Losing Control of Intimacy

Chapter 1

chapter one

Holding my breath used to be the calmest I’d ever felt.

The dreams were always the same. My chest would start burning, just like my eyes. I’d follow the wavering reflections of light and people from beneath the surface, watching as time passed me by. All while holding my breath, content to let the water hold me there.

Don’t breathe.

Don’t think.

Just sink.

It was my safety. My home away from home. With chlorine in my eyes, soaking deep enough in my skin to find its way into my veins. My element. Swimming was something I’d devoted my entire life to, training my body and mind to do what should’ve been impossible.

They always started off nice, reminding me of everything I’d been missing.

I had a deep, instinctual feeling of pure serenity living below my heart, taking up space where everything else should’ve been.

There was no peace elsewhere. No serenity.

No moments of quiet except for beneath the water’s surface. But it never stayed like that.

At some point, I’d start to struggle. I wouldn’t be in the school’s natatorium anymore. I’d be waking up in that fucking ocean, confused and kicking against the current. It’d be so damn dark. So dark. I’d start thrashing, kicking my legs exactly how I’d been trained to do, but it wouldn’t matter.

The current would be too strong.

No matter how many competitions I’d won, nature would make me lose. And then I’d gasp for air. And my lungs would burn so fucking badly. And I’d see a light, but I’d have no idea if it was finally the sun or if it was death coming to take me again.

I’d wake up gasping with my hands around my throat, panting through yet another panic attack about the entire thing. Just like I was a few minutes ago.

Now, I was stuck in the aftermath. Feeling everything I wished I could stop feeling but never did and feared I never would. I’d lost every dream I’d ever had so early on in life, and I had no idea if I’d get to have more.

The sun came up while I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as if it’d give me the answers to some kind of deep, dark secret wasting away inside me.

I could still feel the water in my throat as it poured down into my chest. I could still feel its weight against me, keeping me right where I was. Trapping me.

But I had a life to live and a bar to run, so I sat up, deciding I was done with trying to find sleep again.

I let my feet drag as I made it to the kitchen, turning the coffee maker on to warm up.

The house was cold, matching the weather outside.

That was one thing I’d had a hard time getting used to—how cold New York got in the winter and all the snow that came with it.

I grabbed a fresh cup of coffee and sat at the dining table while my laptop booted up. I had a million things I could be doing aside from moping around my house about a stupid nightmare and a stupid lost part of myself.

Like managing everything for Driftwood instead of letting my employees do it.

If I had my way, I wouldn’t even have employees.

Instead of seeing it like having help, I couldn’t get past the fact that they had some sort of control I didn’t.

They served customers I didn’t get to. They cleaned things differently than I would.

They existed in my space; they existed differently than me, and for some reason, that really fucked me up.

Maybe that was called selfishness. I called it liking to have control.

Callum had texted me while I was sleeping. Since he wasn’t much of a texter, it was always a surprise to see.

Cal

When are you off? I want you to come see us.

I can swing by tomorrow. How’s everything going?

Cal

Good. Tobi is doing good. I’m doing good. You need to stop ignoring my calls. Hate texting.

I wasn’t expecting an answer that quickly, nor was I expecting him to call me out like that.

I bit my lip, admitting my guilt to myself and the ghosts around me.

Sleeping had been difficult lately, leaving me nothing but a zombie on a good day.

I’d dived into work so often, I’d neglected everyone and everything else.

I was being a shitty friend. He’d been going through a really, really hard time, and I hadn’t been there for him.

My control on life seemed to be slipping, and that just wouldn’t do. Maybe I needed to get laid—get fucked hard enough to put me to sleep, and then the nightmares wouldn’t matter.

Sorry. I’ll definitely see you guys tomorrow.

I didn’t get a reply after that, but I wasn’t really expecting one. He really did hate texting.

Despite the entire cup of coffee I’d downed, I couldn’t focus worth a shit.

I rested my head in my hands, seeing numbers even when I closed my eyes.

They were swimming behind my eyelids, mocking me relentlessly.

I wasn’t in the negative by any means, but I was having a hard time understanding how I could reverse the recent downward trend.

I was getting nowhere. Instead, I took my laptop off the charger and packed it up, deciding to go to the bar rather than waste time at home.

I hated wasting time. We didn’t get much of it, so why did I waste this much of my time afraid?

Afraid of losing it. Afraid of sleep. Afraid of water. Afraid of losing control.

God, I was a mess.

I was at Driftwood more than I was at home anymore.

My house felt far too empty, far too lonely, and I didn’t really like being there.

Which, I mean, was completely my fault. I’d let it get that way.

I’d shut myself out from anything and everything except work and the occasional meeting with Callum and his friends.

I lived a really boring, truly mundane life, and I wasn’t sure if that was sad. I knew it was unhealthy at least, but I couldn’t really find it in me to give a shit.

Nothing lived in my house. No plants or pets. The vegetables I’d buy at the grocery store often went bad before I could get to them. My house was less of a sanctuary and more of a place for rot to fester.

Mav had stayed in the closet-turned-makeshift bedroom I’d made for him to sleep in when things got rough at home.

At some point, he’d woken up and decided to take the initiative to finish all the usual things I did in between serving customers.

I was grateful for him, but I’d have preferred he left it to me.

Control.

Since there wasn’t much for me to do outside of serving, I found myself spending a lot longer on cleaning the same glasses over and over. We weren’t too busy either, which was unusual for a Thursday night. I was getting bored, and we still had a few hours left before we closed.

Melissa was on a break, and Mav was chatting it up with a small group over at one of the tables, probably trying to get extra tips. I was the only one covering the bar, but I was tempted to have Mav come over so I could take a smoke break.

Just when I’d started to convince myself to do that, the door swung open as a man walked in. He looked around curiously before lowering his jacket hood and walking up to the bar, sitting on one of the stools.

I slid down, taking him in. He looked young—far younger than I usually went for—but he was really fucking good-looking.

Dark, wavy hair framed his face, flowing down below his jaw.

I was almost envious of his beard and mustache, too.

It was thick and perfectly groomed, outlining the downright gorgeous smirk he was giving me.

Maybe tonight would be my lucky night.

Tilting my head, I placed my palms on the bar, leaning forward a little. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”

He raised an eyebrow. Right at the edge was a silver bar pierced straight through it, matching the silver hoop nestled against his nostril. “Probably because I’ve never been here before. Which is a shame if you’re the one usually up here.”

“Oh, yes, what a shame.” I leaned back, smiling down at him. I was hoping it didn’t look too goofy, but how could I not smile at him? He was so hot that it gave me butterflies in my stomach, which didn’t happen often. “What do you want to drink?”

“Depends. Am I just going to get your number, or am I going to get your address?”

Jesus. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. “Not afraid to seem too presumptuous?”

He tucked some hair behind his ear, showing off the sparkling silver and gold jewelry there. “I’d like to consider myself optimistic over presumptuous, but whatever floats your boat.”

“What will you get if I go home with you?”

“A soda of your choice.”

“And if you get my number?”

The side of his lip twitched. “Paloma, preferably.”

You could always tell a lot about a person by their drink choice. It fit him, just from the little I could tell about him. “Hm. Are you going to offer your name before you offer a good time? Or does that not come with the package?”

He leaned on his elbows, looking up at me through long, dark eyelashes. His eyes were breathtakingly beautiful. Captivating. A soothing, rich brown I wanted to fucking swim in despite giving up swimming decades ago. “Forrest Castillo.”

“Forrest Castillo,” I repeated, trying his name on my tongue. “Jack Manning.”

“Wait, Jack? As in Driftwood Jack’s?”

I chuckled, nodding. “The one and only. I’m the owner here.”

Forrest leaned back, folding his arms over his chest. “Well, shit. Very, very nice to meet you, Mr. Owner. That doesn’t affect my chances, does it?”

I shrugged, glancing down the bar where Melissa was now. “We close soon. I have employees who can close up. The only question, Mr. Castillo”—I leaned down, following him as he came in closer to me—“is how do you like it?”

He searched my eyes, his gaze flicking between them. His lip tilted up into that unfairly sexy smirk like the one he’d had before as he whispered. “How do you need it?”

Something about the way he said it had me in a chokehold. His voice dropped into a sweet, gravelly rasp I would’ve licked the air to get more of. Honestly, I wanted to lick him. See what was beneath the coat he was wearing. I wondered if he had more piercings.

My eyes trailed down his neck, following his Adam’s apple. God, I wanted to bite it. I glanced back up, holding the moment with our eyes. “Rough. I need it rough. Can you do that?”

“Tell me how long I have to wait for you to find out.”

The table Mav had been talking to had left, leaving us empty aside from Forrest. “I’d only need five minutes to tell my employees and three more to get my keys and put your address into my GPS.”

He stood from the barstool, giving me one last smile. “313 West Hollow Drive. Floor six, apartment twelve. I’ll be waiting for you, Mr. Owner.”

I watched him walk out without even ordering a drink. Maybe Forrest would be my answer to a restful, dreamless night.

It was the only time I didn’t panic for control—when I was beneath them, feeling too good to care. After all, control couldn’t be lost if I willingly gave it to someone.

At least, that was what I told myself.