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There was a snapshot of a moment, frozen in time, where Liam marveled at the path his night had taken: from catching a stranger’s eyes in a dirty bathroom mirror, to holding him as he fell to pieces in a hotel bed.
How thin was the line between one person’s responsibility to another and a breach of boundaries?
Before, his misplaced trust had cost him everything. This time, he had nothing left to lose. The realization stung almost as much as the one that followed: that it didn’t matter if he trusted Liam or not, because really, there was no choice. Whether Liam’s intentions were genuine or not, he was Jonah’s client. He had paid for a night—a full one—of Jonah’s company, and so Jonah’s fate had been decided the minute the door closed behind him. And really, long before that.
“Have you read the book, Liam? I’m pretty sure this story is about him getting swallowed by the whale.” “No,” Liam said. “The story is about him getting out.”
He hadn’t wanted those things from anybody in a long time, and he didn’t know what it said about him that he still could. There was a dull sense of shame, but maybe something like hope, too; maybe he wasn’t as broken as he thought he was.
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” He didn’t dare turn his head to see Liam’s reaction. They both kept their eyes on the ceiling, even as Liam’s pinky unlatched from his, just long enough to slide his palm fully over Jonah’s, lacing all their fingers together. He gave a squeeze, and Jonah gave it right back. “Yeah,” Liam whispered. “You’re mine, too.”
“I have another confession,” he whispered into the silent room. Liam let his eyes trail over the profile of Jonah’s face; the long, sloped nose, the cupid’s bow of his lip, the eyelashes that kissed the skin of his cheek with his eyes closed and a jawline that was just a little more pronounced than it should have been. Liam tightened his hand around Jonah’s. The alcohol was a sedative quickly pulling him under, but Liam knew, even then, that wasn’t the reason for the warmth that flowered in his chest. “I think I might accidentally love you.”
“I’m not throwing anything away, Jonah. Not my dreams, and not you either. You’re not disposable. After all this time?” There was a genuine twinge of hurt in his voice. “You really think that’s how I feel about you?”
“Whatever we have to do,” Liam said. “Anything, if it means getting another week.” Fire. Ice. A heartbeat in his throat. A voice that tried to drown it all out. And a single spark of rebellion that hadn’t yet been extinguished.
Jonah leaned his head against the window for the remaining few minutes of the drive, grieving for the boy he lost, the boy he had been inside the safety of their bubble, and the goodbye he’d never get to say.
He had torn himself open as he had done for no one else, ripped his chest right down the middle and exposed all his soft, vulnerable parts. Then, he had been taken away before he could stitch himself back together.
This was it, he thought. He had found himself in the belly of the whale.
“Just because they weren’t terrible doesn’t mean it wasn’t terrible for you.”
If Chicago was the place where Jonah had learned how to survive, New York was where he learned how to live.
