(Greyson)
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at my hands. They were still shaking. I could still feel him—his warmth, the way he sighed in his sleep when I kissed him. That soft little sound he made when Mason ran his fingers through his hair. The way he turned his face into Jaxon’s hand was like he knew it was us even if he didn’t.
“He looked so peaceful,” I muttered, my voice low.
Mason lay back against the pillows, arms crossed behind his head. “Yeah. He didn’t even flinch when I touched his hair.”
Jaxon sat on the floor, his back against the wall, knees pulled to his chest. “Do you think he knew?”
“No,” I said quickly. “He thinks it was a dream. That’s what he’ll tell himself.”
“But what if he didn’t?” Jaxon looked up at me. “What if he knew it was real?”
“He didn’t.” I
