Chapter 11
They’d held each other. Surfacing from whitewater rapids, emerging battered but victorious. Looking toward clearer waters ahead.
Colby had meant to fall asleep, and nearly had. He felt good: comfortable and protected and not in pain, or not much. His back would hurt if poked or twisted wrong, but right this instant that wasn’t an issue.
He’d pressed a kiss to Jason’s shoulder and shut his eyes, and Jason had kissed the top of his head and told him to sleep, to rest, to heal. Colby’d planned to; he’d let himself grow slow and heavy with slumber, all the way down to his toes.
All at once he’d been more awake. Some stray electric bolt, a prickle of thought, a shiver of immanence. Something numinous and self-aware.
He didn’t move. He only lay there feeling, existing, being.
Being himself. In the dark, in a shared bed, with Jason and the rain.