hands to make sure he wouldn’t spill his tea.
“You’re welcome.” Nick settled in next to him and picked up his cell phone and his notes to get back to work. He had to have some kind of a story going before he went back to the paper, and he thought he might have the beginnings of something here, with a follow-up to the Senator Ingalls story. He’d tracked down some of her old interns for phone interviews, trying to determine how long the senator’s husband had been playing his “if you don’t sleep with me, I’ll make sure my wife fires you” game.
Nick looked over at Holly every so often, though, to make sure he was okay. They’d arranged for Holly to see the psychiatrist every week, and they’d put him on speed dial—right after Nick’s number—on Holly’s new cell phone. Just in case.
“I’m fine,” Holly said when he caught Nick looking yet again. He rested his head against the back of the love seat like sitting up was too hard, and sipped his tea. Holly and tea was a combination no one would believe if they hadn’t seen it themselves—he’d always rejected even the slightest hints of civility or conforming to his status as the child of a very wealthy family. His eyes were still dull, but not as hollow as they had been.
“I see that.” Nick smiled and reached over to pet Holly’s hair. He knew he should keep his hands to himself. That had always been his rule with Holly—don’t touch, hands off—because it was too easy and it felt too good. But the petting seemed to comfort Holly, which was more important than Nick’s issues with how attached he was becoming.
Holly’s sigh and shiver when Nick touched him were completely uncontrived. “They could market you as a headache cure,” he murmured as he closed his eyes.
“I don’t think I’m interested in being sold to the highest bidder.” Nick touched his fingertips to Holly’s temple, then the backs of his fingers to Holly’s scruffy cheek. No fever.
“I’m fine.” Holly snapped his teeth at Nick’s fingers, play biting that didn’t make contact other than his lips brushing Nick’s knuckles. Then he laughed at Nick, lazily, with no mockery.
“Just checking.” The headache comment had sparked a flicker of worry—on top of all the other layers of worry constantly weighing on Nick—but Holly didn’t seem to be sick. Or at least, he didn’t seem to be any more sick than he’d been since they arrived in New York. And he was looking better, acting better. More like himself, if still sleepy and nauseated from his medication.
“If it makes you feel better,” Holly said graciously. He offered himself up, leaning in and tilting his head to let Nick touch him as needed. “You should ask first,” he added, hypocritically, since he never asked before touching, pouncing, snuggling or any of the things he did with everyone but Nick.
“Are you going to say no?” Nick rested his fingers under Holly’s chin, touched his cheek, his temple, his forehead.
“Maybe.” Holly gave Nick a sideways look. “Depends on how you’re behaving.” Apparently satisfied with Nick’s inspection, he settled back and let his head fall back on the love seat again.
“I don’t think you should get to say no to some things,” Nick said quietly. The reminder that Holly was still on the edge of everything, that Nick could miss something and Holly might die, came down on him like Atlas’s world.
Holly looked thoughtful instead of infuriated. Thank God for modern medicine.
“What kinds of things?” he said, at last.
“I can’t have you saying no when I’m trying to keep you healthy.” That was it. Really. Nick just wanted to keep him safe.
Holly’s face twisted a little. Then he nodded. “If I don’t like it, I’m going,” he said, scowling at Nick.
Nick was sure Holly wasn’t going to like it. No drugs, no alcohol, no more sex just to make himself feel better. Holly already knew all that, though, and he hadn’t
“You’re welcome.” Nick settled in next to him and picked up his cell phone and his notes to get back to work. He had to have some kind of a story going before he went back to the paper, and he thought he might have the beginnings of something here, with a follow-up to the Senator Ingalls story. He’d tracked down some of her old interns for phone interviews, trying to determine how long the senator’s husband had been playing his “if you don’t sleep with me, I’ll make sure my wife fires you” game.
Nick looked over at Holly every so often, though, to make sure he was okay. They’d arranged for Holly to see the psychiatrist every week, and they’d put him on speed dial—right after Nick’s number—on Holly’s new cell phone. Just in case.
“I’m fine,” Holly said when he caught Nick looking yet again. He rested his head against the back of the love seat like sitting up was too hard, and sipped his tea. Holly and tea was a combination no one would believe if they hadn’t seen it themselves—he’d always rejected even the slightest hints of civility or conforming to his status as the child of a very wealthy family. His eyes were still dull, but not as hollow as they had been.
“I see that.” Nick smiled and reached over to pet Holly’s hair. He knew he should keep his hands to himself. That had always been his rule with Holly—don’t touch, hands off—because it was too easy and it felt too good. But the petting seemed to comfort Holly, which was more important than Nick’s issues with how attached he was becoming.
Holly’s sigh and shiver when Nick touched him were completely uncontrived. “They could market you as a headache cure,” he murmured as he closed his eyes.
“I don’t think I’m interested in being sold to the highest bidder.” Nick touched his fingertips to Holly’s temple, then the backs of his fingers to Holly’s scruffy cheek. No fever.
“I’m fine.” Holly snapped his teeth at Nick’s fingers, play biting that didn’t make contact other than his lips brushing Nick’s knuckles. Then he laughed at Nick, lazily, with no mockery.
“Just checking.” The headache comment had sparked a flicker of worry—on top of all the other layers of worry constantly weighing on Nick—but Holly didn’t seem to be sick. Or at least, he didn’t seem to be any more sick than he’d been since they arrived in New York. And he was looking better, acting better. More like himself, if still sleepy and nauseated from his medication.
“If it makes you feel better,” Holly said graciously. He offered himself up, leaning in and tilting his head to let Nick touch him as needed. “You should ask first,” he added, hypocritically, since he never asked before touching, pouncing, snuggling or any of the things he did with everyone but Nick.
“Are you going to say no?” Nick rested his fingers under Holly’s chin, touched his cheek, his temple, his forehead.
“Maybe.” Holly gave Nick a sideways look. “Depends on how you’re behaving.” Apparently satisfied with Nick’s inspection, he settled back and let his head fall back on the love seat again.
“I don’t think you should get to say no to some things,” Nick said quietly. The reminder that Holly was still on the edge of everything, that Nick could miss something and Holly might die, came down on him like Atlas’s world.
Holly looked thoughtful instead of infuriated. Thank God for modern medicine.
“What kinds of things?” he said, at last.
“I can’t have you saying no when I’m trying to keep you healthy.” That was it. Really. Nick just wanted to keep him safe.
Holly’s face twisted a little. Then he nodded. “If I don’t like it, I’m going,” he said, scowling at Nick.
Nick was sure Holly wasn’t going to like it. No drugs, no alcohol, no more sex just to make himself feel better. Holly already knew all that, though, and he hadn’t
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