AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Partially in thanks, partially in promise.
Something seems to splinter in his gaze when he realizes what I mean, but he quickly looks away, shutting me out.
I watch as he jogs over to where Mason smiles down at his phone.
Inhaling deeply, I turn away from them to find Will watching me.
There you are,I think, pressing my lips together in a tight smile.
“Come on,” I say.
And not giving him a chance to stop me, I quickly tug the duffel bag off his shoulder, throw it over mine, grab his hand, and head for the doors.
He’s here,I think.
That’s all that matters in this second.
The rest is just noise.
Mybootssqueakacrossthe linoleum floors of the hotel lobby as Waylon all but drags me past the front desk, past the lounge, past the empty luggage carriers parked against the wall.
It’s late, but people still linger about. A group of businessmen are checking in at the desk, and a couple of them look our way with a frown when they hear the squelch of our fast-paced footsteps treading rain water across the lobby.
But Waylon doesn’t seem to notice, or care.
His head’s trained forward, eyes locked on some unseen destination, and I can’t help but notice howwethe is.
Or how wet I am after hugging him so hard I’m pretty sure I left bruises.
I should feel worse about that, but frankly I’m just too spent to care about anything other than the fact he’s holding my hand.
In public.
Not for the first time, no, he did that in Philly months ago, but it still matters. It still means something. It will always mean something.
Hell, it means even more to me in this moment than it did then, because this isn’t a Pride parade. This isn’t him trembling and sweaty, squeezing my hand so tight my fingers grind as he stares wildly around at everyone, trying not to panic.
This is a Waylon on a mission.
Strong, steady, determined.
A force to be reckoned with for all the world to fucking see and damn anyone who has anything less than nice to say about it.
Music filters out of the overhead speakers once we reach a short hallway. Elvis crooning about missing his love. Fitting, I suppose, minus the wholeex-loveraspect.
Not so lonesome now, are we though?a voice remarks dryly.
Waylon turns, leading us to a row of elevators. It’s an old hotel, I notice, nothing too fancy, but clean.
Without letting go of me, he uses his other hand to jab at the button a couple times, before hiking the bag up his shoulder when it starts to droop.
“I could carry that, you know.” Fuck, my voice sounds flat and exhausted even to my own ears.
He stiffens.
I feel more than hear his inhale, but before he can say anything, the elevator dings and the doors open. A lady walks out, not lifting her gaze from her phone as she easily side-steps us.
Waylon’s hand tightens around mine, but then we’re in the elevator and the breath is whooshing out of him.
