Page 85 of Angel

Ngh.

Fuck it.

I’m too far in already. There’s no hope for me, no way to protect myself from getting hurt anymore. Maybe I’ll get lucky, a miracle will happen, and this will somehow turn into a romantic fairy tale. Or more likely, my heart will get trampled and I’ll drag myself back to Brooklyn to nurse my wounds.

Either way, there’s no turning back now.

I rise up onto my tippy-toes and replace my fingers with my lips. Just a simple, sweet press.

“Take me home, teddy bear.”

CHAPTER

THIRTY

ANGEL

My heart pounds heavily against the inside of my ribs the entire ride back to Staten Island. But as terrified as I am, there’s also a sense of rightness that I’ve never experienced before.

The past several months have been a series of firsts for me. First kiss with a man, first time having sex, first porn video, first gay nightclub. But this first feels more important. It feels weightier.

It’s like I’ve been waiting my entire life for this moment. Like my whole reason for existing boils down to this one thing: taking Rhys home. Bringing his brightness into the blandness of my world. Demolishing the last wall in the box I’ve been living in.

And then I’ll be free. Free to fly. Free to soar. Free to be myself and be with Rhys.

We don’t speak much in the truck. Our hands are clasped across the center console, both of Rhys’s sandwiching mine. His thumb rubs absentmindedly over my skin, a steady back and forth that ticks down the seconds until we get home.

Rhys takes a deep breath when we turn onto the street of the neighborhood where we both grew up. When I sneak a glance in his direction, he’s staring resolutely out the window, determination in his eyes.

Doubt trickles through me, followed closely by guilt. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought him back here? To a place he’s worked so hard to escape? Maybe we should have gone to his place instead, even if Hayden would’ve been there.

But when Rhys turns to me, his gaze softens and his lips curl into the most tender smile I’ve ever seen. I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back.

We’ll be okay. I have to trust in that. Whatever happens, we’ll find a way through.

I pull into the driveway in front of the duplex I share with Mama. The curtains on the front windows of the house are open, but there’s no movement inside. The weather is just chilly enough that the neighbors aren’t sitting out on their front porches anymore. There isn’t anyone around to see us arrive.

“Wait here,” I say as I turn the engine off and hop out of the truck.

Rhys’s brow furrows in confusion, but I just hurry around to the passenger-side door. I open it and hold out my hand to him.

He stares at it for a moment before he sniffles and gives me a watery-eyed smile. He slips his hand into mine and I help him down, carefully shutting the door behind him.

Opening the car door for a date is kind of an outdated thing. It’s probably even a bit silly these days, but joy bubbles up inside me at this small gesture. I want to show Rhys how much I care. I want him to know how precious and important he is to me.

I lead him to the side door. It opens onto the stairs that take us up to my apartment. Once we’re inside, Rhys stands in the small foyer, examining the space. I try to see it through his eyes, try to imagine what he would notice.

The kitchen and dining room is right in front of us and beyond it is the living room. The bathroom is tucked in behind the kitchen, and the bedroom branches off from the living room. It’s simple. Basic. But it’s all I’ve ever needed.

Rhys glides forward, running his hands along the butcher-block countertop, then across the backs of the wooden dining chairs. He peeks into the bathroom with its clawfoot bathtub and pedestal sink. I follow after him as he moves into the living room. He squeezes the plush leather upholstery of the oversized couch, then ventures into the bedroom and smooths his hands up and down a beam of my four-poster bed.

“This place is amazing,” he says in a hushed voice.

I blink. Of all the reactions I thought he would have, this isn’t one of them. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles and turns to me with a cocked eyebrow. “How much of this stuff did you do yourself?”

I look around. At the hardwood flooring and paneled accent wall behind the bed. At the built-in shelving unit that houses the TV in the living room. At the custom-fit cabinets in the kitchen and the mosaic tiles in the bathroom.

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