Page 8 of The Rut in the Road

It was something Melissa reminded me—and Sam—when the nightmares came. That rest was important, whether I’d actually be able to sleep or not. It was worth trying. Deep breaths, closed eyes, darkness.

Sometimes I even fell asleep, but even if I didn’t, my body got some rest irrespective of whether or not my mind let go of whatever kept it wakeful.

In my arms, Raj nodded.

He stood, and I followed, then took his hand and led him into the bedroom.

“Can I help you undress?” I asked him. “Put your clothes in the washer so that they’re clean for tomorrow?”

He blinked at me slowly, uncertain.

I walked over to the closet, opened the door, and took out a folded pair of sweatpants. I liked them extra-big, so they might fit him. I held them out. “You can wear these. I can get you a t-shirt, if you want.”

He shook his head, then began undoing the buttons on his shirt. His fingers shook, and I set the sweatpants down on the mattress and took over, mine much more nimble than his.

It wasn’t how I wanted to undress him, under a pall of gloom and worry, the former his, the latter mine. I wanted him to let me do this under other circumstances, when he’d smile down at me with warmth in his gold-brown eyes. I didn’t like the fact that those same eyes were blank and hollow, that when my fingers accidentally brushed his skin, he didn’t react.

I finished undoing the buttons. “Take it off?”

He did, shrugging out of it and letting me drape it over an arm.

“Do you want me to leave so you can change?” I asked, deliberately glancing down at the sweatpants.

It wasn’t how I wanted to see him nude for the first time. I would—of course I would—but this felt… not coerced or forced, justclinical. Like I was a nurse rather than his boyfriend.

He undid the button and zipper of his jeans, then dropped them. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, pushed off the dark pair of tight boxer-briefs, as well.

I tried not to look. Or stare, rather.

Every inch of him was smooth muscle encased in dark skin, a patch of black curls between his strong thighs with a heavy cock hanging soft between them.

I swallowed. Forced myself to look away until he was dressed in my sweatpants and I could take the clothes—jeans, underwear, socks—he handed me.

“I’ll put these in the laundry.”

I had a tiny stacked washer and dryer in the bathroom closet, a luxury, given the fact that this was a rent-controlled apartment complex for Arc-humans and Arcanids within five years of their release from Cyprian’s. I had another year on the lease, but I really should start looking to see if there was somewhere else I’d be able to tolerate living.

Maybe there would be an apartment that would come up in Melissa’s building or nearby her, I thought, stuffing Raj’s clothes into the washer and setting the dials. I added soap flakes, pulled the knob, and then closed the lid as the machine whirred with the sound of cold water. Or maybe Sam would want a temporary roommate.

Or maybe I’d move in with Raj.

He always came here, to watch movies or cook dinner—even when he cooked.

Maybe I should ask him if he’d let me into his space. I didn’t even know if it was a house or an apartment. I’d never thought to ask, and he’d never explicitly said either way.

I took a detour from the kitchen to make some tea—chamomile—so that I could bring him a mug. He definitely liked tea more than I did, and while chamomile had never really helped me sleep, maybe it would do something for him. Soothe the hurt, if nothing else.

He was sitting on the edge of the mattress when I walked back in, bare feet on the floor and his knees bent up past where it would have been comfortable for him to rest his elbows on them. His arms were crossed over his chest as though he were cold, although it wasn’t yet.

I bent to offer him the tea, which I’d put in a travel mug so that it could be set by the side of the bed without having to worry about spills.

“Tea?” he asked, looking up at me.

“Chamomile,” I confirmed, even though I knew he could probably tell from the smell. Even I can tell chamomile from the smell, and I don’t have a shifter’s nose.

He took it, opening the lid and blowing into it before taking a cautious sip. “Thanks.”

I was already in sweats, so I walked to the other side of the mattress and pulled the top of the covers open. “Come on,” I said gently. “Bed.”