Page 73 of Honeysuckle
I didn’t say a word as I hugged my pillow and pressed my cheek into it, watching him as he got comfortable in silence. He turned his head away from me, and for some reason, I didn’t mind that he had. There was a tender comfort in how easily he had just found a place there, and even though he was still cagey about touch, he had sought out the closeness.
“Go to sleep, Tuck,” he grumbled after a few minutes, like he could feel me staring.
I hated how quickly my body obeyed him, every little request I caved to without conscious thought. I closed my eyes and his cinnamon cologne filled my nose, lulling me to sleep for the first time in three days. When I woke he was still there, fast asleep with his sweaty curls pressed to his freckled skin and all I wanted to do was touch him.
But I knew it had to be on his terms. He had to ask. He had to want it.
If I touched him without permission, I was no better than Ian in his mind, no better than his mom. So I’d wait for him to ask, or to kiss me first because that’s what he needed. I lay there for another hour until his breathing changed and his eyes fluttered open in the warm sunlight of Sunday morning.
“Are you staring at me?” He grumbled and closed his eyes again.
“No,” I lied.
“What time is it?” He asked, and I couldn’t help but smile at his grumpy, sleepy voice. The combination of him being in my bed and the husky tone he was using with me made my chest warm.
“Eleven,” I said, glancing quickly at the clock.
He tensed and looked up at the clock from his position in the bed.
Even I was surprised, I hadn’t slept in for years and never without worry the way I had last night. Sleeping in was reserved for hangovers and even then…the dependency was thick in the air and Josh slid from bed, throwing his pillow back to his bed.
“Don’t make it a habit,” he muttered, a small snarl at the edge of his voice before rifling through his duffle bag.
I wasn’t about to argue that he was the one who crawled into my bed, because pushing my luck meant it probably wouldn’t happen again, and I couldn’t have that.
“Practice in an hour,” I said, sitting up in bed.
“Yeah, I know the schedule, Tuck,” he said, pulling out a clean shirt. He stared at it in his hands, no doubt contemplating whether or not he felt comfortable enough to change in front of me. “I’m going to shower,” he lied and left the room without another word.
“Right.” I clicked my teeth together and pushed off the bed.
I spent ten minutes stretching out my muscles on the floor before I pulled on clean shorts and a t-shirt. I had a quick meeting with Riona before practice and was already running late when I pushed into the stadium and took the stairs up to her office.
“Mr. Tucker,” she said, handing me a cup of coffee as she settled behind her desk with a folder and a knowing look on her face. “You look more rested than the last time we spoke,” she said.
I had stumbled into her office the day after we got home from spring camp, running on two hours of sleep and a protein shake sloshing around in my stomach.
“Yeah, I’m sleeping better, I guess.” I sank down into the chair and lifted the coffee to my lips to find out that it was tea and scowled.
“Caffeine isn’t good on an empty stomach,” she raised her eyebrow at me and set down her mug.
“I ate today,” I lied, and she saw right through it. “I woke up late, I’ll eat after practice.”
“Mmm,” she looked down at her desk, reaching for something in a drawer and then back up at me as she tossed a container of fruit through the air. “Eat.” She commanded, and I was going to argue that I couldn’t eat her lunch, but she glared at me. “You’re a smart man, Mr. Tucker, but you’re valuing your worth over your well-being.”
“I’m not great with riddles,” I muttered, setting the tea down on the desk in front of me.
“You would rather run yourself into the ground to be worthy of captain and son than take care of yourself with things like eating and slowing down.”
That hit home, and I swallowed tightly as she stared me down.
“Do you understand now?” She asked.
“Sort of.” I fought with the urge to scream.
“You’re a very busy man this season, there’s a lot more riding on your shoulders than ever before, Mr. Tucker, but you cannot survive what's to come if you continue to neglect yourself,” she warned. "I know that it’s hard, and that you aren’t doing it on purpose. That your appetite is minimal, but it’s the stress, your body needs fuel, and your brain is tricking you.”
“I’m eating,” I lied.
