Hart
Hart quickly locked up behind Teresa and turned out the few remaining lights in the living room. He was almost hesitant to walk in the direction of his bedroom. Free had to be mortified. And completely over the crazy. Hart was supposed to be someone he felt safe with. Goddamnit. He gripped his beard roughly, then scratched at his chin. He immediately had a mind to call God for advice, but he wouldn’t let Free just sit back there—probably with his backpack on his shoulder.
Damn you, Reese. You conniving little horror. I can’t believe you touched him. Hart was humiliated. Free hated violence and he’d unfortunately just got a big taste of what Hart’s life had been like those twenty-plus years. Then for her to say those things about the children they’d lost… how could she?
Hart hurried into the kitchen and grabbed a fresh dish towel, and took a small bag of baby lima beans out of the freezer and laid it inside. He walked down the hall with his stomach in his throat. They’d been having the most amazing time, and it’d been ruined. He felt devastated that his first experience had been destroyed. He wanted tonight to be special for both of them. Now he had to go in there and ask Free if he wanted to press charges on his ex. He’d have every right to.
Hart went for the door handle and froze a moment. What if he was standing there with his backpack on his shoulder and the perfect excuse to leave? Please don’t, Len. Hart mumbled a small prayer and pushed the door open. He glanced around the room but he didn’t see Free anywhere. He wasn’t in the bathroom because it was also dark. Damn, did he jump out the window?
Hart walked around the corner toward the recessed alcove and there in his king-sized bed, lying right in the center was Lennox Freeman, bare-chested and smiling. Hart went to take another step but his big feet felt as if they were made of lead.
Free wasn’t naked, he had the covers lowered to just below his pelvic bone, his boxer briefs’ label peeking out from underneath. Free stared into Hart’s eyes as he ran one hand over the sparse amount of silky black hair on his olive-toned chest.
Free’s smirk was so damn sexy when he whispered, “Not as much hair as on yours. But it’s some. You like it?”
Mother of— Hart had to find his voice, and when he did, his declaration came out husky and strained, “You’re beautiful, Len.” Beautiful for sticking up for me, beautiful for touching me, beautiful for staying and not leaving me.
“I thought maybe we could chill for a little while and watch some of that ‘mindless TV’ you mentioned earlier.” Free lost his teasing smile and sat up with a more serious expression, “I know you’ve had a hard day, and if you just want to get in bed alone right now then I’d understand. But after everything that just…well. I thought maybe you could use a friend tonight. We don’t have to do anything, just chill, yes?”
His sense of relief was so strong and immediate it made him light-headed. Free didn’t hate him. Hart got ready to climb in the bed, but Free stopped him, “Hey. Stop right there.”
Hart halted with one hand and knee on the mattress.
Free’s voice was soft, “Lose the robe.”
Hart warmed inside. He let the material fall from his shoulders to the floor. Free’s dark eyes ate him up as he crawled up the bed toward him. Hart took the cool compress and gently laid it against Free’s reddened cheek as he settled beside him. He could feel the worry-frown in the center of his forehead but he couldn’t remove it. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over Free’s collarbone while he tended to his jaw.
“I’m so sorry you were hit, Len.”
“I know. I’m sorry you were hit, too.”
Hart held Free safely in his arms until they fell asleep.
Free
Free woke at dawn, like always. No matter how late he went to bed, he always stirred at daybreak. It took him a second to realize where he was and the current position he was in. The television was off. They’d never looked at it last night. They’d only managed a small conversation before they’d both drifted off to sleep. Free remembered resting his head on Hart’s shoulder, but how he got down so far until his face was in Hart’s underarm, he had no clue. Had he naturally gravitated there in his sleep? Free inhaled. Ahhh.
Most of Hart’s face was buried beneath the thick covers. His arm was bent and tucked under his pillow, making the perfect indentation for Free’s face. And, oh did he smell good—like soap and alpha male. Free didn’t dare move, he loved this position. Hart’s other arm was thrown over Free’s waist, holding him close. Somehow, he’d wedged his thigh between Hart’s and now it felt like it was trapped between two tree trunks. Free grinned and inhaled again as inconspicuously as he could. Ahhh, so good.