outdoor entertaining. Mount Hope was awash in spring decor. In fact, my Saturday shift had been full of minor Easter egg hunt injuries—three sprained ankles, a wrenched wrist, a bumped head, and a bite from an angry toddler. All in all, a good shift to head into a few days of downtime.

But first, I had to survive a gauntlet on par with passing my various nursing license exams.

“Is that what you’re wearing to the Murphys for Easter?” Eric knocked before coming down the basement stairs with a hamper of dirty towels.

“Yeah.” I glanced worriedly at my pressed blue dress shirt, navy tie, and gray slacks. “What’s wrong with my outfit? Folks usually dress up for Easter dinner.”

“Not worried about Sean strangling you with the tie?” Eric shot me a wicked grin.

“He’s been surprisingly good about this whole thing.” I tried to sound positive when, in truth, I was pretty sure Sean had spent the last few weeks avoiding me. We’d made stilted small talk in passing, but our longer conversations and closeness felt like a distant memory.

“Uh-huh.” Eric sounded unconvinced. “Also, brave of you to wear something dry clean only to the Murphys. I always feel like they’re one tossed roll from a food fight over there.”

“Should I be worried about family drama?” I adjusted my tie. I wasn’t about to change, not with Declan ready any moment, but now my nerves were surging all over again.

“It’s the Murphys.” Eric shrugged as he loaded towels into the washer. “There’s always drama. But you’ll be fine.”

“And you? Will you be okay today?” I needed a shift away from myself as the conversation topic. I still wasn’t used to this much chatter around my love life or life in general.

“Maren’s in town. The kids have created an Easter menu where every dish has bacon, and we have enough dyed eggs for six hunts.” Eric grinned widely. “Things are good.”

We’d passed the one-year mark of Montgomery’s death in quiet acknowledgment, all of us reaching out to Eric and the kids as they entered the second year of their journey without Montgomery’s large presence. And something seemed to have shifted within Eric in recent weeks, a return of his easier smiles and teasing nature. He’d always been the most serious of us and a silent leader, but he seemed less stoic these days.

“I’m glad.” Seeing my friend happy made my shoulders lift as I returned his smile. “You know you still have me, right?”

“Buddy, nothing is ever destroying our friendship.” Eric crossed the room to clap me on the shoulder. “You falling in love is a good thing, not a stressor. And with Rowan deciding against college, my financial pressures are a lot less. I’ll be okay when you move out.”

I made an indignant noise, but I wasn’t faking my shock. “Who says I’m moving out?”

“You will.” Eric met my gaze before glancing at my made bed where Declan had spent the majority of the last month. Oz was currently lounging on the couch, and okay, the basement was a little cramped for the two of us and slightly lacking in privacy, but we managed. “And all of us will be fine when you move on.”

“Yeah,” I agreed weakly. Unlike previously, the reminder that eventually I’d move on and not be as needed by Eric and the kids didn’t sting. I finally had more of my own life, my own future, and thanks to Declan, my own dreams.

“I fully expect Sean and Denver to need more space eventually too, and I’ll be the old, crotchety landlord with an ad up at the college for rooms to rent.”

“You’re not old. And you might find⁠—”

“Some good renters.” Eric finished my sentence before I could renew my bid for him to think about dating. “You better hurry, or you’ll be late to the Murphys.”

“A mortal sin.” I took the hint and made my way upstairs to where Declan was waiting by his new truck. The sleek black full-sized truck was another sign that Declan was sticking around Mount Hope for a while, giving him something to drive other than borrowing vehicles and rugged enough for any local races he might want to attend over the summer as a spectator.

He drove across town to his grandparents’ house, Sean’s folks’ place, which they’d had as long as I’d known Sean, although they also now had a small condo in California. Between Sean, his sisters, and assorted other Murphy family and friends, we struggled to find a parking space on the street.

“Oh look, the neighbor is selling.” Declan pointed to a sign in front of an older split-level that looked like something out of a classic comedy. “Probably tired of all the Murphys parking on the street.”

“Probably.” I was way more nervous than I’d expected to be as we walked up the sidewalk. Sean and Denver must have arrived shortly before us because they were ahead of us on the sidewalk. They paused near the neighbor’s For Sale sign, deep in conversation. Perhaps Eric had been onto something there, but I had little time to contemplate as we were swept into an April shower worth of family greetings, food, Easter outfit admiring, and kid antics.

An hour in, and I was more exhausted than after an eighteen-hour shift. But so far, other than Sean giving us a noticeably wide berth, everyone had been nice, if overly talkative. I could see now where Declan had struggled to find his spot in this loud family, and I was glad to be the place where he could find quiet refuge. However, the Murphys were also good people who knew how to cook, and I enjoyed myself more than I’d expected.

“T minus fifteen minutes, and then we’re escaping for a drive.” Coming up beside me in the family room in the back of the house, Declan leaned in to whisper in my ear. “I think we’re both ready to bail.”

“I’m okay with staying as long as you want.” I gave a nominal protest even as I eyed the front door.

“Nope.” Declan chuckled. His sister was in town for the holiday, and she’d grilled him throughout most of the buffet-style meal. His eyes looked happy but tired, much as I also felt. “You’re overwhelmed, and so am I, and there’s something I want to show you before it gets dark.”

“That sounds promising.” As did getting away from the hectic party.

“But first, I need to hit the dessert table, or Grandma will have my hide. What can I get you?” He headed back toward the dining room.

“Surprise me,” I said as I followed. I would have joined him in picking out my own, but I caught sight of Sean in the living room, sitting by himself with a sleeping redheaded Murphy baby on his lap. “I’ll take anything without coconut.”

“I can do that.” Declan strode over to the crowd of kids standing around the side table piled high with vanilla egg-shaped cake, strawberry pie, Easter-themed sugar cookies, and more.

I took the opportunity to walk over to where Sean sat in a recliner by the window. His mother had Disney decor in almost every nook in the house, so I wasn’t surprised to find a Magic Kingdom throw on his recliner or a Sleeping Beauty romper on the little Murphy napping on his lap.

“Hey,” I whispered. “On uncle duty?”

“Yep.” He patted the sleeping baby’s rump as he glanced up at me. “Nice tie.”

“You too.” I gestured at his tie, which was undoubtedly a gift from his mother as it featured cartoon firefighters. “Nice weather.”

“Nice day for it,” Sean agreed. “Good food. Family’s all here. Glad you could make it.”

I sighed because, apparently, it was on me to bring up the Declan-sized elephant lodged firmly between us.

“I hate this.”

“What?” Sean frowned. “Being here?”

“No, this tension between us.” I kept my voice low, not wanting to wake the baby or attract attention. “The thing we haven’t talked about for weeks. I miss my friend.”

“I get that.” Briefly shutting his eyes, Sean exhaled hard. “And I’m trying to give you and Declan space. It would be really easy to lecture you both.” His tone was resigned but not without humor. “But then you’ll run away, likely together. So I’m biting my tongue. A lot.”

“I appreciate that.” I met his gaze as he opened his eyes again. “And I know I’m older.”

“Yep.” Sean gave a measured nod. “I want him happy whether it’s you, racing, whatever. But I won’t deny liking having him home, and I know that’s partly because of you, so thanks.”

“I want him happy too.” I tried to put all my sincerity into my voice. I’d give absolutely anything for Declan, and I wanted Sean to understand the depth of my feelings. “He makes me happy too. And I promise to do everything in my power to keep him happy.”

“I know you will.” Sean closed his eyes again, shifting the baby to his other shoulder. “And yes, you’re older, but that one gay celebrity couple Rowan is always talking about has a twenty-year age gap, and they just welcomed baby number three.”

“Yeah,” I said absently, studying the tiny Murphy and her wee little pink bow and itty bitty shoes peeking out from under her half-on princess blankie.

“You better not let my mom or sisters see that wistful face, or they’ll have a list of adoption and surrogacy agencies ready.”

“Understood.” I chuckled, then sobered. “So, we’re cool?”

“We’re cool.” Sean smiled slowly, the first genuine smile I’d seen from him in weeks.

“Cake!” Declan arrived then, loaded down with cake plates. “Brought you some too, Dad.”

As soon as he’d handed out the plates, Declan earnestly grabbed my hand as if he’d protect me from all comers, his father included. My chest lifted and swelled, struggling to contain my heart.

“And it’s nice to see you two talking. You look great today, Dad. And⁠—”

“We’re not fighting.” Sean laughed before Declan could ramble on, and I joined in. “I was telling Jonas that if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“I am happy.” Declan beamed. “Are you happy enough to cover for us leaving early? There’s something I want to show Jonas.”

“That thing you showed⁠—”

Declan made a warning noise as he cut off his father. “As a surprise.”

“Ah. Yeah, go on after your cake.” Sean made a shooing motion with his free hand before settling the sleeping baby again. “And I’ll save you from Grandma loading you down with leftovers.”

“Knew I loved you.” Declan made a loud kissing sound over his father’s head, and the three of us laughed. Maybe our friendship was salvageable after all. Changed, but not destroyed.

A short time later, we were on one of the smaller county highways leading away from Mount Hope.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re driving?” I shifted around in the passenger seat, trying and failing to guess what the surprise might be.

“East.”

I groaned. “I can see that.”

“Patience.” Declan shot me an exasperated look. “You’re a bad passenger princess.”

“Sorry.” I grit my teeth to avoid asking how much longer.

“And usually, I love letting you drive.” Declan’s tone turned suggestive. “But just trust me this one time.”

“Okay.” I calmed my racing brain as Declan turned down a long, bumpy country road and then an even longer, bumpier private drive. Declan pulled up near an older home, somewhere between a cabin and farmhouse in style, and likely a good fifty-plus years past any major renovations. The whole property had an overgrown, neglected feel, with blackberry brambles along a sagging fence near the house and more weeds than grass. Beyond the house was a huge pasture of some sort and several aged outbuildings in various states of disrepair. The place had an empty, eerie air and smelled like wet dirt and pine. “Where are we?”

“You’ll see.” Declan gave a sly smile as he exited the truck, and I followed suit. “Back in the seventies, this was one of the area’s first private dirt bike tracks.” Declan gestured at what I’d assumed to be pasture land. “An old pumpkin and dairy farmer left the place to his dirt bike racing hippy kid who turned it into a track of sorts. Then, more recently, the hippy’s kids had no idea how to keep it up, so it stayed empty a lot of years while they argued their way through probate.”

“The property is for sale?” I took a closer look around, taking in the house’s metal roof, intact windows, and wide porch. Potential. Narrowing my eyes, I turned my attention to the land beyond the house, trying to see what Declan might see there. Acres of land for sure, heading into woods that presumably dropped down to the nearby river. Where I saw lumpy earth, rocks, and weeds, a dirt bike rider might see paradise.

“It’s not on the market yet. But my mechanic, Joey, knows someone who knows someone. I could get a good deal on it.” Declan’s arch tone was smug, but there was also an uncertainty that gave me pause. My pulse sped up and sweat gathered at the back of my neck.

Walking toward the house, I stepped inside the saggy front fence. A long time ago, there had been a raised garden bed on the side of the house. Every window was dusty, but I envisioned new, upgraded windows in their place. Fresh paint. Shored up porch. Replaced fencing. I hadn’t peeked in the windows yet, but I could imagine a full kitchen and bath remodel, if nothing else.

“I know it’s not much now.” Declan followed behind me. “It’s got good bones, though, or so the real estate agent says.”

“Might take a lot of work to find those bones,” I warned. “Do you have any DIY aspirations?”

“I’m Sean Murphy’s kid.” Declan used a bragging tone even as the uncertainty remained in his eyes. “Dad made sure I had my own set of tools before I had a bike. And full disclosure, I showed him the place already. I wanted to make sure the DIY king agreed about the potential.”

“Well then.” My brain spun, fast heart rate making me a bit spacey and dazed. I wasn’t sure exactly what Declan was after here, but something made me undeniably twitchy with anticipation. “And you like the place?”

“Oh yeah.” Declan’s voice went dreamy and fond, like a teen seeing a classic project car for the first time. “I figure a lot of evenings and weekends working out here until the house is habitable. Then there’s the work to make the track rideable again. Not for actual races, mind you. But as a practice facility.”

“For you?” I’d support him no matter what, even if this was a waystation on his road to professional racing again.

“Among others.” Declan’s tone went cagey. “John’s friends need someone who knows what the hell they’re doing coaching them up.”

“Who’ll coach them when you’re back on the pro circuit?” I stared at the house, imagining it fixed up yet remaining empty and lonely.

“I’m still leaning toward retirement.” Declan threw an arm around me. “This seems like a nice place for a retired couple, yeah? The first step is some rocking chairs for the porch over there.”

“Declan. I’ll be okay if you race pro again.” I turned to peer deep into his eyes. I needed him to believe me. “I promise. Like your dad said, everyone simply wants you happy. Me very much included. Racing or not. I want whatever makes you happiest, baby.”

“You. You make me happiest.” He stretched to offer me a kiss. For someone who’d remained closeted so long, he’d become remarkably comfortable with open affection the past few weeks. “We’ll figure the rest out, but this life we’re building, that’s what I want.”

“And you want this place to be a part of that life?”

“If you do.” Declan tossed the question back at me, but the want in his eyes was unmistakable. “It’ll be a lot of work. Probably months until we can move in. It might be haunted. There’s a secret room.”

“I’m down for a mystery. And work.” I matched his somber tone. “I can pitch in. I know my way around a drill too. I’ve got savings if you want my help.”

“Of course I want your help.” Declan looped his arms around my neck. “I want to do it together. You did want me to find a hobby after all.”

“This is a pretty big hobby.” I gestured at the acres surrounding us before embracing him back. “And yes, we can tackle it together.”

“Good.” He grinned so wide the corners of his lips almost touched his ears. And his eyes turned even bluer with relief as he exhaled. “Good.”

“You already put an offer in, didn’t you?” I adopted a stern tone even as I smiled back.

“Patience and impulse control aren’t my strong suits.” He offered a sheepish look. “But I had a Plan B if you hated it.”

“Kissing me until I changed my mind?” I suggested, going in for a kiss myself, but he sidestepped to grab my hand instead.

“And show you this.” He led me around to the back of the house, which had another fenced-in garden area, this one with a mini cabin that was either a playhouse or a fancy doghouse, and either way, I loved it.

“Okay, you win.” I chuckled, pulling him in for a swift kiss. “Finalize your offer. I’m all in.”

“I love you.” Far from unreadable, his expression held such trust and tenderness that every doubt I had about him, this thing between us, the age difference, how fast we were moving, faded in the face of his unwavering love.

“I love you too,” I whispered before kissing him again, longer this time. And before my eyes drifted shut, I took one more look at that miniature house. Fresh paint there, maybe some flower boxes. Little kitchen inside, along with a shelf for books and a small padded bench big enough for a kid and a couple of dogs. Put some paver stones leading to the backdoor, and it would be perfect. Exactly like we were together.

Epilogue

Declan

Graduation day in Mount Hope dawned sunny and clear, the early June perfection everyone had counted on. Gardens were sprouting all around town. Grandma kept forcing baby lettuce blends on our house. Meanwhile, Denver and other cooks had started their weekly treks to the farmers’ market, where strawberry season was in full swing. Rowan had requested strawberry shortcake for a graduation dessert while Caleb’s brother, Scotty, had a cake shaped like a giant donut, complete with pink icing and sprinkles. Like many families, both parties took place in the park by the riverfront.

In fact, there were so many post-graduation parties in the park that they had all started to blend together, younger kids running from picnic table to picnic table sampling various desserts. Denver was operating a griddle for smash burgers at Rowan’s request, while others grilled hotdogs and sausages. John bounced between Rowan’s table and Scotty’s, where the rest of the football team had taken up residence.

Myself, I’d planted my folding double-sized camp chair directly between the two parties. Jonas was helping Wren arrange condiments and side dishes while I’d already finished my task of setting up the chairs and a pop-up canopy.

“Are they letting you go to the Project Graduation party tonight, or are no juniors allowed?” I asked John as he wandered by with a hotdog in his hand.

“Seniors only.” His expression was grim, and I couldn’t tell whether his misery was because of not being included or because his best friend and a lot of the team were graduating. Maybe both. “Work tomorrow?”

“Hell no.” I scoffed at the very idea of making my teenage landscape crew work the day after graduation. “The other guys might not be drinking or wild partying, but I doubt any of the graduates are getting sleep tonight.”

“I’ll get plenty of sleep.” John sounded stubbornly resigned. “I can be there early.”

“You wanting extra money or a distraction?” I’d appreciated the help of the landscape company John and several of his friends worked for, but John was by far the hardest worker on the crew.

“Both. Tired of borrowing Dad’s car.” John gestured vaguely back at the food table where Eric was talking to some other parents of graduates. “I need to keep busy, not think about everyone leaving…”

“Hey, you’ve got the summer still.” I pitched my tone more sympathetic, but like everyone, I was worried about what would happen to John when Scotty and the others left for college. “Don’t rush things.”

“I know. We’re all going camping in two weeks.” He paused to take a bite of his hot dog, wincing at the temperature. “We’ll make the most of summer, but it will go by quickly.”

“Can’t argue with that.” For myself, I would welcome fall as that would mean that much closer to our move-in date. “Well, Jonas and I are old and need our rest, but I can meet you in the kitchen to head out to the farm about nine?”

We were calling the new place the farm until something more catchy stuck, but honestly, I couldn’t care less what the place was named as long as it was ours. Mine and Jonas’s. The teen landscapers were helping with the track rebuild and yard work, and we had hired professional contractors for much of the interior remodeling, but it was still ours, our sweat, our hopes, our dreams, our dirt.

“Is Jonas working at the hospital tomorrow?” John asked, apparently in no huge hurry to get back to his football player friends.

“Nope. Day off.” I smiled because Jonas had been taking a lot more of those, especially as he weighed the options between staying at the hospital and reducing his hours or switching to the family practice in town that kept trying to recruit him. “He’ll likely come with us with more paint samples and to check out the kitchen progress.” My vote for an all-black-and-gray color scheme had been summarily dismissed by Jonas and Rowan. Consequently, I’d given them free rein to create the white farmhouse kitchen of Jonas’s dreams. The other rooms in the house were covered in dozens of paint samples as the two debated microscopic differences while I nodded and pretended to see what they did. “The kitchen got gutted this week, and the workers blocked out where all the new cabinets will go.”

“Cool.” John looked about as concerned with the kitchen as I was. “I wanna drive the Bobcat again.”

“Nothing like a mini bulldozer to work your frustrations out.” I chuckled because I also loved the track work far more than I’d expected. Being outdoors was always the best. Add in heavy machinery, and I was a happy guy. “You’d be awesome on a track crew someday.”

“Thanks.” John shrugged off the praise. “Rowan’s the motocross fan, but it’s fun helping you make the track.”

“No, thank you for the help.” I wouldn’t let him dodge the credit. “And anytime you want to hop on a bike, you say the word.”

“I will.” He made the promise before wandering back toward his friends. I didn’t expect him to take up dirt biking, but he seemed to have fun watching me give advice to his friends. Already, one of the old barns held several bikes, including some of mine. Riding around the place, even with a lot of work left to go, was fun and relaxing in a way racing had never been.

“Did I hear my name?” Rowan popped up a few moments later, looking stunning in aqua eyeliner and a glittery GRADUATE T-shirt.

“Nothing but praise for your paint help and your motocross fandom.”

“I’d make a good cheerleader.” Rowan preened.

“And a decent designer.” I sounded not unlike Eric, who kept stressing alternate streams of revenue beyond acting for Rowan. “Dad said you’ve been helping him and Denver pick colors for their house too.”

“Their new place is hopeless. Utterly dated.” Rowan faked a swoon. My dad, Denver, and their cats had bought the house near my grandparents. My dad had loved fixing up the carriage house, and before that, our craftsman in Seattle, so he was in DIY heaven with his own massive remodel. “It’ll take them all summer to bring the house into the twenty-first century. I expect many video consults.”

His tone was smug, but there was a flash of fear in his eyes as he glanced around the party. Tony and Caleb sat near Scotty. My dad was helping Denver on the griddle. Clumps of other family and friends were talking. Everyone seemed happy and content, but I could practically see the “Will they notice I’m gone?” sign blinking in Rowan’s brain. I’d had that same feeling before myself.

“We’re all going to miss you,” I assured him as I pulled out a card from where I’d stashed it beside me. “And here’s your present from Jonas and me.”

“Ooh. I want to open it.” Twirling, he summoned Jonas over before ripping open the envelope. Jonas had found the perfect card in the hospital gift shop with a spotlight shining on a cartoon star. Inside the card was a plastic square.

“An airline gift card?” Rowan sounded both pleased and slightly confused.

“So you can always come home or getaway, whichever you need more,” I explained as Jonas arrived next to Rowan.

“Thank you.” Eyes suspiciously damp, Rowan did a pretend hula dance while humming some tropical song.

“Okay, okay, you’re gonna be on a beach somewhere and not miss all of us one bit.” I shook my head at his antics.

“I’ll miss you.” Stopping his dance number, Rowan hugged me, then Jonas, before dashing off to show Eric the present.

“Hey.” I grinned up at Jonas and scooted over in the double chair. “Come sit with me?”

“I’m not sure we both fit.” Jonas frowned before giving in and squeezing next to me.

“We fit.” I made a happy noise and settled myself more comfortably against him. I had surprised even myself with my love of PDA, but few things made me as happy as being able to hold Jonas’s hand or cuddle up against him. After decades of searching, I belonged right here with him. I glanced around the party, gaze landing on Eric straightening plates and napkins. “How’s Eric holding up?”

“Surprisingly? He seems in a really good mood today.” Shaking his head, Jonas followed my gaze. “He’s proud of Rowan.”

“And his hunt for new renters?”

“Stop feeling guilty,” Jonas chided as if he hadn’t done his share of late-night guilt tripping right along with me. “It’s not your fault you and your dad decided to buy places the same month. And we’re all taking the summer to move out slowly. He’ll be okay.”

“And you?” I prodded. I knew perfectly well how happy he was, but I needed to hear it from time to time, especially when I felt bad about taking him away from the house and his friends, although I expected we’d visit a ton.

“I’m more than okay.” Jonas draped an arm around my shoulders, squeezing me close. “Like Eric said about the bedroom painting, it’s time. For all of us. A new chapter.”

“It is.” I let my head fall against him, inhaling the scents of grass, grilled meats, and my Jonas. “John wants to come work on the property tomorrow even though the rest of the crew is taking the day off.”

“I’m glad we can keep him busy.” Jonas exhaled, gaze swiveling to the other party where the football team was horsing around, building a pyramid out of plastic cups. “He’s going to take Scotty leaving super hard.”

“He is.” I made puppy-dog eyes at Jonas. “It’s hard to be away from your best friend.”

“Is your sad tone for John or your upcoming business trip?”

“I’m going to miss you.” I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing in taking a short-term commentator gig for some of the summer races, but Jonas had been nothing other than super supportive.

“I’m going to miss you as well, but I also know you’re going to do great.”

“And the money isn’t bad. That will help the house project.” I aimed to match his pragmatic tone. Finances had absolutely played a role, but so had Mark O’Shay welcoming me warmly when I came out to him. He and his family had sent Jonas and me a pretty wall hanging as a housewarming gift, and while I doubted every coming out would go as smoothly, so far, people continued to surprise me. Brian. Joey. Mark. Gradually, more people in racing knew, and the world continued to turn.

“It will do you good to be around your racing family.” Jonas patted my knee.

“Huh.” I considered his statement. I appreciated Mark’s support and the support of Brian, Joey, and my former team, but I couldn’t say as I thought of any of them as family. “Work-family, maybe. But this, this right here, this is my family.” I gestured around the party. “Starting with you. I searched and searched for a place where I could fit in, and it turns out it’s right here with you.”

“We do fit.” He shifted so our hips bumped. “And I love you so much, baby.”

“Please don’t kiss.” Wren popped up right as Jonas leaned in. “This party has way too much kissing already.” Wren made a dismissive gesture. “And Jonas needs to go check on Maren. She’s ill.”

“What’s wrong?” Instantly entering nurse mode, Jonas leaped up and followed Wren toward the pop-up canopy with me close behind.

“Maren’s been to the bathroom like ten times. She’s pale, shaky, and refuses to allow me to check her vital signs.”

I also wouldn’t let Wren check my vital signs, but I made a suitably concerned noise as we arrived at the pop-up canopy where Maren was slumped in a lawn chair, dabbing at her face with a wet napkin. Her always pale skin had a whitish-green tinge to it.

“Maren, honey, you okay?” Jonas crouched next to her. “Wren thinks you might be sick.”

“Oh my God, can’t a girl throw up in the bushes around here?” Maren made a dramatic noise as every head in hearing radius swiveled toward us. Eric hurried over, followed by his friend Tate. At least we had no shortage of first responders here.

“So, you are sick!” Wren gave a triumphant cackle.

“No, I’m pregnant.” Maren slumped lower in the chair as a chorus of gasps sounded.

Eric turned decidedly green himself, and no wonder. He was about to be a grandpa before he was forty-five, and I couldn’t wait to be in Mount Hope to see it.

Dear readers,

If ON THE EDGE left you ready for Eric’s story, you’ll be delighted that Eric is up next in OVER AND ABOVE. I can’t wait to share it with you all. Preorders are so very much appreciated!

However, before OVER AND ABOVE releases, my annual holiday novel is coming! DECK THE PALMS is ready for preorder to bring a little tropical paradise to your festivities this season.

Love,

Annabeth

Also By Annabeth Albert

Amazon Author Page

Many titles also in audio and available from other retailers!

Mount Hope Series

Up All Night

Off the Clock

On the Edge

Over and Above

Safe Harbor Series

Bring Me Home

Make Me Stay

Find Me Worthy

A-List Security Series

Tough Luck

Hard Job

Bad Deal

Hard Job

Rainbow Cove Series

Trust with a Chaser

Tender with a Twist

Lumber Jacked

Hope on the Rocks

#Gaymers Series

Status Update

Beta Test

Connection Error

Out of Uniform Series

Off Base

At Attention

On Point

Wheels Up

Squared Away

Tight Quarters

Rough Terrain

Frozen Hearts Series

Arctic Sun

Arctic Wild

Arctic Heat

Hotshots Series

Burn Zone

High Heat

Feel the Fire

Up in Smoke

Shore Leave Series

Sailor Proof

Sink or Swim

Perfect Harmony Series

Treble Maker

Love Me Tenor

All Note Long

Portland Heat Series

Served Hot

Baked Fresh

Delivered Fast

Knit Tight

Wrapped Together

Danced Close

True Colors Series

Conventionally Yours

Out of Character

Other Stand-Alone Titles

Resilient Heart

Winning Bracket

Save the Date

Level Up

Sergeant Delicious

Cup of Joe

Featherbed

Stand-Alone Holiday Titles

Better Not Pout

Mr. Right Now

The Geek Who Saved Christmas

Catered All the Way

Deck the Palms

About Annabeth Albert

Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open—no flashlights required! When she’s not adding to her keeper shelf, she’s a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.

Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Fans of quirky, Oregon-set books as well as those who enjoy heroes in uniform will want to check out her many fan-favorite and critically acclaimed series. Many titles are also in audio! Her fan group Annabeth Albert’s Angels on Facebook or Patreon are the best places for bonus content and more!

Website: www.annabethalbert.com

Contact & Media Info:

Acknowledgments

ON THE EDGE is the third MOUNT HOPE book, and as I finished this one, I found myself incredibly proud of this universe and ensemble cast. This series is something very special, and I’m so grateful for my readers because your support enables the series to continue. Never doubt that your purchases, borrows, and support make a huge difference in the lives of authors, now more than ever. I appreciate each and every one of you. If you loved this book and are excited for the rest of the series, please tell a friend!

The drafting of this book also took place during my transition to Patreon. Because of my readers, audio for this series and other extras will be possible. If you’re not yet following me on Patreon, it’s free to follow, and I’ve got many fun things planned as we count down to OVER AND ABOVE!

A brief note on my research for this book—I purposefully mashed together the rules/procedures for several different professional motorcross/Supercross tours. No resemblance to any particular existing teams, riders, manufacturers, tours, etc is intended. Also, a shoutout to all those LGBTQ+ extreme sport athletes out there pushing boundaries and breaking new ground.

I am also grateful to those who shared their first responder experiences with me, including several nurse practitioners. On a personal note, thank you to the NPs in my life who make me healthier and happier.

Reese Dante made my cover dreams for this series come true. Furious Fotog provided the perfect pictures, but Reese truly worked cover magic to create the ideal look for this whole series.

Finally, a big thank you to Abbie Nicole, PA, friend, and fabulous editor. My work is easier, better, and more fun because of you, and your insightful comments led to a deepening of Declan’s character arc that I simply love. Thank you to my sprint buddies, Rae, Wendy, and Layla, for keeping me sane.

It really does take a village to bring you the stories of my heart, and I’m so fortunate to be able to do so.