Chapter Two
Gage
Aiden was avoiding me. It took me a while to figure it out. He worked so much, sometimes it seemed like he was avoiding everyone. I’d been home for two days, and we hadn't spent more than twenty minutes alone together since I'd walked through the door.
Don't get me wrong, Aiden was glad I was home. Everyone was. And I was relieved as hell to be here. There'd been times, too many of them, when I'd been certain I'd never see home again. Somehow, I'd imagined things would go differently if I ever got here.
Always the dutiful head of the family, Aiden had met my plane. I'd seen him here and there over the past thirteen years, but I hadn't really noticed him growing older until I'd come home for good.
Fuck, we’d both gotten old. We were the same age, pretty much. We even looked alike. And now we had the same grooves drawn into our faces, the same lines around our eyes.
Once, we’d been inseparable.
Now, Aiden could barely meet my eyes.
He was pissed at me. Still. Or maybe, again. For what, I wasn't sure, and Aiden wasn't talking.
There was a long list of possibilities; I'd run out on all of them after Olivia and Hugh had died. None of them really knew why. I'd been eighteen, lost in grief and guilt and fear and I'd abandoned my family. I had to live with that, but the last six months seemed like enough penance to me.
I didn't know if Aiden was mad that I'd left, or mad that I'd come home. Or pissed that I'd spent the last thirteen years throwing myself into danger when I didn't have to. Shit, if I really wanted to make a list of all the reasons Aiden had to be mad at me, it would take all day.
Unfortunately for him, I was back, and he was going to have to deal with me.
So far, he'd proven adept at dodging me, leaving the house early and working late.
The night he'd been home for dinner, we had been surrounded by the rest of the family and Aiden had been careful to preserve his distance. So far, I'd let it go. Now, I was done.
Aiden stepped out of the dining room, a folded newspaper in his hand, and stopped short when I blocked his path.
“Gage. You're up early,” he said in a politely distant tone. “Mrs. W is still serving breakfast if you're hungry.”
He moved to walk around me. When I stepped to block him, his eyes narrowed briefly before he raised one eyebrow and gave me the look he used when he wanted to send people scurrying in the other direction.
It didn't work on me.
I was a soldier. And I’d shared a room with him when he still wet the bed. It took a lot more than Aiden's glare to send me running.
“I'll eat in a minute,” I said. “I want to talk to you about the company.”
Aiden checked his watch in a show of impatience and said, “Can we do this later? I have an early meeting.”
“You can spare two minutes,” I said. “I want to come to work. I'm not expecting any favors. We can talk about the skills I have and how we can use them, but I have a stake in Winters Inc., and I'm tired of sitting around, doing nothing.”
An undefinable emotion ghosted over Aiden's familiar features. Regret, or grief, tinged with anger. I’d been right. He was pissed.
Checking his watch again, he said, “Gage, you just got home.
You need to take it easy. Relax, settle in.
I'm happy to have you at the company, but why don't we table this until after the holidays?
The next few weeks are going to be busy between Charlie's wedding, and then Tate's.
You've been gone thirteen years. You can wait another few weeks.”
“Aiden,” I tried again, “we need to talk.”
“Later, Gage.”
Aiden skirted around me and was gone, heading past the kitchen to the garage.
Temporarily defeated, I entered the dining room to find it empty.
It was still early, just after seven. Aunt Amelia and Sophie were probably still asleep.
Considering that Sophie had been up half the night, I hoped she was still asleep. I wasn’t ready to face her in daylight.
The door leading from the butler's pantry into the dining room swung open, and Mrs. Williamson's familiar face appeared. “Scrambled eggs with cheese, sausages, and black coffee?” she asked with a wink.
“That would be great, thanks, Mrs. W.”
I sat at the table, smiling to myself. I hadn't expected my homecoming to be easy.
I'd spent too much time away for that. But Mrs. W was just as I'd remembered her.
She alone seemed to bear no resentment over my absence.
She'd welcomed me with a firm hug and a kiss on one cheek, only saying, “I missed you, and I'm so glad you're home.”
We’d both pretended to ignore the shine of tears in her eyes, and mine.
Even Aunt Amelia had given me shit after she enfolded me in a fierce hug.
She hadn't been able to stop herself from scolding me for getting captured in the first place.
Like that was the plan. At least I'd gotten my team out of harm's way before I'd gone down.
But did I get any credit for that? Not from my family.
I knew they'd been scared. After so much death and loss, learning that I was missing must've been awful. I got it. I did. But I was home. I was even in one piece, which was a miracle, all things considered.
Mrs. W came in, setting a steaming cup of black coffee in front of me, along with a woven silver basket covered with an embroidered napkin, the crimson ‘W’ standing out against the snowy linen.
Steam wafted up, smelling of biscuits and butter. I'd missed a lot of things about home, but the food had to be at the top of the list.
Mrs. W squeezed my shoulder and left. From her, that was the equivalent of a long embrace. Mrs. W had firm ideas about her place in the family. Mostly that she wasn't family. The rest of us disagreed, but we’d long since learned not to bother arguing with Mrs. W.
Now that our parents were dead, Helen Williamson was the closest thing we had to a mother, and every one of us loved her like one.
I thought of the bugs taped on the insides of the lampshades in the library and mentally corrected myself.
Almost all of us loved her like family. Aunt Amelia, not so much.
I’d never really understood why those two didn't get along.
Since Mrs. W would rather die than admit she disliked a member of the Winters family, she refused to talk.
When I'd asked Amelia, she'd only narrowed her sharp eyes and shook her head saying, “I have my reasons.”
I didn't envy Sophie the job of keeping the peace between those two.
Sophie.
I wasn't sure if I was dreading or anticipating seeing her again. Both. It was both.
Dreading, because I owed her an apology. I still couldn't believe I’d grabbed her in the dark like that. I'd terrified her. It killed me to know I'd scared any woman, but especially this one.
And anticipating… Fuck, once I'd gotten a good look at her, how could I not anticipate seeing Sophie again?
When I'd first walked into the library, all I'd seen was a shadow, moving in the dark in a room that should be empty. In that room. The library carried too many memories. More than memories, nightmares of the last time I'd walked into a scene that didn't belong.
My head wasn’t screwed on right these days. I'd come back in one piece physically, but mentally—let's just say I was doing better than expected, but I wasn't quite back to normal. Not yet. Maybe I never would be.
Bad dreams. Insomnia. Jumping at loud noises. I'd been around long enough to know what post-traumatic stress looked like. I'd seen it in other guys. Even talked to them about it, encouraged them to get some help.
So easy, when it wasn't me.
I laid in bed at night and closed my eyes. All I could see were things I wanted to forget. The fucking flashbacks were the worst. I knew they weren't real. In my mind, I knew I wasn't back there, locked in a cage.
My body disagreed. When they hit, I broke out in a sweat, my heart raced, and every part of me was convinced I was in mortal danger.
I knew what was wrong with me, but I wasn't in control.
If I had been, I never would've grabbed Sophie like that.
At first, my arms had closed around her, and I'd been ready to throw her to the floor, to restrain her as if she'd been the intruder I thought she was.
Then, I'd smelled her.
Such a simple thing, scent. It sneaks into your brain, provoking a response before you can process. My instincts told my body to relax before my brain got in gear. Nothing that smelled like Sophie could be a threat.
I kept trying to figure it out, but I couldn’t break it down. Her scent was a contradiction. Sweet and sultry, like flowers and spice. Innocence. Seductive, sensual innocence.
I’d grabbed her because I thought her an intruder, but I held on because I wanted more.
Her body was soft, rounded and warm against me. It wasn't until I realized how fast her heart was beating, how short her breath was, that I let go.
Fuck, I owed her an apology.
I'd wanted to comfort her, but I was aware enough to realize that as the person who'd scared the crap out of her, my comfort wouldn't be welcome.
And, if she realized I was half hard after holding that soft body against me, it would've made everything worse.
I could've stayed in the library with her all night. Just her scent and her low, soothing voice had been enough. But when she turned on the light, the sight of her was a punch to the gut.
Sophie was a tiny thing, at least compared to me.
There was no way she was much more than 5’ 3”.
In her tightly belted white robe, silvery blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, she'd looked like an angel.
Except no angel should have a body like that.
The robe hid everything, but I'd held her against me.
The feel of her ass would keep me up at night, not that I'd complain. Remembering her soft curves was a much better reason for insomnia than flashbacks and nightmares.