Page 110 of Man On

The conversation we were about to have when we were so rudely interrupted by the homophobic dudebro wearing overpriced boat shoes comes back to me. Shifting us around until we're laying side by side at eye level, I hold his jaw so he has to look at me.

"You're not holding me back from anything, Lane, because you're the only thing I want. And I'll take what I can get in any capacity." I kiss his lips gently, and use my thumb to wipe a smear of cum he has on him from laying in the mess on my chest and stomach. I pop my thumb in my mouth to lick it clean. "Obsessed, remember?"

He chuckles, but humorlessly. "And if you change your mind? What if all my bullshit is too much? I can't imagine that you wouldn't want something easier."

"Easy is boring. Unless we're talking about you letting me take advantage of you constantly throughout the day. Free use is hot." I waggle my eyebrows the way he hates to make him laugh. "But I like the way you challenge me, Lane. And the issues are rough, but I want to be part of the journey, baby."

He accepts my kiss, pressing closer to me with each pass of my lips and tongue.

Before we get out of the car, I reach for Lane’s hand. He flinches and looks up at our parents’ house, clearly worried that they’ll look out here and see us holding hands. I want to roll my eyes and tell him he’s being ridiculous. I also want to point out that we’re going to have to tell them at some point. But we agreed to take things one step at a time.

The party was a bust, and we weren’t there long. But I’m kind of glad it all happened that way. It got us out in the open, which I don’t know we would have ever been able to do on our own. And now, when we get back to school after fall break, we can be as openly in love as we want to be. That’s what I want, and not just because I can growl at anyone that looks at his ass, but because I don’t want to have to hold back. Lane agreed to let things just fall into place, but we'll see how he handles it when we're walking across campus or into the soccer facilities with my hand in his back pocket.

"It's going to be okay. And I'll be here every step of the way."

"You're not allowed in the room for the deposition."

"If you need me in there, I'd like to see them try to stop me."

That gets a soft smile out of him. I'm not exaggerating. I'd commit crimes to be there for him while he has to give his deposition tomorrow if he needed me. But he's got this. I can see the strength in him growing. Maybe I'm fooling myself, but I like to think that he’s getting stronger and more confident with every milestone in our own relationship. The more he's accepted himself, the less the demons of his past seem to pull him down. His nightmares still come every night, but as soon as I settle myself over his chest or pull him a little tighter, he calms. I'm not even sure he's aware he's having them anymore, now that he's not waking up as much. The dark circles under his eyes are barely noticeable, and his forehead isn't constantly creased with worry.

I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes mine back.

"I really want to kiss you," I tell him.

"Tonight," he promises. "You're still coming to my room after they go to bed, right?"

I scoff. "As if I'm about to sleep by myself. I've grown accustomed to a certain level of comfort, and I'll be damned if I'm going to miss out on having someone to rub my morning wood on."

"You're incorrigible."

"You know it, baby," I say, winking as I open my door.

Lane reluctantly releases my hand, and we get out of the car. We're still making eyes at each other, pulling our duffles out of the trunk, when Hannah and Dad run out to hug us both. It's hard to pull ourselves away from each other and pretend that we're anything other than what we are. But Lane isn't ready, and with everything he's going through, giving him this is the least I can do.

My dad offers to take Lane's bag to the basement so Hannah and Lane can settle in the living room to talk. I take my bag up to my room and walk around aimlessly. I'm not sure if I should go in there or give them their space, so I sulk around the kitchen, blatantly trying to listen to Hannah describe what her deposition was like.

Dad comes into the kitchen just as Hannah is telling Lane that the lead attorney on the defense team is tough. It sounds like he was asking a lot of leading questions, trying to paint her as a troublemaker and a runaway. But Shonda Clarke, Hannah and Lane's lawyer, put a stop to that nonsense by pointing out the age difference and that the relationship began well before the age of consent, making all of their attempts to shame Hannah moot.

"Shonda was really good about making sure I got plenty of time to tell my story, without too many interruptions. Their lawyer is going to try to fluster you, but just keep talking to Shonda and ignore them as best you can," she says. "It was tough, telling a room full of strangers things I'd never said out loud before. But the more detailed you are, the more likely they'll be able to shut this whole thing down without a hassle. Shonda really thinks your testimony will make all the difference."

Lane doesn't say much, and I wish I could go sit beside him and hold his hand. So far, every time we've attempted to talk about any of this, he's held onto me like an anchor. How can I be an anchor for him if I'm not even in the room?

CHAPTER 34

LANE

The watch on my wrist flashes and beeps. I extricate my arms from the tangle of Noah's limbs to shut it off, and continue to lie in bed, letting him sleep a while longer. He was supposed to go back to his own bed hours ago, but instead of feeling mad or annoyed that he didn't follow through, I'm grateful. The pressure of his body on mine, and the warm puffs of air that tickle my neck with each of his steady breaths, are meditative. I let it lull me into a peaceful headspace, where I can consider the obstacles ahead of me with a clear head. I'm still afraid—terrified, really—but I don't feel unable to put one foot in front of the other. I can tell myself that I can do this.

Pushing the button at the side of the watch, the screen has a small picture of me and Noah in silhouette, our foreheads touching. It's not obvious that it's us, but we know, and that's all that matters. It's a selfie he took last night before putting the watch around my wrist, because he wants to be there for me in the deposition room. Since he can't hold my hand, he gave me something to remind me of him. The watch is heavy, the band thick. If I tighten it enough, it makes me think of the weight of his hand in mine, the pressure of him wrapping his arms around me whenever I need an anchor.

"Hey, honey, is everything okay? You're normally up—" My mom freezes in the open doorway of my room, her mouth gaping open.

Shit. "Mom!" My stomach drops, and I try to shift Noah off me, but I just end up making it worse. The tiny corner of the sheet that was covering Noah's bare ass gets pulled down, and if the fresh blast of air on my crotch is any indication, my mother is getting a graphic display that leaves no questions about what Noah and I have been up to here.

"Oh my God!" She shields her eyes in horror. "Uh, I-I-I'm sorry, I just—Oh my god."

With that, she turns and runs up the stairs.

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