Nine-tenths of the Law

Chapter Twenty-three

After Nathan got rid of the condom and we’d settled into bed, we faced each other, but didn’t speak right away. His hand rested on my face, his thumb gently stroking just below my cheekbone. Both the anger and lust in his eyes had quieted, replaced by confusion. Or sadness. Maybe both.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“Zach, I’m sorry about earlier,” he whispered. “I overreacted.”

I put my hand over his. “Don’t sweat it. I shouldn’t have waited so late to call.”

He shrugged as much as he could with one shoulder beneath him, but didn’t look at me. “Maybe, but I had no reason to think you’d be doing something like…” He trailed off.

“Like what?” I knew the answer. I wanted him to say it.

He took a breath. “Like something Jake would do.”

“Nathan, you should know by now-”

“I know, I know,” he said. “And you’re absolutely right. I’m just, you know, after everything I-we-went through with him, it’s hard to trust-” He paused. “Anyone.”

Anyone, or me? But I didn’t go there. “I understand. He did a number on me, too, but we have to make this about us and now, not him and then.”

He looked away for a moment before again meeting my eyes. “You know where I’m coming from, though, right?”

I nodded. “Even still, if we’re going to make this work, it has to be about us, or nothing at all.” I ran my fingers through his hair, just needing to touch him, as if I needed something more tangible than sight to assure me he was really here. “If it has anything to do with him, then it’s going to blow up in our faces sooner or later.” Nerves twisted my gut into knots. I felt like I was giving him an ultimatum and in a way, I was. We can’t exist without trust. Trust me, or walk away.

Watching him silently, I swallowed hard. He was quiet for a moment, his expression turning to one of intense concentration. Please don’t walk away, Nathan. I wanted to hate myself for that unspoken plea, for the nervousness that bordered on panic. This isn’t supposed to be permanent. I shouldn’t be so afraid of losing you.

When he finally spoke, he whispered, “You’re absolutely right.” He rested his hand on my shoulder, his thumb moving back and forth on my arm, his touch giving me permission to release my breath. He went on, “It’s easier said than done, of course, and it’ll take time, but you’re absolutely right.”

Before I could say anything, he leaned in and kissed me lightly. Even after he broke the brief, gentle kiss, it resonated through my nerves.

We still exist.

With the storm over and the anger quieted, adrenaline gave way to relief and before long, fatigue settled in. It was well past one in the morning, and I suddenly felt like I hadn’t slept for days.

Nathan hit the light, but as he drifted off to sleep beside me, something tightened in my chest and kept me awake. Something wasn’t right about the way things went down tonight.

This was supposed to be a fling. A rebound thing, nothing serious. But if this was just a fling, would we have fought that hard and made up just as hard?

I’d had casual relationships before, and I never fought with them. If we disagreed that much, we just went our separate ways. It wasn’t worth it. The only time fighting was worth it was when there was anything to gain-or keep-by fighting.

And if the way we’d fought and made up tonight was any indication, we both knew we had something to gain by staying.

Or something to lose by leaving.

Neither of us had had to stay. The door had been there the whole time, unlocked, unopened and unnoticed on the opposite side of the room. I could have left, but I didn’t. He could have kicked me out, but he didn’t.

What we were doing shouldn’t have been worth fighting for like that. Yet we’d fought. We’d made up. The conflict was over, but we weren’t.

Nathan stirred in his sleep and draped his arm over my waist. His skin was warm against mine, his presence beside me reassuring. His breath drifted across the side of my neck and I exhaled, my entire body finally relaxing.

I shouldn’t want you this much, but thank God you’re still here.