Cutting Cords (Cutting Cords Series Book 1)

by Mickie B. Ashling

  I must have cried for several minutes until Dr. Butterman wrapped his arms around me, which made it worse. I was bawling like an infant.

  “Sloan, you have to get yourself under control.”

  “How long before he goes blind?” I wailed against his chest.

  “I don’t know. It could be tomorrow or ten years from now. Everyone’s different.”

  I pushed back. “Can’t you be more specific?”

  “No,” he said gravely.

  “Doc, I… love him.”

  “I know you do.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “It’s pretty obvious, son.”

  “Has he said anything to you about me?”

  “We’re not talking about Cole, remember?”

  “Please…tell me he cares.”

  “More than he’s willing to admit.”

  I stopped crying and extricated myself from the doctor’s warm embrace. He returned to his side of the desk, and I pulled a tissue from the box close at hand and blew my nose.

  Finally in control, I asked, “Tell me what I can do to ease the transition.”

  “We are talking about patients with RP?” Dr. Butterman asked, and God bless him for understanding.

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  “They need to feel normal, Sloan, productive and useful. The last thing any disabled person wants is to be a burden or infantilized because they can’t do certain things.”

  “How should I proceed?”

  “By allowing him to bump into things, to fall, and make mistakes. It’s the only way he can become self-sufficient and retain his dignity. Most people are proud and hate to accept help. When you compound familial and societal pressures, you have a tremendous burden to overcome.”

  “His father,” I stated bitterly.

  “In general,” Dr. Butterman reiterated, reminding me of his delicate position.

  I nodded. “Should one continue to behave in the same way or modify due to this new information?”

  “Don’t change anything unless the patient shares his secret.”

  “But I’ve been acting like a fucking jerk.”

  “I don’t know who or what you are talking about, Sloan.”

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Butterman.” I began to cry again, more softly this time. I couldn’t help it. I was overwhelmed by sadness, heartbroken for Cole. His entire life would never be the same. This is why he quit baseball, not because he wasn’t good enough. Dear God… I yanked more tissue out of the box and blew my nose again, trying to get myself together. “I believe I told you I love this person who has RP?”

  “Yes.” Dr. Butterman sighed.

  “And because I do, you must realize how difficult it is to watch him struggle.”

  “And yet, it’s because you love him that you must.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s important to treat him as a sighted man whenever you can. Yell at him when he pisses you off, but praise him when he has a small victory. Your role in his life will be critical, and I’m not sure you can handle it, Sloan. You seem overly emotional.”

  “What in the ever-loving fuck!” I was outraged by his accusation. “This is the worst day of my life, second only to the day my mother died. Did you expect me to be stoic when it’s not in my nature?”

  “There’s a huge part of Cole that appreciates the way you’ve been treating him like a regular guy; in fact, he craves it. Once you start tiptoeing around him, he’ll retreat. Do you understand?”

  “Loud and fucking clear, Doc.”

  Dr. Butterman’s professional mask dropped into place as suddenly as it had disappeared. “I think I’ve said more than enough, Sloan. This meeting is over.”

  I wanted to slice off my tongue. How could I antagonize a man who’d broken all kinds of rules to help me figure this out?

  “Please forgive me,” I begged. “I’ve never been good at censoring my thoughts. I do love my roommate, even though it’s hopeless and one-sided. He doesn’t reciprocate my feelings. The probability of Cole and I becoming life partners is slim to none. I will make an effort to treat him like anyone else for as long as he wants me around. He’ll be married soon enough and his wife can take over.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “What?”

  Dr. Butterman frowned. “You are going to get me into all kinds of trouble.”

  “Just answer one question. Is there any chance he feels the same way about me?”

  “Yes.”

  I reached for his hand and shook it gratefully. On my way out, I paused and asked, “Are you completely blind?”

  “Not one hundred percent. I’m considered legally blind, but I can see with my glasses in place.”

  “Is it the same for Cole right now?”

  “Cole who?”

  “Right,” I said succinctly. “Thank you for everything.”

  “Drop by whenever you’d like to talk.”

  “I appreciate it more than you know.”

  I made my way back downstairs and out to the curb. Nervous energy was running through my body, and I had to calm down or Cole would suspect I was up to no good. I needed some weed, some downtime, and a whole lot of smarts to figure this out.

  Chapter 28

  “Guide Dogs of America. How may I help you?”

  Cole introduced himself and started the initial process of acquiring a service dog. He’d opted for GDA because of the many endorsements he’d read on their website, as well as recommendations from the people at Lighthouse Guild. More importantly, they accepted applicants who were not completely blind. Certain criteria for range of vision had to be met, and Cole fit their parameters. Right now, he was considered legally blind. Someday in the future, he’d be completely blind.

  He was told the process could take anywhere from three to six months, depending on how fast the paperwork requirements were fulfilled. The most critical step to ensure approval was learning how to be an independent traveler, to take public modes of transportation on his own. This included subways and buses, in addition to escalators and elevators.

  Part of the application process would involve a home interview, as well as personal references and medical reports to determine the extent of his eye problems. After all the paperwork was completed and he was approved, Cole would be required to fly to Los Angeles and take a bus to the town of Slymar, which was located in the San Fernando Valley, and where the actual training would take place.

  He would be assigned a personal trainer, along with his own dog, but he would have to remain there for twenty-one days. When he asked how they determined the type of dog he would receive, he was told they took several factors into consideration, such as lifestyle, personality, and environment. Also important was his size and strength, the pace of his walk, and his energy level.

  The most surprising thing he learned during the conversation was the absence of a fee. The sought-after canines were donated to the right candidates, rather than sold. Because GDA was a charity-based organization, they were fastidious in their selection. Their primary concern was making sure the dog and the owner were a good match and would be able to work well together. It was a rare event when a dog and owner didn’t fit, but it happened, so the twenty-one day training out in California was a critical time for both dog and master. Cole asked about the different breeds available and was informed that seventy percent of their guide dogs were Labrador retrievers. The remaining thirty percent were divided between golden retrievers and German shepherds.

  It all sounded very daunting, but the lady on the phone was wonderfully supportive, and by the time Cole hung up, he was convinced he was doing the right thing.

  The first order of business was to get tested—to find out whether his asthma would be exacerbated by the dog’s presence. The second important thing was to get used to the subway. He knew this would be the biggest hurdle. Certain he’d have another mishap, he was terrified to make a second attempt on his own, but he was determined to become independent. Once the idea of a
guide dog had taken root, it became a source of comfort and inspiration. They’d have to rely on each other, and if the dog was able to go through months of training before meeting him, it was only fair to prepare as thoroughly as possible.

  Having something to look forward to instead of brooding over what he’d lost was encouraging. Last night’s meltdown had triggered a new resolve, and he was suddenly interested in a future rather than waiting for the other shoe to drop. More importantly, Cole vowed to make things right with Sloan. He was done hiding from the truth, and if he lost Juliana in the process, then they weren’t meant to be together.

  He was in the kitchen when a key turned the lock at the front door. Prepared for another outburst from Sloan, he was relieved when he got a muted hey acknowledging his presence.

  “How’s it going,” Cole replied, using the same measured tone. “Are you hungry?”

  “I could eat,” Sloan replied. “Whatcha got?” He appeared a little tentative, but when Cole stepped forward to get a better look, Sloan abruptly turned away.

  “I made a chicken and broccoli casserole,” he called out to the retreating figure. “Want some?”

  Sloan stopped and, looking back at Cole, remarked, “My mother used to make that.”

  “Then you’ll probably like it. Sit down.”

  Sloan slid into his usual spot and played with the utensils while he waited.

  Cole plated the food, ladling a hefty portion into a deep bowl. He poured a tall glass of milk and placed both items on the table in front of Sloan who commented, “I don’t drink milk.”

  “Don’t you like the taste?”

  “Not really.”

  “It’s good for you,” Cole insisted.

  “So is spinach, but I’m not a fan.”

  “Duly noted.” Cole sighed. “Would you rather have a soda?”

  “I’ll drink the milk, since you’ve already poured it, but next time, ask me first, okay?”

  Cole nodded, secretly pleased. He wanted to take care of Sloan, and feeding him properly would be a good start. His compliant attitude was refreshing albeit suspicious. What was he missing?

  After a few forkfuls, Sloan noted, “This tastes like my mom’s. It’s good.”

  “Thanks. They must have exchanged recipes over the years.”

  Sloan polished off the rest of his meal quickly, washing it down with the dreaded milk. He even cleaned up after himself and placed everything on the drying rack without being prompted. “Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome. Are you going out tonight?” Cole asked casually.

  “I have no plans. Why?”

  “Maybe we can watch a movie on TV, have some popcorn?”

  Cole couldn’t see the look on Sloan’s face, but he heard the curiosity in his voice. “With me?”

  “Are you interested?” He pushed away the lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes and muttered, “I need a haircut. Maybe I’ll buzz it off this time.”

  “Don’t.” Sloan stepped closer and casually smoothed back the errant strand. “I like it long.”

  “Do you?”

  “I do,” Sloan said earnestly.

  “What else do you like about me?”

  Bemused, Sloan replied in a soft voice, “I love your mouth.”

  “In spite of the crap I’ve been spewing nonstop?”

  “You can be tyrannical at times, but I have a feeling you’re talking about something else,” Sloan said, his thumb tracing Cole’s lips.

  Cole swallowed audibly. “I’ve been a dick the past few days and resented you for calling me out. I know I have to take a stand, one way or the other.”

  “When did you have this epiphany?” Sloan probed gently.

  “After you called me a whore.”

  “Cole.” Sloan hesitated. “Do you mean it?”

  Cole wrapped his hand behind Sloan’s neck, drew him in for a kiss, and brushed his mouth gently against his. It was the first time he’d initiated contact without the help of weed or fueled by anger and desperation. Following his lead, Sloan opened up for him, and their tempo switched from nice and easy to fast and furious. Cole shut his eyes and let all his other senses guide him, relishing the fierce passion driving Sloan to murmur endearments with heartfelt honesty. This was exactly how he imagined it could be without the animosity and subterfuge. Sloan was responding like the man he’d been craving when he lay in bed at night by himself.

  “I want you,” Sloan pleaded raggedly.

  “Take me.”

  “Do you know what I mean?”

  “You want to fuck me?”

  “God, yes,” Sloan admitted, rubbing his rigid cock against Cole’s noticeable boner. Although he’d been on the edge for days, Sloan’s unguarded response only served to heighten his own desire. Light-headed with anticipation but daunted by this tremendous step, Cole wavered for a second.

  Attune to his every move, Sloan asked, “Having second thoughts already?”

  “What if I fuck this up?”

  “This isn’t a test, Cole. We can stop anytime you want.”

  “Who said anything about stopping? I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  “Are you kidding me or what? I’ll take anything you have to offer and be grateful.”

  “I’m not much of a prize, Sloan.”

  “That’s debatable.” Sloan said. “But we can argue about it later. Are we doing this or what?”

  “Yes,” Cole confirmed.

  They left the kitchen, hand-in-hand, and walked into the master bedroom. In the dark, Sloan guided Cole toward his bed and helped him undress. His T-shirt first, then pants. Everything dropped to the floor, and Cole resisted the impulse to fold and hang. Blood rushed through his veins and pulsed in his groin, every heartbeat confirming his desperate need. He moaned loudly when Sloan licked his nipples, then latched on and sucked hard. Wanton begging, a feat only Sloan managed to accomplish, escaped his throat in a purring cadence. Like a dispassionate bystander, he watched his tightly wound alter ego melt and transform into his true self, the one who came alive under Sloan’s expert touch. His damaged psyche sucked up the tenderness and words of praise, like a refreshing spray of water in the dead of summer. He felt whole once again, not the shadow of himself he’d been inhabiting for so long.

  Sloan licked a wet trail down his torso, and Cole’s breath caught in his throat when his legs were pushed apart and a warm tongue pierced his core. He resumed breathing in loud gasps as Sloan paid homage to the sensitive skin around his asshole, a part of him previously untouched. What Sloan was doing with unguarded enthusiasm was at once repugnant and surprisingly erotic. Cole’s lizard brain was pursuing the pleasure despite his initial reaction. He gasped when Sloan’s tongue breached the tight barrier and spread his legs even wider, lifting his hips to give complete access. His puritanical side was appalled by his behavior, but he was having way too much fun to stop.

  Sloan pulled away for a second and rooted around in the nightstand, asking impatiently, “Where’s the lube?”

  “Somewhere in the back of the drawer,” Cole replied, hardly able to contain his excitement. His cock pressed heavily against his stomach, and he was desperate to get off, but he also wanted to be safe, so he waited patiently as his roommate rolled on the condom and applied the lube.

  Finally, Sloan was ready, and he whispered, “You sure about this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Cole whimpered when Sloan inserted two slippery fingers into him, stretching him gently.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “A little but I don’t want you to stop.”

  “I’ll go slowly.”

  “Get on with it,” Cole said impatiently. “I’m sure my body will adjust.”

  Cole held his breath in anticipation of the push, and when it came, it was more uncomfortable than he’d bargained for. The combination of Sloan’s size and his virginal status was overwhelming, but he took a deep breath and willed himself to relax, while Sloan peppered him with pass
ionate kisses and words of praise.

  “You feel incredible,” Sloan volunteered.

  “And you’re fucking huge,” Cole complained.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize just take your time.”

  “Okay.”

  When Cole’s sphincter finally relaxed, Sloan began to move. His rhythm picked up in direct proportion to Cole’s demands, and soon he was pumping in and out with abandon. Sloan’s long eyelashes brushed Cole’s cheeks while his breath escaped in tiny puffs. Wrapping his legs around Sloan’s slim hips, Cole lost it when Sloan’s cock nudge his prostate for the first time. His roar reverberated in the quiet room.

  Alarmed, Sloan asked, “Is everything all right?”

  “God, yes. This is more than I ever imagined. I don’t think I can hold on much longer,” Cole admitted.

  “Let’s come together.”

  And they did, pushed over the edge in a breathtaking orgasm that left them spent and quivering.

  I lay in bed, unable to stop my eyes from welling. Cole was in the bathroom, so he couldn’t witness my emotional state. I wanted to blurt out the words, to say I loved him, but the timing sucked. It was way too soon to reveal my hand. The steps he’d taken tonight were monumental in and of themselves. He shouldn’t be burdened with my romantic expectations. But I couldn’t hide from my own feelings. I was in love with him and regardless of who he chose or which lifestyle he ultimately picked; I knew Cole would forever be a part of me. I wasn’t sure how to reconcile my newfound knowledge of his impending blindness. Perhaps he would tell me willingly, now that we’d found a new understanding, but it was his decision to make. All I could do was wait it out and help him, whenever I had a chance, without it being too obvious.