Strong Enough

Twenty-Eight

MAXIM

He fell onto my chest, and I wrapped my arms around him. Neither of us spoke as our breathing slowed, steadied, and synced, both of us inhaling and exhaling at the same time. The moment was peaceful, the calm after a storm.

And it had been a particularly intense storm.

Had he missed me like I’d missed him? Had he thought about me? Our schedules were so opposite, we’d gone days without even seeing each other. When he’d walked into the bar last night, it was like seeing a movie star come through the door. Actually, it was better than that. There was no movie star who excited me the way he did. He’d looked happy to see me too, but I hadn’t missed the careful way he guarded himself around Ellen. He was so afraid of what people would think if they knew about us, about him. I wished he could see himself the way I did.

He kissed my shoulder and lifted himself off me, separating our bodies. “Be right back.”

While he was in the bathroom, I stretched out in his bed, sore and tired but happy. He wants me to sleep next to him tonight. I could count on one hand the number of nights I’d slept in someone else’s bed, and those times had simply been a matter of falling asleep before I remembered to get up and go home. This was different. This was on purpose.

I wondered what had prompted him to ask me, but didn’t want to read too much into it. Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe he just wanted to have sex again in the morning. But I was tempted to see it as one more barrier broken.

The bathroom door opened and he joined me in bed again, immediately pulling me close. Surprised but glad, I tucked myself along his side, my head on his shoulder, my arm around his waist.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “I feel like I was pretty rough on you.”

“A little sore,” I admitted. “But not too much.”

“Good.” He was silent a moment. “This is nice. I’m not usually a cuddler.”

I smiled. “Me either. And it is nice.”

A minute ticked by, then he spoke again.

“I can’t sleep. Will you sing the Russian song for me?” He couldn’t even get through the question without laughing.

I kicked him gently. “Be nice or I’ll go back to the guest room.”

“No.” He squeezed me. “I like you here. I’ll be nice—for now.”

“You’re always nice.” I kissed his chest.

He sighed. “My sister thinks I’m a grumpy old man.”

“No, she doesn’t, not really. She wants you to be happy. And she thinks you’d be happy if you found someone.”

“She’s talked about me to you?” His tone was slightly defensive.

Careful. “Not too much. She said what you said—that you’d like a family.”

“Oh. Right.”

“She thinks you’ll make a great dad.”

Another sigh. Then, “Do you ever think about having kids?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah. I didn’t either when I was your age. Forty seemed light years away. Fuck, thirty seemed light years away. But time flies. Priorities change. We get old.”

“You’re not old, Derek.”

“I’m older.”

“I like that about you.”