His to Cherish (9 page)

I told him about Cory. I told him about not being able to have kids, but only because he asked. I didn't give him the specifics about my endometriosis, lack of normal periods, and the ovary I had to have removed at the age of twenty due to a large ruptured cyst. It simply wasn't something you shared with a man you weren't seriously dating.

He let me give him what I could, just like I did for him.

By the time the sun began to dip behind the trees and the yard was shaded and cooling, Aidan offered to build a campfire so we could stay out back.

I let him and loved watching him bend over in his perfectly fitted jeans while he arranged the logs, started the fire, and then pulled two deck chairs over to the fire pit near the back of my yard. I used it frequently in the summer, sometimes by myself with music playing from my phone when I needed to relax, but mostly when I had the girls over and we drank too much wine and made s'mores like we were still teenagers. Last summer, Declan and Tyson also joined us when they could.

There were nights I craved the quiet paved and landscaped area—alone with my thoughts, my music, and the crackling of firewood.

It relaxed me in a way nothing else could, but nothing could beat the sight of Aidan walking out of my sliding door, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“Thank you,” I said as he pulled the stopper out of the already-opened bottle of wine and handed me a glass. I stared at the burning, dancing embers in the fire pit, trying to enjoy the heat from the flames and the silence in the air besides the chirping of the cicadas.

I freaking loved my yard.

When Aidan broke the silence as we both sipped on our wine, he managed to stun me.

“He talked about you.”

He
…Aidan hadn't talked about Derrick all day except when he told me about Mandy. Nothing. Not when he'd been young, not more recently.

“Always thought you were nice,” he continued, “and pretty.”

I forced myself to take a small swallow of my wine, unable to look at him, but feeling my fingertips buzzing with unnamed emotion.

Quietly, so quietly I almost didn't hear it over the crackling fire and chirping bugs, he kept going. “He wasn't wrong.”

My lungs expanded until they burned. I blinked. Tears fell down my cheeks before I was able to stop them.

There was sweetness in his words and pain in his voice.

Seeing him so broken over remembering his son, even if he was being nice to me, slammed the entire tragedy to the forefront of my mind.

His loss.

Shane's loss.

The school's loss.

Everyone who knew Derrick had lost so much. Such a great kid, gone, all because of some completely pointless accident.

Where was the justice? The fairness?

Shame rushed through me, choking me. I was crying, sitting next to a man who'd lost his son, who'd given me a compliment—and I couldn't handle it.

I jumped up from the chair, needing space. Or a stiffer drink. More chocolate, maybe.

I didn't know what I needed, but I couldn't sit there anymore, feeling all the things my mind was unable to process, yet I couldn't say any of it because compared to what Aidan was going through, it was all so damn minuscule.

“Hey.”

I jumped from the burning contact of his hand wrapping around my wrist.

“I didn't mean to make you cry.”

Aidan stood in front of me, concern thick in his eyes and that same damn sadness that was so apparent all the time.

I hated it for him.

Despised it. He was such a good man. None of this was fair.

My lips parted when he reached toward me, his thumb gently swiping beneath my eyes. He stared at the tears on the pad of his thumb before dropping his hand.

“I don't know why I'm crying.”

“I don't always know why I cry, either. Sometimes I'm thinking of him and laughing and before I know it, I'm a fucking wreck.”

Oh God. If hearts could be shredded to pieces, mine would have been at my feet.

A sob hitched in my throat.

Aidan pressed his lips together and stared over my shoulder for the briefest of moments before he bit down on the inside of his cheek.

His chin wobbled and more tears fell from my eyes.

Crap. If this man lost it in front of me, I was going with him. I knew it. I couldn't see him cry.

His nose twitched as if he was fighting back the tears and his voice was scratchy when he said, “Last week was really bad.” His hand tightened on my wrist. I didn't move. Or speak. Or breathe. “I didn't want you to see me like that. I don't even know why, I just didn't, but I could have told you that instead of being an asshole.”

He had been, but maybe I'd expected more than he could give me.

“I'm so fucking tired of being alone in that house. The silence chokes me, and everywhere I turn, I see him. Sometimes I swear to God I hear him laugh like he's on his phone in his room, but when I get there, it's empty.”

“Aidan.” I reached up, pressed my palm to his cheek, and felt the wetness now slowly falling. “If I could take away that pain for you, I would.”

Truth. So much damn truth in that sentence. I'd do anything not to see him broken and hurting, looking like he could collapse against me in exhaustion at any second.

I finally saw it. Truly saw him and the bags under his eyes, the wrinkles at the edges, the tightness everywhere.

With the fire behind us, the sun almost fully set, and us bathed in light from the solar lamps sprinkled throughout my backyard, I saw a completely different side of him.

My hand dropped from his cheek and I left him in the yard, staring at me with a funny look on his face. I grabbed the hose and brought it back, handing it to him. “Can you put the fire out?”

He frowned at my question, but as I bent to pick up the wine and glasses, he did as he was told, and when the fire was out, I reached for his hand.

“Come with me.”

He stared at my hand and reached out, taking it hesitantly into his.

“Where are we going?”

“You'll see,” I said, keeping my eyes and my focus forward. It was dark and I didn't want to trip, but I also didn't want to lose my nerve. I couldn't spend time thinking anymore about the fact that I was taking him to my house…

And to my bed.

He needed to relax. He needed to sleep.

And I had the perfect way to help him do both.

“Don't get the wrong idea,” I said as we reached the doorway to my room, “but I want you to take off your shoes and shirt, and lie facedown on my bed.”

I wrung my hands and looked away from him. I wanted him to relax, but I could have been making a huge mistake.

Aidan glanced at me. A smirk, one I didn't normally see on him, hit his lips. Without saying anything, he walked to my bed and I ducked into my bathroom.

I quickly dug through my linen closet and found my bottle of massage oil. I pumped a small amount into my hand to ensure it was still fresh and inhaled the scent of bergamot. It wasn't the most relaxing oil, meant mostly for energizing, but the orange scent was more masculine than the lavender I used on myself.

“Good enough,” I muttered, and headed back to the bedroom.

When I opened the door, I stopped midstep and reached out to steady myself on the doorframe.

Aidan had listened. He lay on my bed, arms bent and tucked under my pillow, his head turned to face me. He was absolutely breathtaking, all that male, muscled skin splayed over my bed, his size dwarfing my queen-size bed.

Reminding myself that all of this was innocent, that I was just helping him relax, that this wasn't some seduction to get a man like him in my bed, I forced my feet to start moving again.

“This how you wanted me?” I detected amusement in his tone, breaking the crackling tension. And the way he looked at me, that lopsided smirk, all that muscle and skin and
man,
sent my mind and body into a tailspin of desire.

I glanced at my far wall to see if there was a fire in the fireplace. Then I blinked and remembered I didn't
have
a fireplace. With the sudden heat boiling in my veins, I figured one might have magically appeared.

“Um-hmm.” I couldn't form words as I reached the side of my bed.

I tried, but my mouth stopped working and my throat had gone dry.

Clearing my throat, I held up the bottle. “I thought you might like a back massage.”

Aidan let out a low groan and closed his eyes. I felt it hit me in all the right spots. “Sounds incredible.”

I wasn't a good masseuse and my hands were small. I didn't know if I'd be able to help him at all, but I climbed onto the bed, determined to try.

When I was on my knees next to him, my hands in my lap, my gaze trailed the length of his body, the span of his shoulders, the narrowness of his hips.

I sucked my cheek in between my teeth and worried it. “Um, I might need to sit on you.”

His shoulders shook like he was trying not to laugh, and that burning heat spread to my ears and cheeks.

“I'm sorry, maybe this isn't a good idea.” I moved to climb off the bed, knowing my cheeks were boiling pink with embarrassment—not to mention the desire that still lingered.

He moved quickly. He rolled to his side and reached out, his hand clamping over my knee.

“Don't.” His eyes were on mine, freezing me in place. His fingers dug into my jeans, tightening around my leg. “I could use this.”

“Okay, then.” I tried for an easy, relaxed smile, but my lips felt tight and forced. “Roll over.”

Aidan's lips twitched before he listened. Once he was back on his stomach, I moved his arms so they were lying at his sides.

Then I slowly climbed on, straddling his hips. I closed my eyes, pulled in a deep breath, and let it out.

“This might feel cold, but it will warm up,” I warned him before I slowly drizzled the massage oil down his spine. His back tensed. Back muscles I never knew existed appeared and danced beneath his flesh as I watched, completely fascinated.

Aidan didn't speak, but as I glanced up, I saw his eyes tilted back to me, his bottom lip between his teeth.

Then I began rubbing the oil on him. Slowly at first to move it around his skin and warm it. Because of the intense physical nature of his job and the stress he'd been under, I wanted to help him relax as much as possible.

My fingers ran up the sides of his spine until I reached his shoulders. I pressed my palms into his skin as my fingers curled around, massaging his thick, tight muscles.

“Hell,” he groaned, and flinched.

“Too hard?”

He gave a slight jerk of his head. Muscles beneath my thumbs and heels of my hands popped and cracked as I applied pressure.

“No.”

He sounded like he was in pain, but I knew how tight muscles could hurt before they relaxed, so I took his word for it.

“Okay, then,” I told him, and continued massaging. “Let me know if it gets to be too much. You're really tight.”

Soon the only sounds in the room were the light groans and puffs of breath that fell from Aidan's lips. His voice was so deep, so thick and rich, that I couldn't help but become aroused by him.

What would he sound like when he made love to a woman? The thought came to mind unbidden before I could stop it. As soon as I realized what I was thinking, I brushed it out of my head, but not before I felt the tops of my thighs begin to heat as I shifted my body against his jeans.

It was all innocent, but it didn't prevent the sensations from turning me on.

I tried to fight it, tried to ignore it, but with my hands on his flesh, my body against his, it was impossible.

I continued moving, rubbing his shoulders and upper back, loosening tight muscles. Eventually, I heard a low humming sound and realized it was me, humming a song that'd been in my head for days. “Wanted,” by Hunter Hayes. Totally inappropriate given the moment, but I loved the song and I figured he wouldn't be able to tell what it was, so I kept humming and massaging.

Soft, low sounds came from Aidan. His muscles began to loosen, and his body began to relax. His breathing evened out and his back rose and fell to a slow, sleepy rhythm.

“Aidan?” I asked, momentarily stopping my massage.

He was quiet for several seconds before he murmured, “Don't stop. So good.”

“Okay,” I whispered, quieting my voice to match his, and continued my massage.

Eventually, though, I stopped, and a light smile flitted across my lips when he didn't speak again.

He couldn't…he was snoring.

I crawled off him, careful not to disturb the sleep he obviously needed, and backed off the bed.

Aidan didn't move a single inch as I put the massage oil away, or when I tiptoed across my room to grab pajama pants and a tank top from my dresser.

I looked at him from the doorway in my room, feeling a full smile on my lips and tears burning in my eyes again.

He was completely passed out. I didn't have the heart to wake him, so I got dressed in the hallway bathroom and grabbed a blanket from my hall closet to sleep on my couch.

It was comfortable and large and I didn't mind at all. Some nights I slept in the living room on purpose just so I could fall asleep with a movie on in the background, so I didn't feel alone in my house.

I tried to ignore the fact that there was a half-dressed man in my bedroom on the other side of my small ranch house.

It was difficult, but eventually my eyes grew heavy with thoughts I shouldn't have been thinking. And I fell asleep with a delicious shiver rolling down my spine.

I dreamed of boats lightly rocking along gentle waves on calm seas under warm summer skies.

I dreamed of sunshine heating my skin and naps in the breeze.

I dreamed of gentle kisses and shivers of anticipation.

I dreamed of warmth and strong arms wrapping around my sides until I snuggled in closer.

I dreamed of a deep, rumbling voice that whispered in my ear, “Don't like sleeping alone.”

And I dreamed of lips brushing along my temple, callused fingers running through my hair.

“Go back to sleep.”

Cool air against my skin made me curl into the blankets as I woke up the next morning.

I opened my eyes, expecting to see my coffee table and television.

Instead, my eyes flew open and I flipped to my back before I quickly sat up.

I was in my bed, under my covers. On the wrong side of the bed.

Alone.

“Oh my gosh,” I whispered, and looked to the other side, the side closest to the bathroom, and the side where Aidan had fallen asleep last night.

Did I sleepwalk to my bed?

How embarrassing.

Then flames hit. I flipped back through the memories I thought were dreams. The rocking, the moving, the heat…and the kisses.

Go back to sleep. Don't want to be alone.

A grin stretched my lips until my cheeks hurt.

Aidan had carried me to my bed and slept next to me.

He'd also left before I woke up.

I didn't know what it meant.

I did know that as I got ready for work, there was pep to my step and lightness in my heart that I hadn't felt in a long time. So I decided not to overthink the night. Not to get lost in the memory of warm skin and strong arms and feather-light kisses.

For the first time since I held Derrick outside my house, his blood all over my shirt, I made the decision to enjoy the moment…enjoy the day ahead of me.

The enjoyment evaporated by lunchtime.

Shane never showed up in the library, but that didn't mean I didn't see him.

And what I saw concerned me greatly.

He wasn't tan as if he'd just spent the week in Florida like he'd told me he was doing.

When I saw him walking through the halls, not only was the sadness and guilt that had been heavy on him still obvious in his hunched shoulders as he slowly carried his books down the hallway, but he looked gaunt.

Pale. Sick.

Completely depressed.

My heart made a physical
thud
and landed at my feet.

Not just because he looked depressed and I felt guilty for waiting so long to talk to someone about my concerns.

But also because he was no longer walking down the hall with the friends he'd had for years.
Years.
Possibly since birth, considering he'd lived here forever.

No.

At lunch, when Shane didn't show up, I took my own leftovers of a blueberry scone, double chocolate cupcake with chocolate buttercream frosting, and a wheat and oats bagel loaded with chive cream cheese outside.

Carbs, sugar, and dairy—the lunch of champions.

I was halfway through my bagel, my cupcake eaten first because life was too short to save dessert, when I saw him.

He walked out from behind the visiting field baseball dugout amid a cloud of smoke. Ahead of him, four more boys slowly sauntered.

The
boys.

The boys every good parent never wanted their sons to end up becoming, but sometimes they did, because sometimes even living in a relatively safe and small area, we still had our issues and our complications, and sometimes life sucked, so they did stupid things and made bad decisions.

And sometimes boys were just born from bad seeds, parents who didn't care about them, neglected them, or spent their paychecks at the corner bar instead of on groceries, and by the time the boys were young teenagers, they'd seen too much of the darkness and ugliness life had to offer.

Those boys.

And Shane was with them, still walking behind, lingering in the back of the group like he'd been doing with his friends, but this day, one of the boys, Travis Kelly—
the bad kid,
the one whose name all teachers cringed at when it ended up on their class roster but never admitted out loud—threw his arm around Shane, pulled him to his side, and headed back into the school.

My eyes didn't leave him until he disappeared and my heart thumped inside my chest, reminding me it hadn't stopped beating altogether, I was just holding my breath for a really long time.

“Shit,” I muttered. I looked at my bagel, at my scone, decided I was really glad I'd eaten that cupcake first because I'd suddenly lost my appetite, and went back inside.

Today sucked.

I'd woken up in a dreamlike state, swearing I spent the night tucked close to Aidan, only to find cold sheets and a pillow next to me. Now it was only five hours into my workday and defeat and despair were weighing me down.

Shane.

The good boy who I could see tumbling headfirst into the wrong kind of crowd, all because he was harboring some kind of guilt, and a sadness that no one could help him with.

Possibly because they had no idea how to help him.

But I didn't think I could hold back my concerns for another minute. It was time to step up.

Even if it was going to ruin everything—like warm kisses against my skin in the middle of the night when I was only half aware of them in the first place.

“Miss Dwyer.” Beth's face showed a world of surprise as she opened her front door to find me standing on the other side.

I stopped chewing my bottom lip and said, “I know it's a surprise for me to be here, but I wanted to talk to you and didn't think it could wait.”

“Of course.” She stepped back, opening the door farther, and gestured for me to enter. “Please come in.”

I looked back to my car, certain I was doing the correct thing, yet it didn't make it easier.

“Would you like anything to drink?”

“No, thank you, I'm okay.”

I followed Beth into her kitchen, where she gestured for me to take a seat. Even though I declined a drink, Beth busied herself making coffee in her Keurig coffeemaker.

“I know you said no, but my southern upbringing demands I shove something in front of you.”

“You're from the South?” She'd always had a faint hint of an accent, but I'd never been able to place it.

“Yes, Savannah.” Her head tilted to the left and she smiled tentatively. I could practically feel her nerves. I'd never randomly showed up at a student's house before in my life, and I was certain she never had someone from the school do what I was doing.

I caught a slight trembling in her fingers, and the bright white coffee mugs shook a little bit as she joined me at the table.