Page 62 of Redline Baby

My heart is going a million miles an hour. I don't let it show. I smile. Then I lift two fingers slowly toward his chin. I give him enough time to move away. He doesn't. My fingertips settle lightly beneath his jaw. Kit lets me tip his face up until his eyes meet mine.

"Then here's what happens next."

He waits.

"You're going to get a spanking."

His eyes widen.

"A spanking," he repeats. His cheeks turn red. "Like—right now? Here?"

"Not here."

The red gets worse.

"Not tonight either, if you need time to sit with everything we've just said."

He swallows.

"But soon. And not because I'm angry with you, though I want to be honest that some part of me still is, a little, about the accident specifically."

My thumb rests lightly along his jaw.

"Mostly because I think you need somewhere to put the weight of it. You've been carrying every bad choice alone for months, and I don't think you know how to set any of it down once you've decided it belongs to you."

"That's—"

He stops. Swallows. Tries again.

"That's a lot to just say out loud in a hallway."

"I know. I meant it to be."

"Is it gonna be like—a whole thing? Rules and—I don't even know what I'm asking."

"It can be whatever we build it into together, over time."

His eyes stay on mine.

"For now, it's simple. You skipped therapy for over a month. You got on a bike after I'd explicitly begged you not to, and you could have died on that county road."

My voice doesn't rise.

"And instead of any of that making you slow down, you're back in there tonight pretending the whole thing is material for a joke."

His face crumples slightly.

"So. A spanking. Starting there."

"That's..." A short, wet laugh escapes him. "That's fair, actually." His eyebrows draw together. "I don't know why that's the part that's making me want to cry, out of everything you just said."

"Because it's the part that means someone is actually going to follow through." His eyes close for half a second. "Not just say the words and let you talk your way out of them by morning."

He looks at me again. The tears are still sitting at his lower lids. His breathing has gone ragged. "I don't know how to do this," he says quietly, raw. "Like—I want to. I think I want to really badly, actually. More than I've wanted anything in longer than I can say." He draws a shaky breath. "But I don't know how to just let someone follow through. Nobody's followed through on anything with me in a long time."

"You don't have to know how yet." My hand stays steady beneath his jaw. "That's not a prerequisite." His eyes search mine. "You just have to be honest with me every time. Yes when it's yes. No when it's no. If it changes halfway through, you tell me. If you're angry, tell me. If you need space, tell me. If you want me closer, tell me."

His shoulders slowly lower.