Page 171 of Deliverance

Zander’s in the center of the room, naked save for the briefs, doing push-ups, and my instincts begin to scream. It almost feels as if I walked in on something I’m not supposed to see, but my legs freeze, refusing to listen to the soft nudge of my sixth sense.

So I just stand there. I watch his silhouette rise and fall. I drink in every movement, every roll and ripple of his muscles beneath smooth sun-kissed skin while desire and anxiety battle within me.

Endless seconds tick by and something begins to pull at my chest.

How long has he been down here…like this?

“Zander?” I call, my voice hardly a whisper, but he hears me.

His body shoots up. He’s back to his feet, arms up in the air, fingers laced at the nape of his neck, gaze shooting toward me and following my steps as I slowly descend the stairs. There’s an odd, unreadable expression on his flushed face that only feeds my sudden worry.

His breaths are loud and ragged, and my guess is he’s been at it for some time now.

“Are you okay?” I ask, noting a generous line of sweat running down the hard planes of his chest and stomach.

He shakes his head, hands dropping back to his sides. “Yes, I’m sorry for waking you up.” The lines around his mouth and eyes finally relax and recognition settles into his features.

“Is something wrong?” I stride over to him, stopping a couple of feet away, unsure whether he wants to be touched right now, but his eyes tell me exactly the opposite when they land on a patch of my bare skin peeking from behind the fabric of his shirt, the edges of which slide apart, revealing the hollow between my breasts and stomach.

“Just couldn’t sleep,” Zander says, reaching for my cheek to cup it, the roughness of his palm nice and familiar.

“Why don’t you ever talk about it—whatever it is that’s bothering you?” I ask, taking a small step forward to close the distance separating us.

He stares at me for what feels like an eternity, his gaze losing focus eventually. His throat works, Adam’s apple bobbing underneath his skin.

“I promise I’ll just listen.” I align my body with his and wrap my arms around his waist, ignoring the trickling sweat. “I won’t say a word.”

Zander steers me to the couch and we sit down. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, one foot tapping the floor. “I’m so used to it by now that I don’t really treat it as a…condition, you know?” He turns his head to glance at me.

I stir next to him and tuck my legs in, then push the wet strands away from his cheeks and behind his ears to see his face better in the scattered city light. “It’s ADHD, isn’t it?”

At first, I didn’t see it. He masked it well, but seeing how his entire focus shifted when he was behind the kit and simply being next to him so much clued me in a little. Yet asking never felt right. Until now.

Zander nods and part of me expects to see one of his silly grins, but instead, my stare is met with a strained expression. The tension between us is almost tangible and to release some of it, I drag my fingers through his hair and whisper, “I think you’re perfect the way you are.”

That does put a smile on his face, a crooked, one-sided kind, but my heart flutters anyway.

“Come here.” He throws his arm over my shoulder and pulls us down against the back pillows of the couch, my head resting on his chest.

For a while, we sit in silence that feels heavy, anticipatory. Then Zander rasps, “I think it started when I was a kid. That’s why my dad decided it’d be a good idea to try drums.” His free hand skims over to my stomach and stays there. I chuckle. “It must have worked, because I remember the day I got my first kit. All this rage, all this noise, all this static in my head, solidified. It’s like…I could direct that mess. For the longest time, it’d felt like I was locked in a dark room with hundreds of radio stations turned on all at the same time full volume. Until I picked up drumsticks.”

Zander stops talking and moves his hand from my stomach to the breastbone, his fingers caressing my skin almost absentmindedly.

“What about medication?” I ask carefully. “Have you ever tried any?”

He laughs somewhat bitterly. “After Chance died…I distanced myself from pharmaceuticals as much as I could.” There’s an ominous pause. “We all did,” he adds so quietly I’m not sure he actually said it and I didn’t imagine that last bit.

His heart is beating a rapid pace in his chest and hearing it working so hard makes my own pump faster.

“I learned how to share this body and mind with it early on,” he continues. “We still fight, but there are rules and we have an understanding, and when necessary, I let it roam free.” Another long pause as if he’s trying to gather the rest of his courage. “I don’t want to be that guy people are pointing fingers at because he’s got something to prove to the world.”

“Don’t say that.” I trace the curve of his chin with my thumb.

“I just want to play drums. That’s all,” he stresses.

“You don’t have anything to prove to anyone.” I push off his body and turn to look him in the eye, his sky blue gaze stark against the darkness of the room. “You’re an amazing drummer.” I stop talking to catch my breath that’s suddenly out of control, then add, “And you make me very happy.”

Zander draws me back to him. “And you make me very happy too, Drew.” He places a soft kiss on my forehead. “You also know all my secrets.”

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