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“A while ago.”
“Why?”
“I just thought you’d like them.”
I so do.I swallowed twice. I was no match for this. For him. “Where’s the moon?”
“It’s on the desk.”
My eyes strayed to the desk where something glowed. Glancing around, I said, “You didn’t hang it up?”
“That’s your favorite part.”
I went to the desk, picking up the moon-shaped sticker and looking at it glowing against my palm. I had to lean harder into the crutch as the memory washed over me.
“I’ll be the man in the moon! No one else can hang it but me!”
“You’re too short to reach up there,” Win had teased.
“Watch me!” I countered, shoving a chair into the middle of the bedroom and climbing on top.
Max and Win laughed. “Still too short!”
I hopped a little, trying to jump, to stick the moon among the stars.
Arms locked around the tops of my thighs, making me squeak. “Max! What are you doing?”
“Hold still,” he said, lifting me off the chair and pushing me a little higher in his embrace. “Can you reach now?”
I strained and stretched, wiggling a little as Max kept hold. “Done!” I declared.
He lowered me immediately, blowing out a breath.
“Look!” I said, grabbing his shirt and tugging. “I hung the moon.”
“Looks good.”
“Thanks, Max!” I threw myself at him, winding my arms around his waist and hugging him tight. He hesitated to return the embrace, but after a moment, he did.
I blinked. The memory was so vivid it was almost as if I’d relived it. Things had been so easy when we were kids. Affection was easy. Wishing on sticker stars was magical, and none of us second-guessed how we felt.
Now here we were in a different house, no parents, and affection was harder than it had ever been but even more wanted. Yet we still stood under sticky plastic stars, and I was still the man holding the moon.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
It was one of those moments, another of those times I might regret later, but here now, with the moon in my palm, this moment was something I would never give up.
Closing my fingers around the sticker, I went to the bed, dropping the crutch and climbing onto the mattress. I scooted to the foot of the bed, standing up on one foot.
“Fuck, Wes, what the hell are you doing?” Max said, rushing forward.
“I got it,” I told him, stretching an arm up to the ceiling. The uneven weight made me topple, and a rush of air burst from my chest as I fell.
Oomph.I landed in Max’s arms, the width of his chest catching all my weight.
“Guess I didn’t have it after all,” I mused.
His low chuckle was a silky caress over my overactive system. I started to pull back, but his arms tightened. I glanced down, unspoken questions in my eyes.
