by R. R. Banks
I just had a bad reaction because of my own personal experiences. My own demons. Treating Aidan like I did, however – is not cool. I know it. I knew it when I was doing it. But still couldn't stop myself.
“So, you'll go see him tomorrow then? Olive branch in hand?” Jessa asks.
I eye her skeptically. “You seem awfully invested in this,” I say. “You aren’t working some hidden angle here, would you? Trying to play matchmaker, perhaps?”
She laughs, and her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Of course not,” she says, her accent dripping with syrupy sweetness. “I just believe in doing the right thing, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” I respond dryly.
“Well?” she asks, arching an eyebrow at me.
“Fine,” I say and sigh theatrically. “I'll go make amends tomorrow.”
She claps her hands and practically squeals with excitement. “Can't wait to hear all about it!”
I grin and shake my head. “Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you can't, you little troublemaker.”
She beams. “It's why you love me.”
“Yeah, that must be it,” I say. “Anyway, I should get to bed. I'm beat and apparently have a big day tomorrow.”
“Yes, yes you do,” she says. “I'm gonna stay up and read a bit longer. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I shuffle down the hallway toward my bedroom, the idea of apologizing to Aidan filling me with a sense of doom that presses down harder and harder with each step. It's the right thing to do. I know that. I’ve screwed up a lot in life so far, but I usually always try to do the right thing.
As silly as it sounds, it also feels like I'm opening the door to something I'm not ready for – and I don’t know how to feel about that.
Aidan
Despite the longish ride back up the mountain, I'm still wired when I get home. I haven't been in a physical fight in a long time, and the energy of punching that clown is raging through me. It’s strong. Vibrant. Makes my body hum with a frantic electricity. Pacing around the house isn’t helping me mellow out at all, so I decide to take Oliver outside to do his business.
As a rule, we don’t go out past the walls of the estate at night. There are just too many predators out there, and I don’t want to risk it. But, there’s a big grassy lawn area on one corner of the grounds where he can sniff to his heart's content.
As he does that, I walk around the pool and stop to breathe in the crisp autumn air. I take a deep breath, releasing it slowly as tendrils of steam curl off the water and disappear into the night. I watch as the steam rises on gentle currents until it disappears. It’s a calming image. At the same time, I keep taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, focusing on slowing my pulse and getting back under control.
I don't normally like fighting. Maybe it's a little Neanderthal-esque, but there was something intensely gratifying about feeling Leon’s nose beneath my fist. Ordinarily, I’m not a violent man and will avoid throwing blows if possible. I’ve found that fighting rarely solves anything. Ever. Usually, it only worsens or escalates the problem. At the same time, however, I'm not going to stand there and let that cretin manhandle a woman. Especially Katie. I don't know what it is, but there's something about her that makes me want to protect her. Keep her safe.
She's so small. Delicate. Someone Leon's size wouldn't have much difficulty doing whatever he wanted to her – and no one else in the bar seemed willing to help. So, I decided I wasn't going to let anything happen to her. Not if I could help it.
Judging by the way she reacted to my intervention, Katie wasn't impressed. Not a bit. In fact, she was downright furious, obviously not convinced she needed my help. She obviously did, but there's no way she'd ever admit that to me. She probably can't even admit it to herself. But, she clearly resented what I did tonight. Katie is the type of strong, independent woman who doesn't need a man to keep an eye out for her.
I can respect that. But, I also won’t let somebody be assaulted like that. Not in my presence. No way in hell.
Yeah, it was presumptuous as hell for me to step in the way I did. But, I believe in doing the right thing, regardless of the cost. If she's pissed at me and won’t speak to me the next time I’m at the bar, so be it. At least I taught Leon a lesson. One I hope he takes to heart the next time he even thinks about putting his hands on a woman after she says no.
By the time Oliver finishes his nightly business and comes back to me, I feel calmer and more stable than before. I squat down and scratch him behind the ears while he licks my face, his whole body wiggling with barely-restrained happiness. His breath is billowing out in plumes of steam – with autumn coming on strong, the nights have gotten much cooler.
Oliver nudges my hand, asking me to pet him some more, so of course, I comply. It's one of the many things I've come to love about dogs – they're not overly complicated. You can usually tell what their mood is by their body language. They are a lot smarter and understand a lot more than most give them credit for, but the one thing about dogs that is so great is their honesty. They either love you unconditionally, or they don’t. They have an instinctive feel for who you are as a person, and act accordingly.
“Ready to go in, buddy?” I ask.
Oliver sprints ahead into the house before I even reach the back porch. I walk in and close the door, making sure to lock it, and set the alarms. I pause for a moment and look at the keypad for the alarm. My mind immediately shoots back to that October night, almost exactly three years ago. My mind flashes back to finding the alarm that was never set. Why hadn't Maddy set the alarm? She always set it. She was more Type-A about it than I was. What changed that night? What had distracted her enough to deviate from her usual routine? Had she known her killer, and felt comfortable enough to let him into our home?
I know Detective Brown had scoured the list of names I'd given her – names of people in our lives. Friends. Neighbors. Employees. Anyone I could think of. I know she'd run them all down and had quietly inquired about all of them. And yet, the detective had still come up empty. Not a single, viable lead nor suspect.
Knowing these are questions I'll probably never have answers to, I choke back the emotions welling up within me and walk through the mudroom, then back into the house. Oliver is in position on the couch, reclining, looking for all the world like he's watching TV. It's a program about lions, and he seems fascinated by it, so I leave it on for him. He gives me a tail wag and a grin, so I assume I made the right decision.
The smell of cigarettes and stale beer is thick in my clothes, and I feel grimy. Even though I showered before I left, I don't want to go to bed reeking like I do. I peel off my clothes as I walk through my bedroom and neatly drop them all into the hamper. I have a service that comes to clean the house and do my laundry, but I still try to keep things as clean, organized, and tidy as possible.
Yeah, I'm the kind of guy who makes the bed when I stay in a hotel. Can't help it. I've always been that way. It's one reason why, when we were younger, my brothers used to tease me by calling me Type-Aidan, or Aidan-retentive.
The memory sends a ripple of nostalgia through me and a hint of a smile to my lips as I step into a walk-in shower that could easily fit four or five people. Reaching out, I grab the handle, turning it on. The water cascades down from the ceiling-mounted nozzle more like a gentle rain than a traditional showerhead. There are two “normal” nozzles, one on the wall in front of me, and one behind me, but I prefer the waterfall one. It’s one of the features about the house I've really come to enjoy. It relaxes me.
Although the house is more modern than I’d typically like, I enjoy the open floor plan and the large, panoramic windows that flood the interior with sunlight, offering me a stunning view of the mountain range. The natural stone formations that make up the pool and jacuzzi are terrific, and the bathrooms are downright luxurious. Decadent. Whoever built this place knew what they were doing, that's for sure.
If I ever move off the mountain and build
a house of my own somewhere, I'm going to build a replica of this bathroom. Hell, I may steal a lot of the design from this place.
I stand beneath the water as clouds of steam billow around me. My muscles immediately begin to ease, and the knots in my shoulders from all the stress start to loosen. Turning my face up into the warm, gentle cascade, the water rushes over me, warming my skin.
As the tension in my body disappears, my mind starts to wander. I shouldn’t be surprised when I start to think about Katie, but I still am. I try to push the thoughts away, but they persist. In my mind’s eye, I see her in her work uniform – not shocking, since I’ve never seen her in anything else. I see her long, shapely legs, the way her tight t-shirt clings to her breasts and body.
I try to squash the thoughts and images that flood my mind immediately, but I can’t. And as I recall the shape of her soft, generous curves, those bottomless brown eyes, and the sweet lilt of her voice, I feel my cock stiffen. I close my eyes and start to stroke myself. In my imagination, Katie’s down on her knees in the shower with me, sucking and stroking my cock. I grit my teeth as a powerful maelstrom of lust, passion, and guilt, tears through me. Pushing everything but lust from my mind, I focus on my fantasy. My jaw clenches tight as I throw my head back as the pressure reaches the pinnacle – and then boils over. I call out her name as I explode, resting my head against the cool tile as my cock pulses, my come washing down the drain.
My entire body throbbing with pleasure, I stay like that for several minutes, the water raining down on me as I regain control of my heart rate and breathing. That is the first time I've ever fantasized about Katie, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.
I mean, it's not the first time I've gotten myself off in the last three years – I usually watch porn and jerk myself off quickly. I'm a man and have needs, after all. Porn is completely impersonal, though. It's not like I know any of those people. And because it's completely impersonal, there is no feeling attached to it. It's providing a necessary relief of pressure. Almost like a medical procedure, in a way. It certainly feels that clinical at times.
No, this is the first time I've gotten myself off thinking about a "real” woman. Somebody I know. Granted, I don't know Katie all that well, but we're friendly enough. In another life, I might have even pursued her, despite our small age difference.
Eventually, I turn off the shower and step out, toweling myself off. Predictably, the wave of guilt that crashes down over me is overwhelming. It pulls me under and threatens to drown me in its dark, miserable depths. My feelings of disloyalty and betrayal are as powerful as they've ever been. Maybe even worse this time, since I'd allowed myself to fantasize about somebody I'm physically attracted to, rather than the detached, emotionless approach I've taken to self-gratification ever since Maddy was taken from me.
I lean against the counter and try to fight off the feelings of despair that are pressing down on me. They're oppressive and suffocating as hell. I raise my hand, wiping a wide swath of steam off the mirror and stare into my eyes for a moment.
I'm so sick of being frustrated and hurt. But, most of all, I'm tired of being lonely. Even though what happened in the shower felt so right, I'm still standing here, alone, with twin threads of guilt and confusion wrapped around my heart, squeezing it tight.
Katie
Armed with a picnic basket of food and a twelve-pack of Newcastle Brown Ale, I drive up into the Blue Ridge Mountains from town. I've never actually been to Whitetail Hollow, but after Jessa badgered me into apologizing, I ended up doing a little Googling on the area.
Yeah, this is definitely where the richest of the rich come to disappear. It’s almost like a bunch of lonely old dragons hiding in their mountains, sleeping on their piles of treasure. It's a very wealthy enclave, and as I drive further into it, I see it also offers a lot of privacy and solitude. I pass one house and don't come across the next for four or five minutes.
Maybe my lonely dragon metaphor isn't that far off after all.
It takes me almost forty minutes of driving through the enclave before I find the address Jessa swears up and down is Aidan's. As I pull to the gate, I swallow hard, hoping that she's right. I'd hate to look like a total idiot.
There is a high, thick wall surrounding the estate that reminds me of some religious cult compound. Next to the wrought-iron gate with fancy scrollwork, is a box with a call button, video camera, and speaker. I'm tempted to back out, drive away, lie to Jessa about making amends, and forget any of this ever happened. My hand on the gear shift is more than ready to do just that.
But, then the guilt bubbles up for the way I treated Aidan the night before – can't back out now. Before I think about it any longer – and talk myself out of it – I let out a breath, push the call button, and wait. A moment later, his voice comes across the speaker.
“Katie?” he asks. He sounds surprised.
I reach over to the passenger seat and grab the twelve-pack, the bottles wildly clinking and clanking as I hold it up to the camera.
“I come bearing gifts,” I say.
“Funny,” he says. “I didn't realize Hail Mary delivered.”
“We do today.”
There's a loud chiming sound, and the gates in front of me begin to swing open.
“Come on up,” Aidan says.
I set the twelve-pack back down on the seat and drive through the gate. It's a long driveway that ends in a circular roundabout with a fountain depicting horses and ancient Greek gods in the middle. It would be beautiful if it didn't feel so pretentious. I wonder if it came with the house or if Aidan had installed it himself.
I pull to a stop in the roundabout near the stairs that lead up to the front porch and feel my breath catch in my throat. His chiseled face practically glows in the sunlight. As I set the brake and turn off the engine, I can't help but let my eyes roam up and down his body. Aidan is a tall, strong, good-looking man. And wearing blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and a gray fleece pullover on top of that makes him resemble a model for American Eagle or L.L. Bean. The trimmed dark beard on his face gives him that sexy lumberjack chic appeal.
He's not alone though. Sitting at his side on the porch next to him is the largest dog I've ever seen in my life.
I roll down the passenger side window and pull my sunglasses down to the end of my nose. “Is Cujo there friendly?”
Aidan shrugs. “Depends on how you define friendly, I guess,” he says, a small smile on his face. “He ate the mailman earlier today, so he's probably not hungry right now. You should be relatively safe.”
“I'm not getting out of this car if there's the slightest chance he’s going to eat me.”
He laughs hard and scratches the dog behind the ears. The dog looks up at him, his big tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, the sweetest expression of love and devotion on his big furry face. It's an adorable moment that makes me smile – and kind of makes me feel better about my odds of surviving the encounter.
“Oliver isn't going to hurt you,” he says. “This dog doesn't have a mean bone in his body. Promise.”
“That's what people always say,” I reply. “Right before the giant dog eats the girl. I've seen that movie before!”
Aidan laughs as he descends the stairs and walks over to my car, the giant dog following close behind. As Aidan opens the door for me, I feel a flutter in my chest – though, I honestly don't know if it's because Oliver makes me nervous, or because of Aidan himself. I look up into his steely blue-gray eyes set in that rugged, chiseled face and think that maybe, I'm not as nervous about the dog as I first thought.
I get out of the car and giggle nervously when the dog comes over and sniffs me. He wags his tail excitedly, which I take to be a good sign. I think. Either that, or Oliver is trying to lull me into a false sense of security, before he attacks. And up in these mountains, who would hear me scream?
Yeah, that's a really comforting thought. I probably should have thought this trip out a little better first. At least Jessa will
know where to send the search party.
“I think Oliver likes you,” Aidan says.
The dog wiggles and squirms, licking the hand I hold out to him. His tongue is softer than I'd imagined and leaves a wet, slobbery trail over my skin that makes me grimace. Aidan just laughs.
“Yeah, sorry,” he says. “He does that.”
“Is he sampling me?” I ask.
Aidan grins. “Nah. That's his way of saying welcome,” he says. “Just be glad I don't greet you that way too.”
The smile slips from his face the instant the words pass his lips. He suddenly looks down and clears his throat, as if understanding how flirty that might have sounded, and it made him uncomfortable. Truth be told, I don't think I'd mind if he did greet me that way.
I give myself a sharp mental kick as soon as the thought passes through my mind. I am not here for that. He's a gorgeous man, I won’t deny that. But, I'm not in the market for a man – gorgeous or otherwise. I need to work on myself. Need to get my own shit in order before I should even contemplate indulging in anything of a romantic nature.
Aidan – and Oliver – follow me around to the other side of my car. I open the door, reach in, and hand him the twelve-pack.
“Make yourself useful,” I say.
“Gladly,” he replies.
Reaching back in, I grab the picnic basket and then stand up, using my foot to close the door. Aidan eyes the basket suspiciously, like I'm trying to smuggle a bomb into his house or something.
“What's this?” he asks.
“It's a beautiful day out,” I say. “And what do normal people do on beautiful days?”
Aidan looks down at Oliver, as if the dog somehow has the answer. When Oliver remains silent, Aidan looks back at me and shrugs.