Chapter Thirteen
AJ
I flip the bacon in the pan, the sizzling sound a balm to my soul.
There’s a sort of rhythm to cooking that relaxes me.
Chopping vegetables, mincing garlic, simmering sauces.
It helps me focus sometimes. Especially if I can cook for more than just myself.
Which is how I ended up being the guy who does most of the cooking when on call, and the guy everyone is always throwing requests at.
But it’s been awhile since I’ve done a breakfast spread like this—like I’d done for Nate when I brought him back to my place to sleep off his inevitable hangover—for the guys, and figured now is as good a time as any.
I need something to distract me, being that the anniversary of the fire that almost took my life, and my dad’s death, is barely a week away.
I always get antsy, the closer it gets, but this year…
this year feels different, for some reason.
I feel like a ticking time bomb, and sooner rather than later, I’m going to go off.
Which is why I’ve tried my hardest to keep myself busy between work and helping Nate with the house, when I can, so I’m too exhausted to think or do anything else.
But it’s not working because I haven’t been able to sleep much, because every time I close my eyes, all I see is smoke.
All I hear are sirens and the sound of my screams as I bang on the door, begging my father to let me in.
It’s been twenty-one years since that day. Twenty-one fucking years, the man’s been gone, and he’s still fucking up my life. I hate it.
I don’t know what Nate plans to do about the house, once the rebuild is complete.
He could sell it; I’m sure there are a lot of people in this town who’d love to buy it, even if it isn’t the original construction anymore.
It would probably be the smarter thing to do.
But I also know there’s the possibility he could stay.
I mean, he’s sort of settling in here—he and Lacey seem to have bonded pretty well, judging by how often I hear her gush about their coffee confessionals and movie nights, which shouldn’t make me jealous.
After all, Lacey doesn’t even know how I feel about her roommate. No one does.
I’m not even sure Nate knows how I feel outside of my rather obvious physical attraction. But what I feel for Nate… it’s more than physical, and I think that’s the problem.
I know what it’s like to lose everything, to not know how you’re going to get from one moment to the next.
I also know what it’s like to be young and alone.
To not have anyone to talk to or ask for help.
Which is why I’ve tried to make it adamantly clear to Nate that he isn’t alone, and that he has options.
Though he hasn’t called me for anything, like I’d hoped he would.
How fucked up am I? Hoping the guy gets in trouble or breaks down somewhere just so I can swoop in and save the day?
That’s a new level of deceptive and depraved, even for you, August.
Nate is a damn enigma. One minute I think I know him, and the next he knocks me on my fucking ass, and though there are more than a hundred reasons I could think of that would be sufficient enough to not keep coming back to Mr. Bright Eyes like a trained monkey, I can’t fucking help myself.
It’s like every ounce of control I’ve mastered over the last two decades leaves my body the minute Nate Barrett walks into the room.
I become someone else. Someone desperate for his attention, someone aching for his touch, his ferocity. Because I’ve seen the monster inside of Nate Barrett, and fuck, I want more.
But more is dangerous.
He’s a rescue, for one, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, he’s twenty-three. Christ, I have shirts older than him.
He’s a blank slate. He has no family. He knows nothing about the shadows I hide behind. He’s mouthy and sarcastic, and doesn’t listen well, and…
and despite the fact I know he wants me on some level, because I can feel it when he kisses me, when he crumbles in my arms, I can’t bring myself to be honest with him about how badly I want him.
Beyond what he’s allowing me to have of him.
I shouldn’t have these feelings at all for a man I barely know.
I shouldn’t crave his presence the way I do.
I’m not the guy who makes excuses for anything or anyone.
If I want to do something, I do it. End of story.
If I want to say something, I fucking say it.
I have never had trouble going after what I want, in any aspect of my life, especially when it comes to my personal life and my sex life.
But it’s like every time I come into contact with Nathaniel Barrett, all I do is come up with a thousand excuses.
Excuses to talk to him. Excuses not to talk to him.
Excuses to check on him, excuses to not check on him.
I’m a fucking dom. I have commanded men to do depraved things in the name of my praise, dangling the carrot of pleasure like a juicy steak for their bloodthirsty jaws.
I run into burning buildings all the time, not knowing if every fire I fight is going to be my last, and I do it without hesitation or question.
But asking Nate if I can take him out to dinner?
Apparently that’s a hard fucking limit. What the fuck is wrong with me?
I sigh as I whisk the batter for the pancakes, finding a welcome, soothing rhythm.
“A lot,” I murmur to myself, answering my own rhetorical question like a lunatic.
I have nothing against vanilla sex or men who aren’t part of this lifestyle, but in my experience it’s just easier on everyone when you don’t have to explain yourself all the time.
Which is probably why I’ve stayed so loyal to Shadows all these years, despite how many subs and partners I’ve released from my care.
Maybe that’s what I should do. Go back to Shadows, forget about Nate and his sexy growl and his fingers around my neck, and take out my frustration on Jackson, since he’s probably working tonight. Though I’m not sure that’s a good idea, either.
“What the hell are you doing here?” a gruff voice asks, tinged with the gravel of sleep. I whisk the pancake batter, not bothering to look because I would know that voice anywhere, tired or awake.
“Feeding you heathens, obviously,” I drawl with sarcasm. “Someone has to make sure you eat your Wheaties.”
JJ grumbles something unintelligible as he opens the fridge to grab a bottle of water.
“I thought you were off today,” he says, keeping a firm eye on my bacon.
“Like you never come in on your day off,” I scoff.
I pour some batter onto the griddle as he pulls some bacon from the pan, which I catch out of my peripheral.
“You’re in a fucking mood, huh?”
“Slept like shit.”
He moves closer to me, lowering his voice.
“I never got to thank you for the other day,” he says carefully. “For covering my ass.”
I flip the pancakes as he lets out a sigh. I add another piece of bacon to the pan.
“You don’t have to thank me.” I watch the edges of the batter brown on the griddle, the bacon hissing as it hits the pan. “You've done the same for me.”
“And would again,” he reiterates as I empty the bacon onto the plate and his voice drops an octave. “So, who is he?”
JJ leans closer, his voice low, even though no one else is awake or even around.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I don’t look at him, because I know the minute I do, he’ll know I’m bullshitting him.
I flip my pancakes once more and scowl.
“Did you sleep with him?”
I nearly drop my spatula. “What? No! I didn’t sleep with him, I—”
JJ smirks, and I know he has me.
“Fuck you,” I bite as I flip the pancake angrily.
“Well, there’s your problem, right there.” He snickers.
I grunt. “It’s not like that.”
JJ chuckles. “You are a horrible liar, AJ.”
I growl in repose, knowing he’s right. I am a terrible liar. Because I never fucking lie, period.
“You’ll feel better if you get it off your chest instead of taking it out on the eggs,” he says as I angrily crack a couple eggs into a bowl for the omelet base.
“At least I’m crushing eggs, not hearts,” I snap as I move to flip the overeasy eggs on the back burner that are still cooking.
JJ scowls at me.
“When’s the last time you got laid, AJ?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I bite, my voice sharper than it should be. I let out a low sigh. “Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, I just—”
I look back and forth, making sure no one’s up or eavesdropping in on us, because sometimes I swear these guys are worse than a group of teenage girls when it comes to gossip.
JJ doesn’t say anything. He grabs another piece of bacon and gives me a knowing look, telling me to continue.
“It’s just… complicated, okay?”
“Why?” JJ asks. “Is he married?” He smirks, being a smart ass.
“No,” I gripe as I flip the eggs, glaring at him. If he’s bothered, he doesn’t show it, then again JJ has the most solid resting dick face I’ve ever seen. Seriously, it’s unnerving sometimes.
“Is he a criminal?”
“What? No, I—”
“Is he straight?”
“No—” I huff as he waves me off.
“Then the only one complicating it is you. Trust me, I should know.”
Before I can tell him to fuck off with the therapy shit, I hear footsteps and groan because the peace and quiet isn’t long for the world, now.
“You, AJ, are your own worst enemy. You know that.”
“Am not,” I grunt as I flip the eggs, and they sizzle loudly.
JJ moves to open his mouth, but whatever he wants to say dies in the air as the familiar sounds of hoots and hollers and chants of yes fill the air, and the footsteps become a stampede as JJ and I are interrupted by a starving crew in our midst.