Sacrifice
Page 120
The air was peaceful here, and Nick took a long breath for what felt like the first time all evening.
“You can put her on the bed,” Adam whispered, though they’d been speaking normally in the car and she hadn’t stirred.
Nick shouldered through the doorway and eased Quinn onto the bed, pulling a black and blue–checked quilt over her sleeping form. Her breathing still felt regular, and the air whispered nothing of danger, so he felt pretty sure she was fine.
Then he straightened and realized he was in Adam’s room. Alone.
It felt quiet and intimate and smelled like oranges and cloves, and Nick didn’t want to leave.
But what was he going to do? Sit here?
God, he felt so selfish. Quinn was lying here, unconscious. He should have just taken her to his house initially.
But then Adam wouldn’t have called.
He reached for the normal mental barriers to tell himself to shut up, but here, in someone else’s space, it was a lot harder to lie to himself.
He needed to leave.
Adam stuck his head through the doorway. “I started some coffee. How do you take it?”
This would be the perfect opportunity to decline, to get out and go home.
“Just cream,” he said.
When he was sitting at the little table in the kitchen, his hands wrapped around a mug, he fought for something to say.
But all he could think about was the way Adam’s hands had poured cream into the mugs, or the graceful way he moved about the kitchen, or the shape of his mouth or the brown of his eyes or the—
Adam sat down and Nick jerked his eyes back to his mug. He took a quick gulp.
“How’s the coffee?” Adam’s voice was amused. And close.
This table was too damn small.
“It’s great. Thanks.” Nick still couldn’t look at him. His cheeks felt warm, and he hoped that was just the steam from the coffee. He doubted it.
Adam was silent for a long minute. A weighted minute.
Then he said, his voice completely sober, “When I was seventeen, Quinn told me she had a crush on me. I told her I had a crush on the starting center of the football team. A few days later, someone slammed my face into the corner of my locker. I never saw who did it. But he broke my nose and two teeth. I had to have reconstructive surgery. I didn’t go back to school.”
Nick was looking at him now. “Holy shit.”
Adam shrugged. “It wasn’t that long ago. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”
Nick frowned. “I think—I think I did. I remember something. . .” He shook his head. It was one of those high school dramas, the complete focus of hallway gossip for like five minutes, then gone.
Unless you were the center of the drama, like Adam.
Nick wasn’t entirely sure what to say. That he understood? He’d gotten in enough fights because of being an Elemental that he could relate—but saying so didn’t seem right.
He had to clear his throat. “I’m surprised you provoked those guys on the beach.”
Adam shrugged. “I’m not going to live in fear because of who I am. If that idiot who hit me thought he could scare me straight, it didn’t work.”
The words made Nick’s throat swell. He had to look back at his mug. It hammered home his exact position. Being an Elemental, struggling to find his place among his brothers, hiding who he was with Quinn and every other girl. Funny how the first place he’d found some shred of peace was in a stranger’s apartment, drinking coffee while his girlfriend slept off a bender.
“You’re going to have one hell of a bruise,” Adam said.
“Yeah, well.”
Adam touched his face, and Nick froze. His fingers were warm, gentle, and Nick wanted to freeze time.
Then Adam said, “I’m an idiot. I should have gotten you some ice.”
And his fingers were gone, and Nick was sitting there practically breathless with wanting him back.
One touch, and he was going to pieces. He wanted to slam his forehead on the table.
Adam came back with ice wrapped in a towel, and Nick was so scattered that he almost said that water was Chris’s thing, and it would probably help more to just leave it uncovered.
But then the towel was against his bruised cheek, and Adam’s other hand was on his neck to stabilize it, and even though Nick knew he should be taking over the holding of the towel, he didn’t want to move for fear of disrupting this moment.
It was nothing short of a miracle that the heat off his face wasn’t instantly melting all the ice.
Adam’s thumb tapped against his neck. “Your heart is racing.” No kidding.
Nick turned his head away and took the ice-filled towel. He set it on the table and had to look into his coffee mug again.
“Sorry,” said Adam. “I know there’s no point in pushing your buttons. You’re just adorable when you blush like that.” Then he was grinning. “Or like that.”
“Yeah, this is fantastic.” Even his voice was gravelly and uncertain.
Adam picked up the towel and held it out. “I’ll stop. You hold the—”
Nick shifted forward and kissed him.
He hadn’t given it a moment’s consideration—and if he had, he probably wouldn’t have done it at all. But now he couldn’t imagine stopping.
Kissing a girl was nothing like this. The basic mechanics, sure. But kissing Adam, there was a strength behind it, a raw masculinity despite his lyrical movement and gentle fingers. Nick was distantly aware of the ice hitting the floor.
“You can put her on the bed,” Adam whispered, though they’d been speaking normally in the car and she hadn’t stirred.
Nick shouldered through the doorway and eased Quinn onto the bed, pulling a black and blue–checked quilt over her sleeping form. Her breathing still felt regular, and the air whispered nothing of danger, so he felt pretty sure she was fine.
Then he straightened and realized he was in Adam’s room. Alone.
It felt quiet and intimate and smelled like oranges and cloves, and Nick didn’t want to leave.
But what was he going to do? Sit here?
God, he felt so selfish. Quinn was lying here, unconscious. He should have just taken her to his house initially.
But then Adam wouldn’t have called.
He reached for the normal mental barriers to tell himself to shut up, but here, in someone else’s space, it was a lot harder to lie to himself.
He needed to leave.
Adam stuck his head through the doorway. “I started some coffee. How do you take it?”
This would be the perfect opportunity to decline, to get out and go home.
“Just cream,” he said.
When he was sitting at the little table in the kitchen, his hands wrapped around a mug, he fought for something to say.
But all he could think about was the way Adam’s hands had poured cream into the mugs, or the graceful way he moved about the kitchen, or the shape of his mouth or the brown of his eyes or the—
Adam sat down and Nick jerked his eyes back to his mug. He took a quick gulp.
“How’s the coffee?” Adam’s voice was amused. And close.
This table was too damn small.
“It’s great. Thanks.” Nick still couldn’t look at him. His cheeks felt warm, and he hoped that was just the steam from the coffee. He doubted it.
Adam was silent for a long minute. A weighted minute.
Then he said, his voice completely sober, “When I was seventeen, Quinn told me she had a crush on me. I told her I had a crush on the starting center of the football team. A few days later, someone slammed my face into the corner of my locker. I never saw who did it. But he broke my nose and two teeth. I had to have reconstructive surgery. I didn’t go back to school.”
Nick was looking at him now. “Holy shit.”
Adam shrugged. “It wasn’t that long ago. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”
Nick frowned. “I think—I think I did. I remember something. . .” He shook his head. It was one of those high school dramas, the complete focus of hallway gossip for like five minutes, then gone.
Unless you were the center of the drama, like Adam.
Nick wasn’t entirely sure what to say. That he understood? He’d gotten in enough fights because of being an Elemental that he could relate—but saying so didn’t seem right.
He had to clear his throat. “I’m surprised you provoked those guys on the beach.”
Adam shrugged. “I’m not going to live in fear because of who I am. If that idiot who hit me thought he could scare me straight, it didn’t work.”
The words made Nick’s throat swell. He had to look back at his mug. It hammered home his exact position. Being an Elemental, struggling to find his place among his brothers, hiding who he was with Quinn and every other girl. Funny how the first place he’d found some shred of peace was in a stranger’s apartment, drinking coffee while his girlfriend slept off a bender.
“You’re going to have one hell of a bruise,” Adam said.
“Yeah, well.”
Adam touched his face, and Nick froze. His fingers were warm, gentle, and Nick wanted to freeze time.
Then Adam said, “I’m an idiot. I should have gotten you some ice.”
And his fingers were gone, and Nick was sitting there practically breathless with wanting him back.
One touch, and he was going to pieces. He wanted to slam his forehead on the table.
Adam came back with ice wrapped in a towel, and Nick was so scattered that he almost said that water was Chris’s thing, and it would probably help more to just leave it uncovered.
But then the towel was against his bruised cheek, and Adam’s other hand was on his neck to stabilize it, and even though Nick knew he should be taking over the holding of the towel, he didn’t want to move for fear of disrupting this moment.
It was nothing short of a miracle that the heat off his face wasn’t instantly melting all the ice.
Adam’s thumb tapped against his neck. “Your heart is racing.” No kidding.
Nick turned his head away and took the ice-filled towel. He set it on the table and had to look into his coffee mug again.
“Sorry,” said Adam. “I know there’s no point in pushing your buttons. You’re just adorable when you blush like that.” Then he was grinning. “Or like that.”
“Yeah, this is fantastic.” Even his voice was gravelly and uncertain.
Adam picked up the towel and held it out. “I’ll stop. You hold the—”
Nick shifted forward and kissed him.
He hadn’t given it a moment’s consideration—and if he had, he probably wouldn’t have done it at all. But now he couldn’t imagine stopping.
Kissing a girl was nothing like this. The basic mechanics, sure. But kissing Adam, there was a strength behind it, a raw masculinity despite his lyrical movement and gentle fingers. Nick was distantly aware of the ice hitting the floor.
