Morgan Rielly Imagine

Part Twenty-Three

The rest of the road trip passes without a lot less drama. We return to Toronto with a winning record for the trip and with high spirits. A small part of me has been dreading the return back home to Toronto, away from my apartment I've been busy and my mind hasn't had a lot of chances to delve into what's happened the last week and a half.

Morgan and I's relationship seemed to take a short nose dive for a few days. Which I think had something to do with my sudden change in relationship with Mason. Instead of ripping at each other every time we spoke, there were laughs shared and inside jokes made. I'm sure it was just an adjustment for Morgan to go to being one of my best friends, not just my only friend.

But during the last few nights of the trip, I had had dinner with him in his hotel room and we had laughed and joked about our favorite shows and had talked like we had all those nights in my living room. But I wanted more. And I wasn't ready for more and I knew it.

Every time I looked at Morgan now my heart beat faster and I was more prone to have a pink hue to my cheeks if he was in the room. Not that I hadn't felt all these things before, just before I had covered those feelings with guilt. There's no guilt left in me anymore.

But here now, walking towards Morgan's car to take us back home, my heart is hammering in my chest so hard I can barely hear Morgan's voice over the sound.

"Happy to be home?" He asks again when I give him a questioning stare.

"Almost, just a few more miles until I'm there," I reply, setting my bag in his trunk and making my way to the passenger side.

"Still refusing to call Toronto your home?" He asks, sitting down beside me and starting the engine.

I press my lips together thoughtfully, looking at his side profile as he adjusts his seat to his liking.

"I think a little more time and I could," I finally say and he blinks at me in surprise.

Despite what I may have said over and over again to him in the past; Toronto has found its way into my heart and right here and now, I'm hoping I never get the phone call to go back to Montreal. I flash him a knowing smile and relax into my seat, pressing my hands between my knees to keep them warm.

"Can you hold this for me?" Morgan asks as we pull up the gate to let us out onto the road. I look over to see his folded hand hovering over the console and I bring my left hand under his. He opens his palm and instead of something falling into my waiting hand, his fingers wind between mine tightly and come down to rest against the gear shift.

Now I know he can feel my heart beating through the pulse point in my thumb. Unable to keep the ridiculous grin off of my face I face out the window again.

"Smooth," I say and he squeezes my hand in response.

As Morgan glides us along the snow covered roads in the dark glow of the midnight moon I absentmindedly bring our entwined hands to my lap. Cradling his own hand between my own and marveling at how his body always seems to be warm.

I want Morgan so much, I want his attention and to be the first person he thinks about in the morning. I want his body just as much as I want his mind. But more than anything else, I don't want him to feel like a rebound.

Is it really a rebound when you were already in love with him?

I cringe at my inner thoughts. I don't love Morgan.