“An edge piece? Like a corner?”
“Exactly. One of those pieces that helps you make sense of all the other pieces and start to put the puzzle together. One of the pieces you might not even realize you were missing until you started trying to sort things out. I’ve got so many other pieces—the girls, my family, the SEALs—and somehow you bring it all together. Help me balance it out and make sense of where the pieces are supposed to go.”
“I do?” This gesture was so achingly sweet, it was making it hard for him to resist risking his heart again.
Apollo nodded. “You do. And I wanted something to remind me of that. Even if we’re just friends, even if you move on, I want to remember that you showed me what was missing from my life.”
“I don’t want to move on,” Dylan admitted, grabbing Apollo’s arm to slow him down, move him to the side so some joggers could pass. “I think we’ve both got some...puzzle-piece sorting to do, though. See where we fit together. If we fit.”
“We fit,” Apollo growled and pulled Dylan closer to him, and there, where Ben or the team or anyone else passing by could see, he kissed him. And not just a sweet peck either—this was a full assault from a deadly operator intent on the mission of blowing up the last of Dylan’s brain cells.
“Okay, okay.” Breathless, Dylan pulled away. Too much remained unsettled between them, but he still couldn’t resist nipping at Apollo’s lower lip as he tugged up his shirt, desperate to get his hands on skin.
“Hey, now. It’s the middle of the day.” Apollo stayed Dylan’s hands. “And I’ve got an appointment over at Metropolis Tattoo. Are you coming with me?”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dylan gave him a searching look. “I can’t guarantee... I mean, I’m happy to see you. And we need to talk. A lot. But ink...that’s a huge step.” He was babbling again, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He wasn’t sure he was ready for Apollo to do something so permanent when Dylan’s own feelings were still such a jumbled mess.
“I’m sure. I want the tattoo regardless of what happens with us now. I want to remember this summer and what you gave me—”
“Maybe our story isn’t done.” Dylan cut him off before Apollo could write the epigraph on something that was barely getting started. Dylan might not know much at the moment, but he knew it would be hard as hell to walk away from a second try with Apollo. Dylan’s hope monster was already dancing up a storm again, making it hard to think rationally about their future. He could give Apollo a chance, but whether he could truly trust Apollo with his heart was another question.
*
A few hours later, Dylan followed Apollo as they snuck into the house. Apollo’s mother had texted that the girls were already in bed while they were grabbing food after the tattoo. And not that Dylan wasn’t eager to see the girls, but he was kind of grateful for the quiet house. It seemed comfortingly familiar yet brand new at the same time—just as their tentative evening together had. Dylan was still struggling between letting the hope monster roam freely and trying to guard his heart against another crushing disappointment.
They kept stopping to kiss on the stairs, but once upstairs, Dylan headed toward the guest bedroom by instinct.
“No. Not there.” Apollo tugged him toward the master.
“Here is fine.” Dylan didn’t want to rock the boat. It had been such a magical evening—Apollo’s appearance, watching him get the tattoo, which was strangely sexy even though Dylan still didn’t have much urge to get ink himself, dinner where they couldn’t seem to stop holding hands—he didn’t want to ruin things by pushing for more than Apollo was ready for. He’d told Apollo they could try again. That was enough for now. Later, maybe tomorrow, they could talk more about what this all meant and decide if there was a good path forward, but right now Dylan was desperate to get his hands on Apollo again.
“Come on. I want to show you something.” Apollo pulled on his hand again, and Dylan reluctantly followed. It felt weird, entering his and—
“Whoa.” Dylan was taken aback by the transformation of the space. What had been gray and somber was now aggressively sunny, a bright yellow on the walls and framed pictures of the ocean above the bed, which had been moved and was covered with a loud paisley spread. “You painted,” he said in the understatement of the year.
“It was time.” Apollo ducked his head, uncharacteristically sheepish. “And I know the comforter is hideous. That’s my mom’s doing. I was thinking...maybe you could help me pick something better? I mean, assuming you have an opinion—”
“Apollo.” Dylan attempted to kiss the weird nervousness out of Apollo, shutting the door with his foot before he pulled Apollo close. He didn’t quite know how to say thank-you for a gesture—step—this huge, and he tried to put all his surprise and happiness into the kiss. The puzzle-piece tattoo had been awesome, but this felt bigger somehow. Less of an “I’m sorry” and more proof of how they could actually fit together. “Yes, I’d love to have an opinion on your bedding, but right now, I want you on it, and could give a fuck about the print.”
He grabbed Apollo’s hand to pull him toward the bed, noticing something he should have picked up on hours ago. “Your ring...”
“It was time for that too.” Apollo shrugged. “I put it away with a few other things I packed up from the room. Still not sure exactly what I want to do with them—”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be sure.” Dylan’s eyes burned as he kissed him again, trying to convey with his mouth and roving hands that he knew how huge these changes were for Apollo, that he appreciated the effort. “Take your time. I meant it when I said I don’t want to rush you—”
“I was ready.” Apollo was more decisive now. “It took me a bit to get there, and even longer to figure out the words to say to you, but like you said about your job, I had to do this for me. I changed the space and put away the ring for me, because I needed that, because I was ready. Not because you pushed me, but because you gave me wings to do what I needed to do for me.”
“I don’t know. I think you’re doing a pretty fine job with words.” Dylan’s heart swelled, so much that he wasn’t sure his chest could hold all the hope—yes, hope—that he was finally letting free. God, but he loved this man. Trying not to tear up, he forced himself to laugh and pushed Apollo onto his bed. “I am going to miss the mirrored door though.”