“Right,” I said. “And now… now I feel like I don’t need it to handle what life has to throw at me.”
“Have I mentioned I’m proud of you?” Nix said with a little smile, as he leaned over and kissed me.
“Hmm, once or twice,” I said, and smiled against his lips. “Wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”
“I am,” he said. “So proud.”
He punctuated it with another kiss, one that was slower, deeper. I slipped my tongue into his mouth and drew it across his lower lip and received a breathy sigh for my trouble. God, I’d missed hearing that sound.
“Wait,” Nix said, pulling away just enough to gaze into my eyes. He cupped my cheek in his hand, and my eyes fluttered closed at the gentleness of his touch. “We should talk about us.”
My gut swooped, a mix of anticipation and anxiety. “Yeah,” I admitted. “We should.”
“Not here, though,” Nix said. “Can we go back to your place?”
I flushed. “I, uh, I still have some booze stashed there. I’m not really looking forward to cleaning it out… at least not quite yet. Is your place okay?”
Nix drew his lower lip between his teeth thoughtfully. “I didn’t think about that,” Nix said. “I should’ve gone over to clean it out while you were gone.”
I huffed a laugh and drew him in for another quick kiss. “You’re not a superhero,” I said. “You don’t have to do everything. You have to leave at least some tasks for me to handle.”
“I think you’ve handled a hell of a lot, actually,” Nix said.
I grinned and then stood up, offering my hand to pull him to his feet. “Let’s go,” I said. “You can help me clear out the booze later.”
Nix just smiled at me like that was the best idea he’d heard all year.
23
Nix
I sat down heavily on my bed, barefoot and comfortable as I leaned up against the wall of my studio apartment in the clubhouse. Much to my relief, none of my brothers had stopped us on our way in—I’d been nervous that someone would want to give Dawson a stern-talking to. But everyone had given us space. Dawson had even gotten a few nods of acknowledgment, but no words yet. The guys knew how I felt about him, and apparently, how Dawson felt about me.
Of course, Dawson would have to formally apologize to the presidents and the club members, to fully make amends for the mistakes he’d made, but it seemed like they were cutting him some slack.
And for that I was beyond grateful. Yes, he needed to apologize and own up for what he’d done if he wanted to be allowed to interact with the club again. But—we needed to sort things out between ourselves first. I didn’t want him to have to make those amends before he knew without a doubt that I was on his side.
Dawson crawled onto the bed next to me and knocked our bare feet together. I smiled and took his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together the same way they’d been at the lake.
“I just want to make sure we’re on the same page,” I said, a little awkwardly. “About everything.”
“What do you want to know?” Dawson asked.
It’d be easy to just lean over and kiss him, to continue what we’d started at the lake, but I couldn’t, not without knowing what he wanted from me. From us. The end of rehab was always a vulnerable time, and I didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize his new sobriety.
“Your health is the most important thing to me right now,” I said. “I know how intense the first few months are. So I just—I want to be clear that if you need a break from this, from us, or want to take things slow, I understand.”
Dawson chuckled a little to himself, chin ducked.
“What?” I asked, some of my anxiety dissipating at the sight of his cute expression. “What’s so funny?”
“You sound just like my therapist,” he said with a laugh. “She really advised me to stay out of new relationships.”
My heart sank a little. Of course, it made sense—in early sobriety it was best that Dawson focus on himself, not on building something with me. A lot changed during rehab, and just because he’d asked me to wait for him, just because he’d missed me and was happy to see me, didn’t mean he’d still want to be together now that he was out and had reevaluated so much of his life. And yet I couldn’t deny that part of me had hoped he’d want to try.
But I could wait longer. That wasn’t a big deal.
“But I kept telling her I didn’t think that was what I needed,” Dawson said.
I started. When I turned to meet Dawson’s eyes, he was beaming.
“I want to be with you,” Dawson said softly. “Seriously.”
“God,” I said, as relief rushed over me. Even hearing that, though, I didn’t want him to feel pressured. “I want that too, obviously, I want to be with you, too, but if you need space—”
“I don’t need space.” Dawson closed the distance between us and punctuated it with a kiss. “I need you.”
“I asked you to be my boyfriend before,” I murmured against his mouth.
“Yeah,” Dawson said. “Now, though?”
“Was thinking more like partner. Something a little steadier, a little more serious.” I flushed. “If you’re ready for that.”
“More than ready,” Dawson said with a sigh. “That’s what I wanted. That’s what I thought about all through rehab.”
“Me, too,” I admitted. “I know it’s not recommended, but I just… I can’t imagine going forward without you by my side.”
“My shrink said starting new relationships isn’t recommended,” Dawson teased gently. “I think we’re a little past starting, don’t you?”
I softened, gazing into his eyes. “I guess that’s true. More like a continuation?”
“A leveling up,” Dawson said with a grin, but then his expression grew serious again. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re responsible for my sobriety. I know it’s not always going to be easy, but—it’s my journey, you know? I’m responsible for me, just like you’re responsible for you.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I do know. I’m here to support you, but—you’re right, it’s your journey.” Hearing him say that was a relief. He’d really done the work in rehab. He was taking responsibility.
“And I want to support you, too,” he admitted. “I want to be the kind of man who can do that.”
“You are,” I said, and I meant it.
Dawson shivered a little, then pressed closer for another kiss. “I can’t either,” he said. “Does this count as being on the same page?”
“I think so,” I said, and smiled into the kiss.
Dawson had learned so much about himself over this past month—and so openly revealed it to me, as well. For a minute, I wondered if I should do the same; should I tell him he was the first guy I’d been with? That I hadn’t felt this type of sweeping desire for anyone since Sienna, and how it was overwhelming and confusing but still so good? Should I tell him about how Raven opened my eyes to demisexuality and how it made my experiences all these years make so much more sense?