Page 76 of Protecting Mr. Fine

“Thank god you’re here,” he said, sounding relieved. “I’m sorry for being scared.”

My heart lurched. “Never be sorry for being scared. What does that even mean? You can’t help it if you’re scared, Z. Bad dreams are scary.”

He sucked in a shaky breath. “I wish I could tape my mouth closed. Or that you’d sleep with a white noise machine so you couldn’t hear me.”

I brushed his hair back so I could try to see his face. He tucked his chin to keep from looking at me.

“Z,” I said softly. “If I called out for help in the night because of a bad dream, would you expect me to apologize for being scared?”

He shook his head but didn’t say anything.

“And if I felt comforted by your arms, would you think less of me?”

He lifted his face up to glare at me. “Of course not.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “The prosecution rests, Your Honor.”

He settled back down against my chest. “I don’t want to be the guy you have to protect.”

I wanted to laugh, but I sensed that would be the worst possible reaction. “That’s upsetting, considering I enjoy protecting you.”

“I’m not talking about your job. I want you to… to care for me.”

His words hit me with a jolt, filling me with a kind of vulnerable hope I wasn’t prepared for.

“I’m not talking about my job, either, Z,” I confessed to the top of his head. “I do care about you. As a friend. As a good human. As a… as a man.” I swallowed, backing away from any further verbalization of my feelings. “And keeping you safe is something I have a vested interest in. I want you safe because I want you to be happy. And, selfishly, I want you to continue to be in my life for a very long time.”

His arms tightened around me. “That’s… nice.”

I let out a soft laugh. “At least you didn’t sayfinethis time.”

“I care about you, too.” His words were quiet, but I felt the truth in them, and it warmed me from the inside out.

I pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Are we going to talk about how the nightmares started after the Stamper showed up?”

“No, thank you,” he said in an attempt to make it sound light and singsongy.

“I think you need to see someone, Zane.”

“Been there.”

I ran my fingers through his hair. “Micki can find you a therapist who’s good and discreet. The legal team can get all the NDAs in place?—”

“It’s not that.”

I waited for him to explain.

“It’ll bring up a bunch of other shit I don’t want to talk about.”

I wanted to push, to convince him it would be a healthy choice, and even if it got worse before it got better, it would get better. But I knew this time of night wasn’t the time for making that argument. I’d give him time to think about it, but I’d bring it up again with him and soon.

“Tell me about the money,” I said instead, hoping to throw him a softball. “You said you were going to tell me about the money.”

“Oh.” His fingers caressed the neck of my shirt. “I’m… I’m rich.”

“You don’t say.”

“You sound like Landry,” he said with a smile before pushing up to sit cross-legged in front of me. Light from the hallway was just enough to illuminate the outline of his head in the dark, but I wanted to see him. I reached over and turned on the light after warning him I was doing it.

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