Silent Is The Heart

CHAPTER 25

Easton

Panting, Aaron rolls off all fours onto his side. “I didn’t think you were ever going to fuck me.”

“What? Why?” I laugh, still trying to catch my breath.

“It’s been almost two weeks since…since we first did.”

It’s funny that he thinks we can’t talk about my bottoming. I mean, it’s not at the top of my conversation list, but… with him ? I think we could talk about anything.

“What? Are my blow jobs not up to snuff?” I ask, flopping down next to him and snagging the hand towel off the nightstand.

They’ve become a permanent fixture there these past two weeks of us fooling around and getting each other off in every way except the way we just did. I didn’t mind taking things down a notch. It felt… natural. It was like we were getting to know each other in new ways, and I’ve never laughed so much while just screwing around. Some nights, we didn’t even do anything other than curl up on his couch or put more puzzles together. Handing him the clean half of the towel, I watch his brows shoot up the way they do when he’s trying to come up with a retort.

“Uh, I’m pretty sure my brother will be getting a noise complaint call from the neighbors about what you did to me last night.”

“Just last night, huh?”

“If you want praise, you don’t have to ask for it,” he says, rolling into me and throwing an arm over my waist.

Why does he always smell so good? And feel so good? And kiss so fucking good?

“I’ve got plenty of nice things I can think to say if you ever want to hear them,” he murmurs sleepily when he breaks away.

“Yeah?” I laugh nervously.

I’d die to know what those things are, but if Aaron was any sweeter, it might kill me, so I’m damned either way. I’m…happy.

Is this really real? It feels like being on the high of my life and waiting for the bottom to drop out at the same time. He left once. What if he leaves again? What if I’m just helping to ease his broken heart?

Rolling his eyes, he smiles and gets out of bed. “Come on, I’ll walk you to the door.”

My breath catches at the sound of my intuition coming true so quickly, so I cover it with sarcasm. “Damn. Kicking me out that fast?”

“You told me an hour ago that you should head home because you have to open and catch up on bookkeeping tomorrow. I don’t want to be responsible for keeping you from your business responsibilities, but if I lie here next to you any longer, I’ll fall asleep and not be able to kiss you goodnight.”

Well, when he puts it that way. Sitting up, I reach for my pants and shrug into them. “Admit it. You just want to see me on my motorcycle.”

The way he clings so tightly to me that I can hardly breathe when we’re on it makes me feel needed. I didn’t know I’d like to be needed. It does all sorts of possessive things to me that are terrifying—like wanting to ask him if I can spend the night.

It’s the first time I fucked him. Usually, the first time is the last time. The thought of a last time with him is like a kick in the gut, though. I’ve officially obliterated my one-and-done rule. It was… God; I don’t even have the words.

“Want you,” he’d murmured urgently against my mouth when he pulled me up off his cock in the living room earlier. “Want you to fuck me.”

We probably looked like a blur racing to his room, ripping off the rest of our clothes. It was the perfect mix of sweet and ravenous. I’m embarrassed over how many times I fantasized about it, only to experience completely different emotions when it actually happened. Wolf was right—this is fucking me up, except I don’t know that I mind. For the first time, I wasn’t just fucking someone to get off. I was… present . I was us . I hung onto each of his gasps and moans. Watching his every reaction made my heart feel like it was going to burst, knowing they were because of whatever he felt for me. I’m becoming addicted to the ‘nice kind of fucking’ .

Out in the living room, I shrug into my leather jacket by his doorway. He treads out of his room in his stocking-clad feet, tugging a sweatshirt over his head. My skin warms, eyeing the fine dusting of hair on his bare legs up to where his boxer briefs end. The backs of those legs are silky smooth and were just pressed against the front of mine while his body was hugging me like it was claiming my soul.

He’s right. I should leave, because I want to drag him back in there and pull the blanket over our heads just to fall asleep next to him.

“What?” he laughs self-consciously, smoothing out his hair.

“Nothing. That’s a cute look on you.”

“Yeah. I’m designer runway material.” Cheeks going pink, he gives himself a once over, smoothing out his old sweatshirt before looking back up at me.

Suddenly, I’m no longer ashamed of my youthful infatuation or how long it lasted. How could anyone ever stand a chance at that smile of his?

Reaching out, I trace my thumb along his jaw. I reach to cup the back of his neck and pull him toward me. “I can’t help looking when you smile like that all the time.”

The kiss was a bad idea. The way his body instantly goes soft against mine when he wraps his arms around my neck has me determined to tell him that there’s a murderer on the loose, so it’s not safe for me to leave. I don’t get the chance, though.

“It’s kind of hard not to smile when your boyfriend is so sweet,” he murmurs in front of my lips.

The words reverberate in my heart like it’s an instrument, and he just strummed a chord on it. I’m frozen, unable to breathe.

“Sorry,” he whispers, his eyes scanning my face. “I guess I’m just emotional from the sex and…”

I cut him off, silencing his unnecessary apology with my mouth, pulling him tight against me. My pulse is racing from some ingrained instinct to flee, but I don’t want that instinct anymore. I don’t want him to take it back.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. With each pass of my tongue and lips, I sign the agreement until we have to come up for air.

Beaming, he traces the corner of my mouth and lets out a puff of laughter. “Okay, I’m not sorry,” he amends. “Because now you’re smiling too.”

I try to bite it back, but my face isn’t cooperating, so I roll my eyes and give his ass a little swat. “Get some sleep,” I whisper, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Man, I’m a damn goner.

Opening the door, I try to keep my shit together, but can’t fight the urge to glance back when I step out onto his porch. I might have to pull out my old sketch pad and add the image of him leaning in the doorway, all sex rumpled, surrounded by the glow of the light from his living room.Because, yeah---of course, I kept that sketchpad.

“You did just want to see me ride off on my motorcycle, didn’t you?” I tease.

“I can’t help it. You look sexy on it.”

As I hop on my bike and start the engine, I can feel my smile behind my helmet shield as he waves to me. I’m a boyfriend . A sexy boyfriend who’s being watched longingly as he pulls away. The title sounds promising, like a future where neither of us moves out of state. The warmth radiating through me accompanies me all the way home, along with the grin on my face.

Parking my bike in the garage behind the shop, I still feel the regret of leaving as I lock the door. He didn’t ask me to stay, but I assume it was because I foolishly mentioned I have to open in the morning. I only switched with Shannon so I can get out of here early enough to spend the whole evening with him tomorrow. I’m pretty sure, though, if I’d stayed in his bed, he wouldn’t have protested about me sleeping over.

A few days ago, when we were falling asleep on his couch, he murmured, “ You don’t have to leave, you know, if…you wanted to stay. ”

It’s out of character for me, but I can’t find a reason not to stay next time. Damn. We’re actually doing this. Me and Aaron . My boyfriend . That has a hop in my step as I walk toward the exterior staircase behind the shop that leads up to my apartment.

Something shifts in the shadows of the stairwell enclosure. If the freaking alley cats are pissing in there again, I’m going to be livid. We should really get a door on this thing.

The darkened shape takes more form as I approach hugging my jacket to keep out the night’s chill. It’s too big to be a cat. Way too big.

My heart thumps as the form of a man manifests in the darkness. Shit. Am I about to be jumped? There’s something leaning against the stairs near his feet, though. A bag? Maybe he’s homeless and just looking for shelter from the wind.

“Can I help you, buddy?” I call out as best I can, hoping my cordiality is returned in kind.

He steps out of the enclosure entrance and the parking lot flood light illuminates his features. If I got hit by a truck right now, I’d be less shocked. Every muscle in my body is painfully seized by what feels a lot like fear.

“I wondered if you’d ever show up,” he drawls, eyeing me up and down. “It’s good to see you, son .”

Son …

No…

I was right. I shouldn’t have left Aaron’s. There is a murderer on the loose.

The next thing I know, I’m nearly on top of him, my fist slamming into his face. Some unholy broken sound comes out of my throat, feeling like it tore it open. I slam him into the frame of the enclosure, rearing my arm back, knowing I’m going to kill him.

I’m going to… kill him.

Fuck.

What am I doing?

Gulping, I let go of my hold like he burned me. My legs are like rubber, backpedaling away from the devil reincarnated at my doorstep. My God. If I touch him, I will kill him. I don’t want to be a killer. I don’t want to be anything like him. Mom wouldn’t want me to be anything like him. And Aaron…I don’t want Aaron to think I’m anything like him. Who could love a guy who kills his own father?

Heartbeat pounding in my head, my back hits something solid. I’ve retreated so far I ran into the back of the shop without even realizing.

That face —the fucking face I dreamt about pulverizing so many times—it’s staring back at me, calm as a tomb.He spits out a mouthful of blood, dabbing at his lip with a knobby knuckle.

“I deserved that,” he pants.

My entire body is vibrating, at war with the urge to give him more of what he deserves and trying to talk myself down. I’m basically just standing here having a panic attack. It feels like I’m a kid. Again . I fucking grew up and got stronger. I forgot all about him and wrote him out of my life, but being stuck standing a few feet away from him, I can see it was all wishful thinking. I can say a thousand times that he’s not my father, but nothing will change that. He’ll always be the man who made me. My kin. And the difference between us is that I won’t kill my kin. It’s not fair. It’s like he has some power over me just by birth right. Why else can’t I move?

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Talk? Even if I could speak right now, I have nothing to say to Leonard Bennick. There’s nothing he could possibly have to say that I want to hear.

He killed her. Not directly. I’ve beat myself up enough times knowing I had a part in Mom’s death because of the car accident. Maybe they would have been able to save her if we hadn’t crashed. I’ll never know, but we wouldn’t have been in that car in the middle of a blizzard if it wasn’t for the man in front of me.

I don’t know whether I shake my head or if it’s my silence, but he must realize my answer is no. His bottom lip presses into his top one, accentuating the new age lines on his face. When is he going to start yelling and raging at me? That was always his thing. No doubt he probably blames me for him going to prison. That can be the only reason he turned up here—payback.

“All right,” he says softly. “I can respect that.”

Cursing myself for not opening any of those damn parole letters, I gape at him. Since when does Leonard respect anyone or anything?

“I know you don’t want to see me, but I’ve got nowhere to go. There’s a halfway house over in Dixon County, but the work there is slim for parolees. I think I can get a job at the pallet factory in Siever. I just need somewhere to stay for a few weeks until I can get a place. A guy you did ink on came in a while back.” Smiling like he’s proud of me or something, he glances at the building. “Told me what a talented tattoo artist you are. I put your address down with the parole board, hoping…”

Hearing him use words like parole and halfway house is like hearing a foreign language. They’re not words I ever heard him use when I was younger, and he was, for all intents and purposes, what appeared to be a steady working man who held his truck-driving job. The thought of him living and working in Siever, just one town over, is unsettling. It’s too close to the life I’ve built here. A life I want him nowhere near.

Why did he have to come here? He had the entire rest of the state to choose from.

Something about him looks… weaker and not just because his lip is split. I don’t know if it’s the lines in his face, the gray at the temples of his brown hair, or his unassuming posture, which is so vastly different from the man I once knew. The most startling change, though, is that he’s clearly sober. His skin, although more weathered, looks healthier. His broad shoulders and arms have more build to them, telling me how he spent his time in prison, but he’s aged.

I don’t care how much of his miserable life is left; I’m not letting him spend it one town over. I have too much of mine left to share geography with him since murdering him clearly isn’t an option. Siever is too close to me. Too close to Aaron. I need some law of Congress to get him farther away. Either that or…

It’s an awful idea. A stupid, terrible, awful idea.

I must be out of my fucking mind…

I have no pity for this man. I don’t. I keep telling myself that as my shaky legs walk past the sad looking drawstring bag at the foot of the stairs with the Maine State Penitentiary logo on it and nod for him to follow. I want him gone so badly, that if sheltering him for a few weeks is the price I have to pay to keep him out of my life for good, I’ll deal with it. There’ll be no parole letters next time. Not with the ultimatum brewing in my head. It’s a solid plan that a convict can’t argue with even if it’s taking everything in me not to hyperventilate.

Except, with each step I ascend, a voice in my head tells me I’m dishonoring Mom’s memory by allowing her killer into my home. I’m dishonoring every dream I had about beating him to a pulp.Maybe I could stop before he takes his last breath, but I don’t trust myself. And the thought of a beautiful smile across town is making me not want to go down the path of anger again. I traveled it for so long, I don’t want to go back either now that I’ve found a new course.

Reaching the landing, I wait, watching his slow ascent. He lets out a cough, and I hear the distinct sound of heavy breathing that he never used to have. Adjusting his bag in his grip, he stands humbly, like he’s awaiting orders, and looks at me as though he’s fully expecting me to recant my unspoken offer. I’ve never seen him look like he’s at someone’s mercy. I blame that for the reason I unlock my door—he’s not the same Leonard I knew. Something tells me it wouldn’t be fair to knock this Leonard down the stairs and watch him break his neck.

As he steps hesitantly inside and I flip on the light, I hate the way my hands are trembling. He has more build to him now, even if he is older. He might be able to take me, but I honestly don’t think he would. I think it’s me I’m afraid of. I don’t want to be the me who hated him. Not anymore. I want to be the me who just left Aaron’s house with a dopey smile on his face. I won’t be able to do that if I have blood on my hands and rage in my heart.

Turning around, he looks at me with an appreciative smile on his face. “Thank you. This means a lot.”

I don’t want this to mean a damn thing. That’s not why I’m doing it. I don’t want his thanks. I don’t care if he memorized the Bible front and back while he was in prison. I’m not forgiving him. I never will. I’m only doing this for Aaron and for me. He already ruined my life once; I’m not letting him do it again.

“You can use the couch and whatever else you need,” I inform him, motioning to it with my chin when he gives me a curious look at the sound of my voice. If I go into detail about why I speak so hoarsely, I might find my hands around his neck. I need to keep my cool. “You can stay long enough to get your shit together to find somewhere else, but then you’re gone. And as soon as parole lets you move on, you’re going to head as far away from Hampton as possible or you’ll regret the day you came looking for me.”

He blinks at me. Why the fuck he looks hurt, I don’t understand. Does he not think I’m serious?

“That’s the fucking deal. The only deal. Do you understand me?”

His face sags, but then he finally nods.

“And I own the shop downstairs, which you apparently already know. I don’t want you down there. Ever .”

Grimacing, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes show themselves. He nods again, though. “I get it. A man’s got to work and doesn’t need to be—”

“ And I don’t want to hear you or see you ,” I cut him off.

It’s true. I can’t fucking stand the sight of him any longer. I’ve done my good deed for the year. Turning, I head to my room and shut the door. And then, I lock it and kick myself for leaving the warm bed and the wonderful man that I don’t deserve. Me —the son of a killer who has murder coursing through his veins.