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I manage to eat a bit more and finish off the salmon and half the vegetables. Donnie watches me the entire time and his expression brightens with every bite I swallow. He’s proud of me. I want that gold star. I take another bite.

“Good job,” he says when I set the fork down, and a little bit of that giddy happy feeling I get at the end of spin class trickles through the muck in my brain. I think I even eke out a smile.

“Go on up to bed,” Donnie says.

I look at him. Donnie, The Sexy Spin Instructor. Salt and pepper hair, faint lines across his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. He’s got stubble all along his jaw.

“Thank you,” I whisper. For dinner, for giving me a place to crash, for holding me while I melted down, for not getting upset when I ruined his shirt. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he hadn’t been at Mars. I suck in a gasping breath and hold it in my lungs.

“You’re welcome. Now go to bed.”

I nod, stand, and climb the stairs. Because Donnie, The Spin Instructor, told me to. And Donnie, The Spin Instructor knows what to do.

CHAPTER FOUR

DONNIE

I wait for Connor to get upstairs before I let the air out of my lungs in one giant whoosh. Fuck. Connor’s crashing and I’m crashing right along with him. It’s been an intense evening, even for me.

My hands are a little unsteady as I clear the table and I set the plates down by the sink to grip the edge of the kitchen counter. Deep breaths. In and hold. Out and hold. It takes several cycles for my pulse to slow to a more manageable rate.

I fill the tea kettle and turn it on. I’m going to need some tea in order to get to sleep tonight.

It’s not only Connor and the shitty evening he’s had. It’s me and all the feelings bubbling to the surface because Connor is in the house, sleeping in the guest room, wearing Roger’s clothes.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I was up in the walk-in closet when I realized Connor was never going to fit into my clothes. He’s so much wider than I am. But about the same size Roger was. It paralyzed me for a good few seconds as all the grief and sorrow around losing Roger came crashing down on me. A sharp pain exploded in my chest and I had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing to the floor.

I haven’t felt it so acutely in a while now, that gut-wrenching pain that makes it impossible to breathe, impossible to move, that makes me want to die so it won't hurt so much anymore. It’s the same kind of sobbing I’d held Connor through at Mars. Except his pain is fresh and I’ve already had almost four years to deal with mine.

He needed something to wear. My clothes wouldn’t fit him. So that left Roger’s. I forced myself to cross to Roger’s side of the walk-in closet where most of his clothes still sit, exactly where they would’ve been if he was still with me. His pajamas are in a built-in dresser and the first set on top was a nice plaid flannel in deep forest green. I have a matching set in light blue. We got them during a ski trip to Vermont when I forgot to pack pajamas for us.

They fit Connor well. Almost too well. The top stretches perfectly across his broad shoulders, the bottoms are just snug enough around the hips to hint at a great ass. I almost dropped the baking tray full of our dinner when he walked into the kitchen.

I dunk the dishes into the hot soapy water in the sink. I’m not used to having anyone else in the kitchen. The last time I had people in here was… Roger’s wake. There’d been so many people—our friends, Roger’s parents, his colleagues. The counter was covered with dishes wrapped in aluminum foil. The fridge could barely close with how full it was.

I dropped a plate that day and it shattered on the kitchen floor. I’m still not sure whether it slipped out of my hand by accident or if I purposefully let it go. After that first one, I wanted to smash all the plates. I would have if Roger’s father, Leonard, hadn’t pushed me out of the kitchen.

I still remember what it felt like to be in the house that day, so vividly that sometimes it feels like it was yesterday. The weight of Roger’s death was so heavy, so crushing, I collapsed under it. It’s taken me a long time to figure out how to live with that weight. I’m better at it now, better at carrying it, better at hiding how heavy it is.

I give the kitchen one last wipe down, then make myself a mug of chamomile tea and bring it upstairs with me. I stop on the second-floor landing. The door to the guest room is open and the light is still on. When I peek inside, I find Connor lying on his side in the middle of the bed, on top of the covers.

He looks so small like that, so defenseless and vulnerable. This big guy, all curled up, his thick thighs tucked against his chest. His dark blond hair is all tousled and his lip is pushed out in that pout.

I set my hand on his shoulder and give him a shake. “Connor.”

His eyes flutter open and reveal light brown irises that remind me of caramel. Warm and sweet and comforting. He stares at me, but I’m not sure if he sees me at all.

“Come on, let’s get you under the covers.” I set my mug aside and tug Connor to his feet.

He moves slowly, loose and languid. He’s probably on the edge of unconsciousness. I get him onto the bed, head on a pillow, and drag the covers over him, making sure they’re wrapped snuggly around him. When I turn to go, his arm shoots out from under the bedding and latches onto my wrist.

“Don’t leave.” His words are slurred with fatigue, but the neediness in them is as clear as a bell. It echoes through me and I can’t tell whether I’m reflecting what he’s projecting or whether I need that comfort too. Either way, I can’t leave him.

I climb onto the bed next to him, the thickness of the covers separating us. Connor immediately molds himself to me, head on my shoulder, arm flung across my body. He rubs his cheek back and forth, breathing in deep like he’s filling himself up on my smell. When he sighs, all the tension melts away and he’s heavy and soft on top of me.

His weight… I close my eyes as my body pushes through the murkiness of a four-year slumber. His hair tickles my chin, his chest rises and falls against my side, his arm is heavy on my stomach, his hand is curled possessively around my hip. I haven’t slept next to anyone since Roger. Hell, I haven’t held anyone as closely as I’ve held Connor since then either.

My brain dumps barrels and barrels of oxytocin into my system, the entire stockpile over the last four years. It feels so goddamn good to have Connor on me, touching me, curled up around me. My skin is all sensitive and tingly. My muscles are liquid like I’ve had a deep tissue massage. And my dick… Christ, my dick roars to life.

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