Page 157 of Checking Out the Librarian

His insides were all shrunken tight around something really big and sharp, something that he knew was going to cut him on the way out of his throat if he pulled back the wrapper that kept it contained, but his own fear didn’t matter.

He had to peel calm-sounding words out of his chest; had to show Connor that he could continue. Safely. That he’d be safe with Jonathan, because his gut was telling him all sorts of things that his head was struggling to process, but the main thing, the big thing, was that Connor was hanging on the edge of telling him something terrible.

And he’d been an asshole.

“A sandwich?”

“I thought he’d sober up and then I’d send him away. I was—I was—I was trying to be a good person.”

“You are good, Connor. You are.” That was a given. “But how did…”

The rest of his question was a scary leap without a tether, because he didn’t know the answer, and he didn’t like not knowing answers, didn’t like jump scare surprises. “How did the EMTs end up at your house? What happened?”

Connor bent forward until his chest was nearly touching his thighs and aimed his words at the ground. “We were in the kitchen. I turned around and he was right there. Right there. I hadn’t heard him. He grabbed me. I said no. I said I have a boyfriend, I told you about my boyfriend, but he pushed his tongue in my mouth and I said no, Jonathan, I said no!”

Even before he finished processing what Connor said, his hands had moved to Connor’s back, stroking his spine and shoulders, and he was making all sorts of sounds like he made to Pawsley. Now that he was a pet owner, he had the skills for touching and stroking and making tiny comforting noises all at once, and he was saying some version of it’s okay, meaning I’ll take care of you, I won’t leave you, and also is this okay, meaning can I touch you, can I hold you, will you let me after how I acted.

Touching Connor helped hold his own panic at bay, and maybe it helped Connor, too, because he shuddered and then Jonathan felt the expansion as he inhaled.

“I dropped the sandwich and then Ribby came and ate it, and he let go and then I said I’ll make another.”

Oh, thank you, thank heaven and lucky stars and thank everything, it was just a kiss.

He could see goosebumps on Connor’s shoulders where the neckline of his team shirt pulled away.

When Connor lifted his arms and crossed them behind his head, as if to protect himself, it snuffed the flare of relief that his story had ended at an unwanted, nonconsensual kiss, but not anything more…not something…not…

He shied away from finishing the thought.

“Why’d I say that? About the sandwich?”

He continued to press firmly on Connor’s back, alternating between stroking up and down the sides of his spine and making circles the way he knew Connor liked. Although he had no idea what words he could offer, what of anything beyond the weight of his hand he could give Connor, he had to use his calm voice. He couldn’t let this giant howl escape. He couldn’t scream or curse the world for hurting Connor.

“Why’d I do that?”

Connor needed him to be steady. “People do things when someone⁠—”

“They tell people to eat sandwiches?” Connor shuddered.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He spread his fingers as wide as they would go so that he could cover the most space on Connor’s spine and pressed steadily through all his fingers and his palm. “Sometimes they try to be normal in scary situations. That’s what you were doing.”

“I wasn’t scared, I wasn’t.” He could feel Connor’s tremors through his hand.

“It would be okay if you were.” He knew he was speaking slowly, but he wanted to weigh each word. “It would be normal to be scared right then. It would be okay.”

It took both his hands and a not small amount of effort to shift Connor’s torso, but as soon as he realized Jonathan wanted him to rotate on the bench and spread his chest across Jonathan’s legs, he burrowed closer. His face and shoulders filled Jonathan’s lap, and he wrapped one arm behind Jonathan’s waist and threw the other across to the far side, knocking into Kitten’s carrier.

The tiny squawk loosened the clog in Jonathan’s throat, and maybe helped Connor, too, because he whispered into Jonathan’s thigh. “I wasn’t scared of him.”

Emma and Hank appeared down the sidewalk, bringing Ribby and Connor’s baseball backpack.

He raised one hand, palm out, to stop them from walking closer.

“I knew I’d lose you. I knew.”

His other hand tunneled into Connor’s mashed curls. “I’m still here.”

Now Connor was really fucking crying, but he wasn’t making any noise, just silent shudders and a lot of tears. Like making Jonathan’s pants stick to his legs amount of tears.