by Banks, R. R.
“Drink beer?” he asks.
“And have a picnic,” I say and smile. “Duh.”
“Oh, is that what normal people do?” he asks, a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth.
“Supposedly,” I reply.
He laughs softly and leads me into the house, Oliver keeping pace beside us, sniffing at the basket persistently. The floor plan of the front room is open, with three steps that lead down into a large sunken living room on one side. A massive fireplace takes up one wall, and a large flat screen TV hangs above that.
Natural sunlight pours through numerous windows, as well as a large skylight above. Everything is done in light-colored wood and decorated in soft, earthy tones. Beautiful pieces of art hang on the walls, and it's clear that Aidan is dripping with money, but his home is still somehow very – understated. I don't think I possess the words in my vocabulary to adequately express how amazing this house is.
We walk into the sleek, modern kitchen and Aidan sticks the beer into a restaurant-sized, stainless steel refrigerator as I set the basket down on a large island in the middle of the space.
“I think I want to be filthy rich when I grow up,” I say and laugh.
Aidan chuckles, but looks down at the hardwood floor beneath his feet. He almost looks embarrassed by my comment, as if his wealth is somehow shameful. Personally, I see nothing shameful about having money. I'd love to have the kind of money Aidan has – and if I did, you can bet your ass, I wouldn't be embarrassed about it. Not for a second.
“So, should we eat in here?” I ask, tapping the basket.
“Nah,” he replies. “Like you said, it's a beautiful day out. Let's go outside.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Aidan pulls a couple of bottles out of the refrigerator, and I take the basket, following him through a mudroom, and out into a backyard that nearly takes my breath away. There's a large pool and hot tub that look like they were both carved from natural stone. A cascading waterfall flows into the hot tub to complete the look.
Wow.
There are also a couple of guest houses, plenty of green space, and a line of towering trees in the woods beyond the wall. Every building and feature back here was designed in a way to seamlessly blend in with the natural environment around it. Although these are all manmade structures, they look almost every bit as organic as the trees and bushes.
The inside of the house is gorgeous, but the outside is spectacular.
I breathe in the crisp, autumn air, letting the smell of pine and earth fill my lungs as Aidan leads me over to an area with benches and a table made from reclaimed timber, situated near a rock fire pit. It looks like a campsite, to be honest. But, like everything else in the large backyard, it works.
“This space is incredible,” I say.
“I wish I could take credit for it,” he replies. “I bought it like this. But, I have to say, whoever designed it did a fantastic job. There are a few things I would have done differently, but overall, it's almost perfect.”
“Oh, are you an architect?”
I set the basket on the table as we take a seat at the faux-campsite near the fire pit. Jessa told me he's the president of some big real estate development company, but I have no clue what that means or what he actually does.
“I've done some architecture work and enjoy it, but I'm actually a real estate developer. I do more of the administrative and planning side of things now,” he says. “I don't have a lot of time to actually design much anymore. Unfortunately.”
There's a definite tinge of sorrow in his voice when he says it, which makes me sad for him. He obviously doesn’t love what he does for a living. Not that I really know what that is.
“And what do you do as a real estate developer?” I finally decide to ask.
“The short version is, we buy up properties and develop them,” he replies. “Build new houses, malls, office buildings. Whatever our client is looking for, really.”
“Huh,” I say. “Interesting.”
His smile is soft and slightly sad. “Not really,” he says. “You don't have to pretend. Not for my benefit. Personally, I'd rather be designing the buildings. To me, that's where the fun is.”
“Why can't you?” I ask simply.
“Too much to do on the business side of things. Deals to make, contracts to manage,” he says. “It's okay though, I've gotten used to it.”
“If you don't enjoy what you do, why do it?”
“It's not that I don't enjoy it. I do. I love seeing a project progress from negotiations to the blueprint stage to completion. It's satisfying in its own way. So, I do like certain aspects of it,” he explains. “I just enjoy designing a bit more.”
He opens two bottles of beer and hands me one. I take a small swallow of it and grimace at first, but then it mellows. It's strong, but smooth. It's actually not that bad. A small grin touches his lips as he looks at me and takes a long swallow of his own drink.
Aidan seems like a man quick to smile, or at least, he used to be. There's a darkness that hovers over him – one that seems to have really taken root. Deep. There's a sadness that seems to have wrapped itself around him. It's hard to explain, but it seems like he’s been hollowed out by life. A man who is in the grips of despair and has been for some time. He just seems – bleak.
But, he's also goes to great lengths to hide it. Aidan is the type of man to keep tight control of his emotions. He wears a mask – one of stoicism. It's a mask that prevents anyone from seeing the true emotions hidden beneath the surface. He seems like a man who won’t give off the barest whiff of weakness to anybody. Ever.
“Besides, it's not like I had much of a choice, really,” he says. “It's a family legacy thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father started the company a long time ago,” he says. “Built it up into this massive empire. When he passed away, his will divided the empire into four equal parts – with my brothers and I all controlling one-fourth of it.”
“Wow, four boys,” I say and laugh. “Your poor mother.”
“Yeah, we gave her hell when we were growing up,” he replies. “But, she kept us all in line pretty well. She was a big believer in the whole “spare the rod, spoil the child” adage. She was tough. Had to be to deal with all of us, and my father, I guess.”
Awkward silence descends upon us as we sip our beers. It's the silence of two people who are friendly but not exactly friends. It's the quiet of two people who don't know the first thing about each other. Which, I guess, I should have expected. We talk about this and that when he comes into the bar, but Aidan and I are barely acquaintances – a fact that is painfully obvious right now.
To fill the silence, I start digging everything out of the basket. I take out a container of pasta salad, some barbecue chips, and a couple of big, well-stacked sandwiches. Next, I remove some plates and napkins and set them down on the table.
“Anyway,” he says. “What did I do to deserve the beer and picnic? If I’m remembering things right, yesterday you were pissed at me, and threw me out of your bar.”
I feel a rueful smile touch my lips, and let out a long breath. I'd been hoping we could just gloss right on over that and enjoy the day without bringing it up. Damn it. Time to pay the piper and do what I came here to do. Clearing my throat, I do my best to humble myself.
“Consider this my way of saying I'm sorry,” I respond softly.
Aidan's gaze is so direct and penetrating that I end up lowering my eyes. It's like he can lay me bare and see my innermost thoughts with nothing more than a glance.
“You don't have anything to be sorry for,” he says gently. “I understand why you were pissed.”
“I was kind of a dick to you,” I reply. “So, yeah, I do.”
“It was a heated moment,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I know I didn't help the situation any and could have handled myself better. I'm sorry that I put you in that position.”
I shake my head.
“You didn't do anything wrong,” I reply. “That was all Leon's fault. Truth be told, a large part of me was glad you put him in his place. Someone’s needed to do that for a long time.”
“Well, I'm glad I could help.”
We stare at each other as silence falls over us once more. The longer our gazes are locked, the more it feels like I'm losing myself into those steely blue-gray eyes. I feel my cheeks flare with color, but I'm unable to look away. He's a beautiful man – I can't deny the attraction between us. Even though I shouldn't be having this kind of thoughts or feelings about anybody right now.
Right now, I need to focus on me. Since escaping from Victor, that's been my mantra.
I clear my throat. “Anyway, I wasn't sure what you'd like,” I say as I hand over one of the sandwiches. “I stopped by Eddie's Deli and picked up some roast beef subs and all the fixin's. You look like a roast beef kind of guy to me.”
“What if I told you I was vegan?”
I look at him and feel my eyes widen. I hadn't even stopped to consider that he might not be a meat eater at all. I am and always have been. I sometimes just assume everybody is. The heat in my cheeks burns brighter as I feel the full weight of my social faux pas pressing down on me. I wanted to do something nice, but in true Katie Weathers fashion, I've gone and screwed it all up.
“Relax,” he laughs. “I'm not. I'm just giving you a hard time.”
My exhale of relief is long and loud – and I immediately feel like an idiot for being so gullible. I pick up a plastic fork and throw it at him. He laughs harder as it bounces off his chest, and although he's laughing, I notice his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's making an effort to seem lighthearted, but I can see the darkness in him is still gripping him tightly.
“You're such an ass,” I say and laugh.
“I've been told that's one of my better qualities.”
“Somebody lied to you.”
We both dig into our meals, and the conversation is surprisingly light and fun. I watch as he tears off bits of his sandwich and tosses it to Oliver. The dog snaps them out of the air, munching away on them happily. He turns to me with those big, soulful brown eyes – obviously begging. I've never been much of a dog person, but Oliver is growing on me.
“I know it's a bad habit,” Aidan says. “But, I like to spoil the big guy sometimes.”
“Looks like more than just sometimes,” I say and laugh.
“Yeah, probably. But, he's a good boy. He deserves it.”
I can't resist and throw him a piece of my sandwich, which earns me a full-body wag and a big, goofy smile. I watch as Oliver turns and runs off, sniffing around the trees in the green area of his backyard. The awkwardness that marked the beginning of my time with Aidan seems to have evaporated entirely, which is surprising.
And the more we talk, the more I'm surprised to find that he's an interesting guy. There are a lot of things about him that I never would have guessed – like his love of art and books. He’s a voracious reader, which surprises me greatly. He seemed more of a beer and “enjoys whatever sport is on TV at the time” kind of guy when we first met.
Aidan is also incredibly smart. His interests are well-rounded, and it's obvious he had a first-class education. In the few hours – and more than a couple of beers – we’ve had sitting out on the patio area, I've gotten to know more about Aidan than I have in all the months he's been coming to the Mary.
He's a fascinating man, and I'm more than happy to listen and talk with him about whatever subject happens to come up, from anthropology to philosophy to classic literature. In some ways, he reminds me of my favorite liberal arts professors back when I was taking classes.
I'm no fool. In fact, I know I'm pretty damn smart. But, to me, Aidan is on a whole different level, intellectually speaking. I know part of it is that he’s a few years older. The other part is that he actually finished his education – a personal failure that haunts me to this day. But, it's more than that. He seems to have this natural wit and intelligence about him.
“So, you said you were studying to be a marine biologist at the University of Georgia?” he asks. “I take it you didn't finish?”
I shake my head, surprised that he'd remembered such a trivial fact about me. I like the fact that he actually listens to me – in my life, that has been an exceedingly rare trait in a man.
“No,” I say. “Unfortunately, I didn't.”
He cocks his head. “Why didn't you finish?”
I let out a long breath. This is treading perilously close to territory I don’t want to talk about. It's been just about a year since I escaped from Victor, give or take, but in a lot of ways, the wounds are still incredibly fresh. Even after all these months, I'm still raw and don't know if I'm ready to talk about it with anybody. Well, someone other than Jessa, that is.
But, as I look into his eyes, I can see something of a kindred spirit in Aidan. I recognize the darkness that surrounds him, because it envelops me too.
Well, maybe not the same darkness. I don't know what sort of trauma or heartache he suffered that left a stain on his soul. I only know my own heartache. But, I can tell the two of us are a lot alike – we’re both wounded, broken creatures.
I'm not sure what to tell him – or how much I should tell him. So, I decide to tell him the truth.
“Money, mostly,” I say. “It was tough working a job that didn't pay me much. And of course, financial aid is a joke. I stuck it out as long as I could, but eventually, I couldn't make ends meet anymore. I plan to go back and finish it out one day, though.”
He gives me that look again – the one like he's probing the depths of my mind and heart. It's unnerving really. And although I'm at a loss to explain it, it unlocks something inside of me. There's something about that direct, penetrating gaze of Aidan’s that makes me think I can trust him. That tells me I'm safe opening up to him.
My mind fights back against the idea, but I open my mouth, and am appalled to hear the words falling out.
“Also,” I say, feeling surprisingly compelled to keep speaking, “I was involved in a relationship at the time and he – Victor – he wasn't exactly supportive of me. He said I spent too much time away from home and – well – yeah. He was… controlling, I guess you could say.”
“Sounds like it.”
I look down at the table, and pick at the napkin in front of me, mentally kicking myself for not shutting up sooner. I don't know why I told him that. I don't actually know this man. I shouldn't be putting my personal nightmare out there for anyone, let alone someone I barely know. That's not something I do. Ever. And yet, somehow, with Aidan, I feel like it's okay to open up – to be myself. Like it's okay to talk to him, and that he's not going to judge me.
It's the strangest damn thing, given the fact that I don't know him very well, but it’s true nonetheless.
“That's rough. I'm sorry you had to deal with that,” he says. “But, I don't know what kind of man wouldn't be supportive of his partner. Wouldn't want to see her succeed and be happy.”
A wry laugh bubbles up out of my throat. “Victor was insecure. To say the least.”
“How long were you with him?”
“Almost two years. Way too fucking long,” I say.
Aidan laughs and it's a warm, rich sound that sends tendrils of pleasure crawling across my skin. Doing my best to shove those feelings down, I focus on the story instead.
“When we met, he was a senior. I was a freshman. Anyway, he had a full-ride football scholarship. Victor thought he was going to make it to the pros. But, he hurt his knee so bad that it ended his career before it ever had a chance to get started. After that – he changed. And not for the better.”
Aidan nodded as if he understood. “A big setback like that can really change a person.”
“If I'm being honest with myself, he was never that great. He cheated on me more than once and...”
I let my voice trail off, not wanting to finish that statement. This is not informa
tion I should be sharing. My time with Victor is something I always keep private. Just to myself.
But, Aidan’s eyes tell me he's not going to let this go – that he wants me to finish my train of thought. He looks at me without judgment, but with an expression filled with tenderness and compassion that makes my heart skip a beat.
“And what, Katie?” he asks gently.
I let out a long sigh, feeling the tears welling in my eyes as images and memories come flooding back like some dark, hellish tide. I grit my teeth, trying to bite back the words filling up my mouth, but they pour out anyway.
“He was abusive,” I say. “He used to beat me. Make me do things I didn't want to do.”
“Jesus,” he says.
Aidan surprises me by reaching across the table to take my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. The heartfelt look in his eyes breaks me, and the tears start to fall, hard and heavy. Even though I'm doing my best to stop bawling in front of him – I can't stop.
Aidan comes around the table and sits down next to me. He pulls me into a warm embrace, and I lean my head against his chest as months – no years – worth of emotions I've kept boxed up are released. Jessa is the only one I've ever shared this with, and even then, I managed to keep myself under control. I have no idea why now is when I chose to have a meltdown about it. But, I can't lie. Having Aidan stroke my hair, telling me it's okay, and to let it all out, as I cry like a damn child, feels nice. It's comforting.
Eventually, I manage to get myself back under control. I sit up, and he hands me a napkin from the basket.
“Thanks,” I say, using the napkin to wipe the tears from my face. “I'm sorry. I'm normally not like this. I'm not the type of person who emotionally vomits like that.”
A gentle smile touches the corners of his mouth. “Seems like you've needed to get that out for a long time,” he says gently. “You have to get the poison out of your system, otherwise, it'll rot you from the inside out.”
I nod. “Yeah, I know. I just don't like talking about it.”
“I understand,” he says.
I look into Aidan's eyes and believe that unlike most people, he does actually understand. Behind his mask is deep and abiding pain. I know there are secrets he keeps buried deep inside. His face, although hard, like it had been carved from granite, is somehow soft and kind at the same time. Gentle. Compassionate.