Page 49 of The Try Line

"You didn't give me a choice last time," Mik says, voice shaking.

I open my mouth to say—I don't know what I was going to say. But before any words can surface, he holds up a hand to stop me.

"You didn't give me a chance to make a decision. You left when I needed you most, when I was afraid and vulnerable. I should have gone after you, should have tracked you down the moment I noticed you'd left the apartment. I should have fought for you even after you turned up four thousand miles away. I was paralyzed with fear, doubt, confusion. When you disappeared, I thought you didn't want to be with me anymore. I assumed, the way you did, that the baby was a deal breaker."

He takes a deep breath, eyes rolling to the ceiling to quell the tears I can see filling his eyes. Fuck this being macho shit, my face is soaked with tears that I'm not bothering to hold back anymore.

"I made a mistake. We both did."

The finality of his words is jarring. It's the end of something that has held both of us hostage for over half our lives. Something that has manipulated the trajectory of our lives, tainted every interaction and memory made. The way we parted followed both of us throughout our lives like a dark shadow, never able to forget because we were still so connected to each other. Would it have been easier to forget him if he wasn't part of my family? If I didn't see him every time I looked at my nephew's face, or knew that he was behind them somewhere, lurking out of sight, could I have healed from getting everything I ever wanted all at once and then having it shatter into a million pieces in such a short timeline? It's hard to imagine my life without the ghost of Mik Sanders following me around.

"We fucked it up. But we don't have to fuck it up again."

I realize what he’s implying. It's the end of something. But it could be a new beginning.

"How would we make it work?" I live and work in a different country. His family is here. His wife might have kicked him out, but they're still married. His son, who is leaving for college soon, but I know Mik will want to be here for breaks and games.

"Well, for starters, we could… talk." His lips quirk. "If we'd just talked to each other before assuming the worst, we might not have ended up so fucking miserable. Seriously, this is shitty romance novel shit right here, and no one likes a miscommunication trope. It's the second most hated trope in history, right next to pregnancy, which, well… We’d make areallyshitty romance novel. So, could we please try to pull our shit together and do better?"

A laugh booms out of me. I don't know what the fuck he's rambling about, but I don't want to talk. I just want to know one thing.

"Do you want this?" I gesture between us, indicating the two of us together.

Mik's lips quirk, but he nods.Good enough.

I make it over to him in two long strides, my hands gripping his face. I press my lips to his, his back hitting the door on impact.

"Say you'll be mine," I say against his lips, between searing kisses. My tongue swipes against his, pulling an affirmative groan from him. "Say it."

"I've always been yours, Jason."

My eyes flutter, and the tension snaps. We come together like hungry beasts, eating each other's mouths and swallowing our groans. We grope and grapple, turning and pushing each other against the wall as we strip each other bare. My knees hit the ground, and I swallow around Mik's cock in one deep bob of my head.

"Ohh,fuck," he pants. "Jay–"

I suck him hard and sloppy, bobbing up and down on his shaft until he's cursing and digging his fingers into my hair. He can't seem to decide whether he's trying to pull me away, or push me down farther, fucking my throat. I taste his sweet, bitter pre-cum and feel the way his muscles tense. I get him as close to the edge as I dare before releasing him with a wet pop. He whines when I pull off him, but I silence him with a kiss.

"I'm going to take my time with you," I murmur.

Every interaction we've had since I've come back has been hurried and rough. Either we were too overcome with lust and anger, or wewere rushing to not get caught. For the first time in eighteen years, I want to make love to someone. To him.

Because he's mine again. And this time, I'm not letting him get away.

CHAPTER 22

MIK

My cock aches, but not as much as my heart does. Does this mean that he’s going to give this a chance? That we’re actually going to correct the mistakes of our past and be together?

Part of me wants to put an inch of space between us and ask for explicit clarification that this is really happening. Thatwe’rereally happening. I want to hear the words so there can be zero room for miscommunication.

But more insistent parts of me demand to just feel him.

With our mouths locked together like we need each other’s breaths to survive, Jason leads us through the room. Our kiss doesn’t break, even when the backs of my legs hit the mattress, and I fall back. Jason follows me down, covering my body with his, fusing our skin together. He rolls his hips into me, sliding his long, thick shaft along mine.

We stay like that for what could be hours, rolling and writhing and touching until we’re both slick with sweat and dripping pre-cum. Until our limbs are trembling and our lips are swollen and tender. Until neither of us can hold back. Until it feels like I’ll die if he doesn’t get inside me right now.

“Jason,” I rasp, breaths heaving. “Please.”

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