32 Aubie
I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER. Just because they’re not as frequent doesn’t mean they’re gone. The nightmares are always there, and this one was bad. I’m terrified to even close my eyes.
Blood.
So much blood.
“Bryce, please, please talk to me!”
Luckily I didn’t cry out this time. Just the usual bone-shattering trembling and panicked gasping for air.
Which is why I’m cowering on the bathroom floor like a blubbering mess.
I don’t want to wake Cutter with my nonsense.
Why did I agree to let him stay? I knew this would happen.
All it’ll take is for him to see me like this and he’ll run so fast I’ll never see him again.
I can’t face that. He means too much to me. I don’t know how it happened, but he’s become necessary.
Everything was going so well. We fell into bed wrapped around each other and soon the soothing rhythm of his deep steady breathing lured me to sleep. I was even ready to admit my aversion to sleepovers was an overreaction. And wouldn’t you know it, fate showed up to give me the middle finger.
I know I told Cutter some of my story, but he doesn’t need to know what an unstable disaster I am. If he did, I’m sure he’d change his mind about wanting to be with me. With anyone else, I could shrug off that kind of rejection, but this isn’t anyone else.
I’ve never been this invested in another person before. Sure, Bryce and I were close. Close enough to be planning a future together. But we were kids. What did we know about the world?
I’m starting to realize this thing with Cutter is bigger than anything I felt for Bryce. Maybe bigger than anything I’ve ever imagined for me. When I allowed myself to think about the future, I never pictured someone like Cutter in it. I certainly didn’t picture feeling the way I do about him.
“Aubie?”
I look up. Cutter is standing in the doorway and even in my sorry state I can’t deny how good he looks. His wavy hair mussed, his handsome face sleep-creased, his gorgeous cock hanging limp and heavy between his muscular thighs.
It would kill me to lose him.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes to wipe away the evidence of my personal trauma, my voice quavering when I reply, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He’s at my side in an instant, kneeling in front of me and wrapping his hands around my arms. “Baby, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
Baby? He called me baby. I choke back a sob. “I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.
“Sorry? For what?” He rubs my arms and something inside me almost purrs at his touch.
“For being this.” I hiccup. “For being such a complete mess.”
“You’re not a mess. You’re beautiful and sexy and…perfect.”
Me, perfect? He’s the one who’s perfect. And he’ll want nothing to do with me when he realizes I’m not.
“Will you talk to me? I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
That’s just it. If I tell him what’s wrong, he’ll leave. Besides, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I certainly don’t want to interrupt his sleep with my drama. Trying to unpack all my insecurities is not the stuff for dark night of the soul conversations.
I suck in a deep breath and force a smile. “I’m fine. Really.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “No you’re not, but I don’t want to argue with you about it on the bathroom floor. Come on, let’s go back to bed.”
I let me lead me back, tucking me in and folding himself around me. “Better?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes.”
You always make me feel better. Which is why it’s going to hurt so much when you leave.
He strokes my hair, lulling me into a false sense of security.
Please don’t be perfect to me.
“Now, are you going to tell me why you were crying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night?”
Maybe I should be the one to end it. Now. While I still have some semblance of pride. Because I’m not sure I won’t break down completely when he tells me goodbye.
The lump in my throat won’t let me talk.
“Aubie?” He raises my chin with his finger and presses a chaste kiss to my lips. “Please let me in.”
“I can’t,” I choke out.
“Why?”
I feel the tears start to flow again. “B-because you’ll leave.”
He wraps an arm around me and pulls me close. I can feel his heartbeat–slow and steady–against my own chest. How did I let this go so far?
“I promise you,” he says as his lips press against the top of my head, “I’m not going anywhere.”
That’s what they all say, isn’t it? Bryce and I were ride or die. Until he died. And all the nannies who swore they would be different. Until they weren’t. Everyone leaves. So let’s see if you’re the latest.
“I have…nightmares. Panic attacks.”
“About the accident?”
I look up and meet his eyes. “How did you know?”
“I’d be surprised if you didn’t, after what you told me. Have you ever…talked to someone about it?”
He knew. And he’s still here.
“My father didn’t believe in therapy.”
He blows out a sigh. “I know he’s your father, but I would seriously like to punch him in the face. More than once.”
That almost brings a smile to my face. “I would pay to see that.”
“I’d do it for free.” He lays another kiss on me. “Trauma is nothing to be ashamed of."
“It’s a weakness.”
“No.” He takes my face in both of his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. “It’s human. There’s nothing weak about you, Aubie.”
“You don’t know.”
“I do. You forget, I’ve been watching you for weeks. Nothing about you even hints at weakness.”
“You hate me.”
He sighs and hugs me closer. “I don’t know if I ever actually hated you. Maybe just resented what you represented.”
“I don’t mean to be such a terrible person.” I certainly don’t mean to be this needy.
He strokes my hair and peppers kisses along my forehead. “You’re not a terrible person. I’m just…this thing with my brother fucked me up. But that’s no reason to take it out on you.”
He holds me close and the trembling starts to abate. How can I be this dependent on him already?
I push that thought aside and focus on him. He’s got his own reasons to freak out, but here he is comforting me.
“Do you miss him?” I ask.
“Who? My brother?” He gets a faraway look in his eyes. “Sometimes. I miss what we used to be. Before…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”
No, I want him to keep talking. If he’s talking that means he’s still here.
Still holding me in my bed. Still chasing away my demons.
For the first time in, well, ever, I feel safe.
Cherished. And that’s a feeling I don’t want to lose.
Which means I want to know the man who can make me feel that way, and that includes all the things that made him who he is.
Even if they’re things that don’t interest me.
“How long did you play baseball?”
He frowns. “You’re not just deflecting, are you? Because I seem to remember I’m the one who’s supposed to be comforting you.”
I thread my hand through his and bring it to my lips. “I want to know about you. I know what you do and what happened to you, but I don’t know where you came from. How you became who you are.”
He settles against me, wrapping me in his arms until I feel like my heart is getting whiplash running from one extreme to the other.
“I can’t remember ever not playing,” he murmurs.
“My first memory of baseball was my dad playing catch with us in the back yard. I must’ve been three or four years old.
Those were happy memories.” He pauses and I wait for him to continue, basking in this newfound closeness that’s got me in a stranglehold.
How could anyone expect me to give this up?
“That led to T-ball and later Little League,” he says finally. “He wanted Callum and me to have structured activities. He claimed it would teach us discipline and the importance of teamwork. Callum tried baseball, decided it was too boring for him and switched to football.”
“But you liked it?”
“Yeah. Back then it was just a way to have fun. I played all over the infield until I was around ten, then my coach asked me if I wanted to pitch. All it took was one game and I was hooked.” He smiles like he’s savoring the memory.
“I imagine after doing something that long, you were pretty good at it.”
“I got better. Made my junior varsity team, then on to high school. By then scouts were showing up and there was talk I would get drafted, but I wanted to go to college. It was around that time that my dad got sick.”
He’s quiet again and I squeeze his hand to let him know I’m here for him.
“He held on for six months. With the medical bills, I was ready to give up on my dream of baseball and going to college so I could get a job to help my mom out. But she insisted my dad would have wanted me to go. Lucky for me, I got an athletic scholarship. I was a year away from graduating when…I fucked it all up.”
I give him a minute before asking, “And your brother, did he still play football?”
He nods. “He was really good. Starting quarterback, three time All-American. Won the Maxwell Award his junior year. Drafted by the Rams. He played two seasons until he blew out his knee in a freak play. He had three surgeries, but the doctors finally said while he would walk normal again, he would never play football. That’s when he went into broadcasting. I guess he’s doing well at it.”
“You should talk to him.”
I say it without thinking, but I can tell by the pride in his voice when he talks about him that he still cares.
He offers a sad smile. “Now you sound like Daryl.”
“Maybe this once he’s right.”
He sighs and goes back to stroking my hair. “What about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Any brothers or sisters you’re avoiding?”
I scoff. “I’m an only child. Turns out my mother didn’t care for the whole parenthood thing. She took one look at me and swore off any more attempts.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrug; I don’t want his pity. “I had a parade of nannies. None of them stayed very long.”
“Were you a difficult child?” he teases.
“You mean was I as much of a brat then as I am now?” He grins and I shake my head.
“I was actually a quiet kid. Maybe a little hungry for attention. No, I think they left because they couldn’t deal with my parents’ overbearing attitudes on how their child should be raised.
Not that they had any interest in doing it themselves.
They sent me to my first boarding school when I was nine years old. ”
“That’s awful. How long were you there?”
“Nearly two semesters. They sent me home saying I wasn’t ‘suitable material for their program.’”
“What does that even mean? You were a kid.”
“I was a Gauthier. There were…expectations.”
“Sounds like bullshit.”
“Thank you.”
We fall silent again until he asks, “Your family is based in Montreal?”
It’s so out of the blue I can’t help but stare. “How did you know that?” I take great pains to protect that side of my life, though it’s not like it isn’t out there available for anyone who wants to dig.
“Background check. Everyone who works at Eros gets one.”
“Oh,” is all I can say.
“So I take it that’s how you learned to speak French.”
I smile. “I was speaking French before I learned English. Thank my French Canadian grandmother for that. I spent summers with her the first eight years of my life. She was the only one who…” I swallow the lump that’s suddenly formed in my throat.
“Who showed me any affection.” I sigh. “I love my grandmother. She never agreed with how my father treated me.”
“Is she his mother?”
“Yeah, but she practically disowned him when he took over the family business. The Gauthiers had been an influential family in Montreal for generations, but that influence was always rooted in legitimate business. After my grandfather died and my father took over, he insisted on going global. The first thing he did was move here to East Brook. That pissed off my grandmother. Then he made it his mission to bring the business into the twenty-first century by getting into bed with some less than reputable partners, thus sullying the family name. That led to my grandmother severing financial ties with him. She set up my trust fund so it was separate from his money. I’m the only one in our family she has any contact with now. ”
Which reminds me, I should probably call her. I don’t talk to her enough these days. It’s important to keep in touch with family. Real family, not this cold indifferent farce my parents pass it off to be.
“You should talk to your brother,” I repeat.
He kisses me softly. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll talk to my brother if you talk to a therapist.”
A therapist? The thought sends a skitter of panic through me. Can I do that? It took all my limited courage to open up to Cutter. How can I do that with a total stranger?
But he’s right. It’s way past time I dealt with this. I don’t want to be a basket case crying on the bathroom floor or scared to spend the night with someone. Especially now that I have someone I want to spend the night with.
“I guess I can do that.” Just saying it makes my heart feel lighter.
He wraps his arms around me and kisses me softly. “Everything’s going to be all right. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
A warmth stirs in my chest and I realize something that scares me more than any nightmare.
I’m falling hard for Cutter Knight.