Page 55 of Cross Ice

I turned on the water, and he stepped in behind me, his hands finding my shoulders, the heat of the water and the heat of him simultaneous.

He washed my hair without asking, his fingers working through it slowly, and I stood under the water and let him. I understood that this was what it was supposed to feel like. Not Ryan’s version of intimacy, which had always had an audience even when it was just the two of us—everything performed, everything angled. This was private. Just us. Just water, warmth, and Nico’s hands in my hair, like it was the most natural thing he’d ever done.

“You okay?” he asked.

“More than.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of my neck, and I closed my eyes.

When we got out, dried off, and went back to bed, the afternoon light had shifted toward evening. He pulled me against his chest, and we lay there without talking, the comfortable kind of quiet that I was still learning to trust.

“I told Fortin and Thompson about you,” he said after a while. “That we’re together. Should’ve mentioned it sooner. I told them on the first roadie.”

I went still. Before the trip. Before the confession, even. While he was still being vague with me, he’d been telling his teammates.

I sat with that for a moment, turning it over. It could have stung, the idea that two men I’d never met had known about me before I knew about Nico. But the more I thought about it, the more it landed differently. He’d been telling the people in his daily life. Moving toward honesty from the inside out, building toward telling me, not keeping it from everyone equally. He’d been trying, in his own imperfect way, for longer than I’d known.

“How’d they take it?” I asked.

“Great. Asked about you. Want to meet you someday.” He paused. “No pressure on that. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay,” I said. “Someday.”

His arm tightened around me. “No rush.”

We were quiet again. The dresser across the room caught my eye.

“I did something,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“Top right drawer.” I nodded toward the dresser. “I cleared it out. And there’s a toothbrush in the bathroom for you. The blue one.”

He was still for a moment. Then he pulled back to look at me. “You cleared a drawer.”

“It seemed practical. You’re here often enough.” I kept my voice even. “Unless that’s⁠—”

“Evan.” His hand came up to my jaw. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s just a drawer.”

“It’s not just a drawer.” His thumb moved along my cheekbone. “It’s you making room. On purpose. That’s not nothing.”

He was right. It wasn’t nothing. I’d stood in front of that dresser Tuesday morning, the apartment quiet, Nico somewhere over the Pacific Northwest, and I’d opened the drawer and started moving things without letting myself think too hard about what I was doing. Because thinking too long meant talking myself out of it. And I was done talking myself out of Nico.

“It’s yours,” I said. “Whenever you want to use it.”

He kissed me, soft and slow, and I kissed him back. A drawer was such a small thing to feel so much about.

After a while, he shifted, propping himself up to look at me. “Tomorrow night,” he said. “Let me bring dinner. Something good. A real date night.”

“Okay,” I said. “Yeah.”

His smile was immediate and warm. “Yeah?”

“Don’t push it,” I said. “I already said yes.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN