Naked Scripts
His arms are steel bands around my back, chest hair tickling my cheek, the scent of hay and honest sweat and something darker flooding my nose.
“Been too long, kid,” he rumbles, voice like gravel dipped in honey. One big hand cups the back of my head, the other low on my waist. Two full seconds past normal before he lets go.
I step back, face burning. “Hey, Uncle Levi. Thanks for… having me.”
He grins, eyes crinkling. “Anytime, Noah. Let’s get you settled.”
That night I’m poking around the attic bedroom he gave me when I find a leather-bound journal wedged behind a loose floorboard. Curiosity wins. I flip it open under the flashlight of my phone.