Project Apollo: Book Two ✔️

Chapter Sixteen

Apollo Diaz

When I fell asleep, it was peaceful. I was in fucking heaven. When I woke up, that was an entirely different story. Someone's fucking elbow was jabbed into my back. I knew it wasn't Jason–neither one of us moved in our sleep, and I still had an arm over his waist. So, the elbow belonged to someone else. I was practically squished against Jason–not that I was complaining about that particular detail, but the elbow in my fucking back was pissing me off.

I pressed my nose to the back of Jason's neck. "Whoever is on the other side of me when I turn over, you're getting a fist through your throat."

Axton kicked his foot into mine. "Shut up. I'm sleeping."

Jason started moving before he relaxed once again. I didn't want to move, except to escape the elbow still in my back. I pulled Jason closer. My brave soul. Last night, as he was telling the story, I was none the wiser about it being more than a story about someone he knew. Then the moment he mentioned that the boy couldn't look at himself in the mirror, I knew. Everything instantly connected. All the hints. Everything.

All I could remember thinking as he continued to tell his story was that I wanted to protect him, but I didn't need to do that. He spent an entire year enduring trauma after trauma. Even if he hadn't, he'd still be strong. Nothing took that badge of strength away from him. He was one of the strongest people I knew. And even then, I still wanted to protect the scarred boy.

Those men he mentioned in his experience, I hope they burn for all eternity for what they did to him. I imagined breaking every single one of their fingers one by one for ever putting unkind hands on Jason. Since I couldn't do that, I would try and help Jason heal parts of himself. Offer encouragement and tell him it was okay if he didn't take a step. I wanted to be there for him.

It was strange to want those things for someone outside of Triple-A, but I did. It didn't matter. I had feelings for this boy in my arms, and I stopped denying it. There was no use anymore. Not when I was gifted a taste of him–not when I was able to hold him in my arms and feel how amazing it was.

Emery's voice pierced through my thoughts. "What year is it?!" He sighed. "Oh, right. Good morning." He was quiet. "Alaric, wake up. Hey. You. Yeah! You. Wake up."

Alaric groaned. "It's only eight in the morning, go back to sleep."

"Hey, let me go." His voice was now muffled. "I'm going to kick you!"

Since when did my friends decide it was a good idea to jump into my bed? Why were they here? I highly doubted everyone needed to hide in my room. Which meant, they must have heard Jason's story last night. My friends were notorious for checking on me periodically when I was depressed. But this morning, I oddly felt the weight starting to lift off my shoulders.

Everything wasn't as...dim as it was before.

Axton groaned. "It's times like these I'm extra glad I don't have a significant other. Emery, if you kick me one more time, I will throw you out of the window."

"Bite me, asshole! It was Alaric's fault!"

"They are your feet, are they not?!"

"Do you want to see the damage my feet can really do?!"

"Oh, I dare you to try!"

Jason twisted until he was facing me, and I sucked in a breath when those tired blue eyes opened to meet mine. I stopped breathing when he smiled at the sight of me. "Since I'm your fake boyfriend, does that mean I have fake custody of your children?"