Fuck, his eyes are red and puffy. I pull him back against me, kissing his hair. I don’t want to let him go, especially not now that he’s hugging me, too.
“I love you, Vance Rayne.” He meets my mouth for a gentle, salty kiss that deepens into something more urgent. When we pull back to catch our breath, he frames my face with his hands. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks so fucking sad and desperate.
I kiss his cheek, and then his jaw. I look into his eyes and try my best to say the best things I can think of.
“This shit is hard, Sky. Hard for anybody. It’s okay that it’s tough.” I kiss his hairline, loving how he smells. That fucking cologne. And him. “Might be rocky for a while, but it’ll end out okay. And I’ll be with you.”
I feel him inhale deeply. Then he murmurs a hoarse word that makes my heart squeeze. “Promise?”
Shit. “Forever. You and me. No matter what, okay?”
He nods, holding me tight for a long moment.
When he sits back in his seat, his eyes are still tugging at mine like he wants something from me. Needs something. I grab his left hand with my right. We twine our fingers together. He leans his head against his head rest, shuts his eyes, and I start driving toward the house.
“I’ve never loved anybody but you. You know that?” I ask. “Never even felt a tenth of what I feel for you for anybody else. Never even knew I could.” I stroke the top of his hand, hating that he seems so spent, so heavy. “You’re it for me, McDowell.”
“You’re it for me,” he says thickly.
Fuck, I want to shelter him from all of this shit. I want to seep inside him, take away his pain, and make him feel so fucking good he never thinks of being sad again. I’m feeling fucked up that I can’t.
C’mon, God. This one’s your star player. Help a brother out, dude. Dudette. I don’t know your gender. Just help us.
We roll by the neighbors’ driveway. I see blue lights through the trees, and my heart tumbles.
What the FUCK?
Luke’s eyes open, and I see his face go slack with shock.
I squeeze his hand. “We got this, McD. Whatever it is.”
The driveway isn’t blocked off. We roll through the gates and my heart starts to beat so hard I feel sick. We’re approaching the first of the police cars, parked to the right of the drive, when I realize we both had our phones on do not disturb last night. I’m frowning at the scene in front of me when Sky murmurs, “Oh.”
“What is it?”
“Look ahead of us,” he whispers thinly.
His hand releases mine. I focus on the driveway, and it jumps out.
Someone drew…flames. And spray painted BURN IN HELL. Followed by a word I don’t like to say inside my own head. So I don’t. I blink at it.
Sky is out of the car before I can say anything. I watch him for a long time, the set of his shoulders as he speaks with the officer, a short man who nods a lot and, later, claps Sky on the shoulder.
When he sinks back into the car, his lips are pressed into a firm line. “The police are going to leave. They were in the house already. No one’s hurt and nothing’s out of order. Steven picked up a stomach bug from his kid, so he didn’t notice someone breech the fence at the side till it was too late.” Sky gestures to our right. “The guys already booked in jail. Happened almost two hours ago. They’re almost done processing the scene. We can have it scrubbed by mid-morning.”
His jaw tightens. I can’t help but notice his eyes never come to mine. I roll into the garage slowly, waiting for…I don’t know what. As soon as the car is parked, Sky is out, scaling the stairs in one giant step and pressing his finger to the print reader beside the door. He holds it open for me, but after that, he’s walking by himself toward the bedroom.
He barely speaks to me as he dresses quickly in a navy suit and pale pink dress shirt. He sits on a stool to pull his socks on, and our eyes catch, but it’s almost an accident. He gives me a strained smile.
“I love you,” I offer.
“Love you too.”
But he barely speaks as we drive to work twenty minutes later. He says he’ll see me at lunch time but doesn’t.
He texts about an hour after, saying I love you. He doesn’t offer a reason for missing lunch.
I flex my hands, which ache from working, and I wonder—does it matter that he loves me? It might matter now, but will it always? We’re not even really married. How do I know he won’t change his mind, that how he feels about himself won’t take a nose-dive when we catch more hate, or that he won’t panic about my safety? When it comes down to it…how do I know that he’ll stick with me? How do I feel…not fucking scared?