Page 93 of Prodigal

“She doesn’t hate you,” Boyd countered. He gestured at the car. “A newish car.”

Morgan was coaxed into a laugh as he picked a large, dandruffy flake of paint off the white car and flicked it away from him. “Newish, lightly bonfired,” he said.

“And once Shay gets the garage back on its feet, however many shares of the company the ten grand I’ll get back from your bail can get you,” Boyd said. “Shay agreed. So… stay.”

Morgan inhaled. “You think I don’t want to? I can’t go back to jail, and Lo’s gunning for me—”

“He’s after Morgan Graves,” Boyd said. “No judge in their right mind is going to turn ‘Sammy Calloway came home’ into ‘Put Sammy Calloway in jail.’ I don’t think being Sammy is going to come with a lot of advantages, so you might as well make use of that one. And if they try, we’ll fight it.”

There was a long, uncertain pause—or at least it felt long—and then Morgan cracked a quick, ruthlessly charming smile.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked.

The urge to “up to you” him, to pass on the responsibility, caught in Boyd’s throat. He always tried to be no trouble, to not want anything for himself. As though he didn’t deserve it. But… he wanted this.

“I want you to stay,” he said clearly. “Please?”

Morgan exhaled raggedly and walked over to Boyd. He caught Boyd’s hips in his hands and pulled him a step closer. Their bodies pressed easily together from chest to thigh.

“You’d have been ten grand and a car richer if you realized all I needed was you,” Morgan said. “But I don’t know what’s next. I don’t know what I’ll find out, about who, when Mac starts to pick my life apart. Or whatyou’llfind out.”

“You’ll stay?” Boyd checked.

Morgan hesitated and then rested his forehead against Boyd’s. “I’ll stay.”

“Then—” Boyd kissed him. “—whatever you find out, I’ll be here for. I can’t change the past, but I won’t let anyone hurt you again. We’re in this together.”