Meet Me in the Blue (Hemlock Harbor, #1)

by A.M. Johnson

I found it was easier to tell people what they wanted to hear. They wanted something to feel good about, to think their concern had some effect on the shit eating my dad from the inside out. But in reality, the truth was a poorly stacked house of cards, and I had no desire to be the one to knock it all down.

“I have a hoodie he can wear,” I blurted. “It’s in the coat closet.” “Will it fit him?” she asked, and I resented her dubious expression. I wasn’t that small. I had abs, too, damn it. “It will fit.” It barely fit. The light-yellow fabric hugged his shoulders and arms, a size too small, but Christ, he looked hot. And there was this complete caveman satisfaction in having him wear something of mine for once. In high school, I’d practically lived in his hockey jersey, and I’d loved how it had made me feel like his. It had been stupid and childish, and I guess I still had some growing up to do because seeing him in my clothes made it feel like he was mine too.

Loving Rook was effortless for me. Effortless because I’d always known. It wasn’t a maybe kind of thing, or a let’s try, it was years of hopeful smiles and subtle touches, disseminating each one and wondering if this time… just maybe… It was hours of talking in the dark shade of trees and knowing that this person, this one man, owned all of my secrets.

This

“The point to this entire story is that love isn’t easy. Love is sacrifice, son. It hurts, it’s messy, and shit, it will tear you up. At the risk of sounding like one of those greeting cards your sister loves to torture us with, I have to say it’s worth it. Love is worth every single hurt it gives. It’s worth it because it’s fucking living, and you deserve to live it.”

“I will always be honest with you. Like I said in the shower, I don’t always need to get off. And sometimes, all it takes is for you to make a certain sound and I’m ready to explode. It’s our connection though, that’s what I want more than anything.”

My chin was raw, and my lips chapped, but I didn’t give a shit, and when we were both unbearably hard again, I gave him my body. Straddling his hips, I prepped myself while he watched with complete adoration, his amber eyes hidden behind wide pupils. I hadn’t bottomed in forever, but I wanted to give him this, give him every experience, give him myself entirely like he had for me.

This is what I’d always wanted, this delicate intimacy, these everyday moments where we couldn’t stop touching each other. And there didn’t have to be an ending. I could be like this, with him, hands on skin, and how was your day, and lips that tasted like sweet mint, and never feel unsatisfied.