Only You by Willa Okati Read Free Book Online

he said.
    “Good.” Nick tore off a chunk of bread from an unwrapped loaf on the counter, dipped it in the gravy, and lifted it to Barrett’s mouth. He thumbed a drop of savory juice off Barrett’s lip. “Then that’s that, and let’s eat. It’d be a shame to let this go to waste. And you are hungry, aren’t you?”
    “Starving.” Barrett exhaled. He looked tired and old as he propped himself against the counter. Hesitant, too, but…still, maybe, a little hopeful. “You really think you can do this?”
    “Nope. We can. You and me,” Nick said. “We’ll manage, and nothing has to change, not really. You’ll see.”
    It didn’t look as if Barrett believed him. Nick wasn’t sure he believed himself, but none of that mattered. All that counted was Barrett’s nod. He’d try.
    Nick took a deep breath. All right, then. Here we go.

Chapter Four
     
     
     
    Nick slept late the next morning, as was his preference and habit on Sundays. He dragged the duvet over his head when dawn crept through the bedroom windows and slept on as sunlight turned their home first pink and yellow, then pale gray.
    Barrett woke early. Not out of choice. He’d much rather have curled up next to Nick, head tucked against Nick’s shoulder. Brushing away the rogue hairs that always, always fell across his nose and mouth the second he’d gotten comfortable, but he couldn’t sleep. Never had been great at dropping off, and if he happened to open his eyes during the night? Forget it. Might as well crawl out of bed and find something useful to do with his time while Nick snored on.
    Sometimes, he’d envied Nick that ability. Sometimes not.
    This day, of all days, Barrett wasn’t sure what he thought about it all. Easier not to think. He’d be happier if he could put everything out of his mind.
    Might as well wish for the moon while he was at it.
    Barrett scoffed at himself as he padded barefooted to the kitchen in search of coffee. I’m being maudlin. Maudlin and ridiculous, and for what? Nick might be right, he told himself, rummaging as quietly as he could through cupboards and cabinets. Not for any particular reason. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped himself, counted to ten—then to thirty—and filled the electric kettle up to the top. It was all too easy to get sidetracked, watching Nick. Advantage, or disadvantage, of the open plan house—no secrets and, no matter where you went, a clear line of sight.
    Bathroom excepted. There were a few limits.
    Nick lay on his stomach. He’d kicked off the duvet Barrett had tossed over him when sneaking out of bed, and it’d slid off the foot of the mattress to crumple in a pile on the floor. The sheet had followed, and if Nick hadn’t had a death grip on his pillow, it probably would have suffered the same fate. Barrett’s had, and it lolled in a sad little lump off the side of the bed. The edge of the bag he’d hidden Nick’s replacement wrist cuff in peeped from underneath it.
    As Barrett watched, Nick mumbled something unintelligible and snuffled into his pillow. He always had been prone to talking in his sleep. Never anything that made sense, but funny as hell to listen to when Barrett was in the mood. One time he’d carried on a monologue about rutabaga kings until Barrett’s stifled laughter woke him. Too bad he hadn’t gotten that one on tape.
    No filibusters today , Barrett noted idly, listening with one ear for the kettle. Just scraps of this and that. Not quite bad dreams, but maybe not the most comforting thoughts either. Nick growled, a grumbling sort of noise, and hugged the pillow tighter, pressing his face into its soft squishiness.
    Which would have been funny, if it hadn’t bared Nick’s neck. His arched neck, back strung like a bow with the newly formed soulmark at its crown.
    Shit .
    Barrett hadn’t forgotten about the soulmark as such, but he’d managed to keep himself from actively obsessing for a good fifteen minutes. It was darker still this