“I’m fine,” he says before I have time to say anything. “Totally fine. I just…had a little fall, but I’ll be up in a minute. I’m just having a, a rest, but”—his voice wavers—“I’ll be back on my feet any second now.”
He’s pale and trembling visibly. His hair is plastered to his face, and his shirt is see-through and sticking to his chest. There are red rings around his eyes and bright-pink blotches on his cheeks.
He’s been crying.
The little mouse has been crying.
My mouse has been frightened. He’s been all alone, and he’s been crying. My ribs squeeze and the breath is crushed out of me so hard that I can’t work out how to get more air into my lungs. I drop to my knees at his side, reaching for him and cradling him against my chest.
“What happened?” I ask. “Are you injured? Where does it hurt?”
He leans his temple against my sternum, wiping his nose with one hand and then the other.
“My ankle.” He sniffs. “I’m sure it’s nothing, probably just a bruise or something like that. I’ll be okay soon. I only lay down to take my weight off it. I hadn’t given up or anything like that. I was about to get back up.”
I wrap my arms around him as tightly as I can, my fingers finding their way to his neck and caging his precious skull. It’s solid and heavy, and as I hold it, I become aware that I don’t want to let it go.
I don’t want to let him go.
My head dips, lips dusting the whorl on his crown.
The sweet, warm essence that’s intrinsic to him floats around me, landing lightly on my skin. At first, it’s a gentle caress. An exploration. Then it’s an assault. It’s an arrow finding the last of my defenses and breaching them. The way it happens is so jarring, so brutal, that it should hurt, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t hurt at all. Who and what Jensen is exists around me, outside of me. And then things inside me light up all at once.
My brain.
My body.
Signals fire. Senses detonate.
The world around me bursts into color.
It’s beautiful.
The most beautiful thing I’ve ever felt. It’s what I’ve wanted all my life. What I’ve waited for. What I’ve ached for. I want to enjoy it. To savor and experience it fully because I know, even now, as it’s happening, that it’s likely to be the best thing that has ever happened to me. I want it more than I thought I could want anything, but to my surprise, I find there’s something I want more: to get Jensen to safety. To get him home and take care of him.
“Put your arms around me,” I tell him, guiding his hands around my neck. “Hold on. I’m going to pick you up.”
I scoop him up, one arm around his back, the other tucked under his knees, and carry him with ease. There’s a density to his bones that feels right. A weight with a lightness that was made for me.
I whistle for Gregor, and when he gets to us, I have Jensen stand on his good leg, holding on to Gregor for balance, as I mount him. I lift Jensen easily, sliding my hands under his arms and pulling him carefully onto my lap. I shrug off my coat, covering him with it to stop the worst of the rain from hitting him as Gregor begins to pick his way home.
Our progress is slow, the beautiful boy in my arms clinging to me as he shivers from the cold. I tuck my coat in around him as tightly as possible, leaving only a tiny gap needed to give him fresh air. His hands grapple with my shirt, fingers clenching as he holds on to me.
“Alfie,” says a small voice from under a shroud of waxed cotton. “You were wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” I ask, amused that he’d choose now, of all times, to point out my failings.
“You were so wrong.” Hands tug gently at my collar, opening it, and a sweet, lovely face nuzzles into my neck. “You don’t smell like sex.”
“Oh no?” I huff a laugh, heart swelling to bursting as I wait for him to tell me that I smell like a carrot or worse. “What do I smell like then?”
“You smell”—he inhales and hums dreamily—“like home.”
27
Jensen
Forahousethat’snormally quiet and sedate, there’s been an awful lot of shouting this evening. Mrs. Thompson has barked out orders like a sergeant major on steroids, and the ground floor has been teeming with people charging around, attempting to carry them out to her satisfaction.
