He was peppering kisses up my spine, his hand shifting over my hip as he rolled me to look at me. He was looming above me, resting on an arm to hold himself up.

The stark need in his eyes had me biting back tears. He’d had that look quite frequently this weekend, and I slid my hands up his arms, then moved one around his neck, going up into his hair and I fisted it there, pulling him down to me.

His mouth met mine. A soft graze. Loving.

It made me ache, but this time it wasn’t a body ache. It was a soul ache. He brought me to life, and I just wanted to do the same for him now. I wanted to push all his haunts away.

He lifted his head. “What’s wrong?”

My top lip curved up at that. “You’re asking me what’s wrong?”

He rested on his side, his hand tracing circles over my stomach. The sheet fell to the side. He was seeing all of me and he bent forward, his lips finding my breast, tasting me.

I closed my eyes, that soul ache shifting to peace. He filled me up in every way now.

Then I started talking, “You have not once pushed me away during this time. You’ve not once tried to avoid dealing with your parents or your brother. You’ve not once shied away from all the responsibilities on your shoulder.”

That meant something.

He carried it all, and he did it without a thought, without breaking stride, and I knew he’d continue to do so as long as his parents were seeking help.

He lifted his head up, gazing down at me. “Yeah. Why would I?”

A half-laugh slipped from me. “I would’ve. I did. You changed me.” I trailed a hand down his shoulder, his arm, his chest. “I couldn’t even feel my emotions before. I asked those questions to evade it all, and here I am, actually feeling tears and peace and not shitting my pants because of it.” I looked him in the eyes, drawing him back in. “That’s because of you.”

He shook his head, his hand going to the side of my face, tracing down my jawline. “No, that was you. You were starting to face the world again. I just happened to be in the way.” His lip curled up, and he leaned down, nuzzling my jawline and moving south.

I closed my eyes, reaching up, grabbing a fistful of his hair.

My breath was shortening. Panting.

He was growing closer to my mouth.

He paused before touching his lips to mine and murmured, “You know my tattoo?”

I nodded. Did I? I admitted, “I might’ve salivated over it a few times.” He lifted his head farther and moved so we could both see it on his side. “What does it mean?”

“It’s Hebrew for teardrop shot.”

“What?”