A Mended Man (The Men of Halfway House Book 4)
Page 12
Nothing worked to dispel the want.
The need.
Not just to relieve a physical craving but to satisfy the desire for intimacy.
To connect.
His mind returned to visions of those lips. Those perfectly defined, equally full lips which he'd never tasted but almost had. And most likely, never would. High, sharp cheekbones centered by the slope of his perfectly straight nose which led upward to those incredibly piercing eyes beneath those thick dark eyebrows. His eyes. He could lose himself in those crystal blue pools.
He steeled himself and finally stepped away from the door, hoping to reset the carefully crafted facade that had taken years to build. He swore he wouldn't go there ever again. What was the point? Pain was the only outcome…in more ways than he had imagined. And he was tired of having life bitch-slap him and make him beg for mercy. He couldn't subject himself—or others—to that again. He took a deep breath and made his way to the shower, hoping to wash away the seed of hope that had tried to plant itself in his heart.
He turned on the water then stepped into the steaming shower a few moments later, letting the warm water sluice the planes of his body. The rivulets traveled along his torso, reminding him of Jessie's fingers tracing his ink, instantly driving a bolt of want and need through his body. His breathing sped and he planted his palm against the tiled wall. He dipped his head under the spray and closed his eyes, trying to calm the battling thoughts waging war in his mind. He wanted Jessie—he wanted to touch him, hold him, and be inside him. But most of all, he wanted to feel the tug of that tether between them, the one that reminded him he was in the land of the living, feeling, and with someone who thought he was worthy enough to stay with. He willed his body to calm down, to remember the promise he had made so many years ago. Maybe this time would be different? Maybe it didn't always end the same. Maybe?
He couldn't.
He wouldn't.
There was no way he'd ever hurt Jessie. Aidan's heart would shatter if Jessie ever walked away.
The water pelted his body, unable to wash away the haunting memories or cool the desire coursing through his veins. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around his hardened shaft, instantly groaning at the contact. He pushed his hips into his fist, quickening his pace with each harsh tug. He snarled and grunted like a feral animal, seeking friction, forcefully yanking his dick, desperately reaching for that elusive precipice. His fingers clawed at the tile wall as he pulled and pulled, jerking his hips forward into his tightly clenched hand, battling his warring thoughts and the flashback worming its way into his mind, threatening to derail his path to release. He closed his eyes and parted his lips when an image of Jessie immediately flooded his consciousness.
Jessie's fingers tracing his skin.
Crystal blue eyes. Soft, dark hair. Full lips.
Those full lips wrapped around him… The warmth of Jessie's mouth sucking and pulling until his cheeks hollowed.
A roar ripped through Aidan's body as he coated the tile wall with his release.
He leaned into the spray, chest heaving as he tried to settle his breathing. That wasn't real. That won't happen. He turned the dial to the hottest tolerable setting, angry at his life, fate, and the weight of the memories that haunted him. Under the spray of the steaming hot water, he scrubbed his skin until it was almost raw. Regret flooded his weakened limbs at the realization that he'd washed off Jessie's touch from his skin—both the real and the imaginary. He flattened his hands against the tile shower wall and let the hot water beat against his back. He looked upward, begging for the heavens to give him strength to continue, to carry out his solemn vow to remain on the path he had chosen to take years ago.
He dried off and looked at himself in the mirror, his vision following the lines of the tattoo. He took a deep breath as phantom fingers tentatively grazed his skin—Jessie's fingers, tracing each shadowed line of his angel and scroll.
He grabbed his shaving cream and razor. He lathered up and swiped the stubble off his face. Fucking persistent shit. It didn't matter how often he shaved, the damn thing would sprout up within an hour after he'd managed to scrape it all off. Finally finished, with his face burning more than the norm, he walked into his room and reached into his almost empty closet. He flattened his palm against the wall for balance and sighed. Most of his clothes either needed a wash or were at the hospital. He turned and leaned his back against the wall, gasping for air, suddenly feeling a suffocating grip at his throat, constricting each labored breath as everything closed in on him. He slid down along the wall, stopping only when his towel-wrapped ass hit the floor. He huddled against the wall of the large room, resting his chin on his knees. He looked around and couldn't see anything in the blackness of the room.
Darkness and loneliness was all that accompanied him.
His chest tightened as he willed his mind to focus on the nothingness of the space rather than the series of snapshots that had transitioned into a full-fledged, high-definition multimedia presentation only he could experience from a time he wished he could permanently wipe from his mind. A private showing that was quick to castrate any hope that dared take root in his heart. He reached up and fisted the sides of his hair as a scream ripped through his body, hoping to drown out the sounds and the pictures and smells that accompanied them. He needed to be strong. He needed to be the safe haven Jessie sought during his recovery.
He didn't know if he could. He wasn't sure he deserved it. Was it punishment for his past crimes or just a shit hand of luck in life? He wasn't attracted to women, why the fuck would he think Lady Luck would give a shit about him? He wanted to be Jessie's pillar of strength. The one Jessie would turn to when he needed someone.
He couldn't…
He began to shudder, and he could no longer contain the sobs that racked his body in the darkness. He resented himself, his decisions, his life. But most of all, he hated hope and how that bitch teased him just when he thought he could manage things on his own. He was cursed to a life of solitude and it was a burden he had accepted years ago.
But now, with Jessie, he realized one thing far worse than any torture he thought he had survived.
He hated being alone.
"Here you go," Nancy said, handing Jessie the discharge papers. "Do you want me to call anyone?"
Jessie shook his head.
"I can call Aidan."
"I already called a cab."
Aidan had returned that night two weeks ago, but he had closed himself off more than ever. Every now and then, the expression in Aidan's eyes softened, but almost immediately, that damn iron wall would erect in full force. Each day, a little more of Aidan's clothes emptied out of the small hospital closet until nothing remained. More work meetings resulted in less hours during the day at the hospital. Work became the official excuse. It was clear in Aidan's eyes. Something had spooked him and forced him to keep his distance. Jessie swore if he had another chance to break down that damn barrier of Aidan's, he'd take it and wouldn't back down. He'd do anything to avoid the unbearable ache that pained him in Aidan's absence.
"Does he know you're being discharged today?"
He reached for his jacket and winced when a shock of pain traveled the length of his arm. Dammit. He hadn't known being so dependent on using a crutch would resurrect his need for pain meds when he pushed too much. He refused to risk stressing his wrist so he overcompensated, which only seemed to aggravate his shoulder and good arm from holding the crutch so damn hard. At least his ribs didn't hurt as much, assuming, of course, he didn't tighten his midsection when lugging around the extra weight of the leg cast. He was still a mess, but dammit, he was getting discharged today. Period. He steadied himself and tried again, finally grasping the material.
"Jessie?"
He tried to ignore the concern in Nancy's eyes and tone. "He was here when the doctor mentioned I would be discharged soon."
"Soon is rather vague. He may not have expected you to be discharged this soon."
Nancy scowled but guided his arms through the shoulder straps.
"Thanks," he said, balancing the weight of the laptop in his backpack. He adjusted the strap on the new sling that had replaced the temporary forearm cast, fidgeting, busying himself to avoid the topic. He wanted Aidan with him, and if he had asked, Aidan would be there in a heartbeat, regardless of the distance he tried to place between them. And if he tagged on a "please," Aidan would cave if there had been any resistance. That was what kept Aidan by his bedside each night. Even though the drug-lingering nightmares were less frequent, having Aidan's presence to keep the nightmares at bay was a far better alternative than the body-numbing sleeping pills that would put him at the monster's mercy in the abyss until he could move again.
Was he silly to want Aidan to come back of his own accord? He was starting to think he'd missed his chance that one day when they came so close he could feel the link between them. But it had snapped, almost quicker than the time it had taken to build.
Hope bloomed when he reached for his vibrating phone but quickly dissipated once he caught sight of the display. "Cab's here."
Nancy sighed. "I'll get the chair."
"I can walk."
"You know it's policy." She exited the room and returned a few moments later with the wheelchair.
He slowly rose from the bed and steadied himself, extending a hand to stop Nancy who immediately jumped to help. He needed to take the pain pill, but getting out of the hospital was the priority. He reached for the crutch and eased it under his good arm then carefully walked the few steps to reach the chair. One step at a time, just as he'd done for the last few weeks. He tried to reach for the wheelchair armrest but couldn't reach down far enough with the crutch limiting his movement. He took another deep breath and tried to shift his weight. He reached again for the armrest and let his body drop into the seat, ignoring the clank of the crutch hitting the floor.
"Sorry."
Nancy reached down and retrieved the crutch, slipping it into a makeshift sleeve in the back of the chair. "No worries." She grabbed the bag of prescriptions and placed them in his lap. "Don't forget. You're due for your pain meds as soon as you get home."
He nodded. How could he forget? When he walked for more than ten or fifteen minutes, each current of pain rippling through his body was a constant reminder, not to mention that stupid crutch was bruising his armpit as well. He was better and able to walk short distances without help, but he hadn't mastered the don't-push-yourself philosophy everyone kept jamming down his throat.
She unlocked the wheels and pushed the chair out the door and down the hallway.
He waved goodbye to the staff and rolled through the hospital hallways until he finally exited the doors and was greeted by the waiting cab. He settled in with minimal help then waved goodbye, finally on his way back home. He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, anxious to settle into the space he had called home for the last few years. Twenty minutes later, he shimmied out of the backseat and balanced himself with the single crutch, fumbling with the plastic bag of medication. The driver reached out and tied the bag to the crutch.
"Thanks," he mumbled and reached into his back pocket for his wallet to pay for the cab fare and tip. He stood and waited as the car pulled away then steeled himself for the next few moments. He would finally be on his own for the first time in months since that night. He gripped the crutch and turned to enter his building. He balanced himself and held back a flinch of pain that jolted through his body with each forward shift of the heavy leg cast. Times like these he wished for more bulk and strength. He didn't know what hurt more—the bruise under his armpit from the crutch, his biceps from overcompensating and holding the crutch too tightly, or the pain shooting across his shoulders from the combination of it all.
A few steps later, he wiped his brow of the beads of sweat that had surfaced and pressed the elevator button.
"It's busted," someone said as they passed him and started heading upstairs.
"Excuse me?" Jessie bit back the arc of fire that shot between his shoulders when he turned.
The man stopped on the third step. "The elevator. It's been busted for two days. Building manager posted a memo. It's supposed to get fixed tomorrow. Something about parts getting ordered," the man finished with a shrug and continued his trek upstairs.
Jessie walked over and made his way to the base of the stairs. Somehow, the half dozen steps to the first landing seemed as if they had multiplied. "Don't-push-yourself" my ass. He was glad he had ignored everyone's suggestion to pace himself, otherwise, he wouldn't dare take another step. He squared his shoulders the best he could and focused on one step at a time.
* * * *
Aidan darted out of the hospital elevator toward Jessie's room, finally releasing the breath he had held since receiving the short text from Bull.
Jessie's discharged.
Why the hell had he found out about Jessie's release through a third party? He should have known Jessie was leaving today. Why the hell hadn't Jess called him?
He swallowed heavily and stood stock-still after he stepped into the hospital room.
Empty.
He exited the room and sped out to the nurses' station, visually scanning the new day staff for a familiar face. He spotted Nancy down the hallway and beelined to her.
"He was discharged a while ago," she said with her usual smile.
"When?"
She looked at her watch. "About an hour and a half ago."
"He didn't call me," he said, absently.
Nancy reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. "He called a cab to take him home and he told the guard you had at his door to leave."
He lowered his head, processing the information. He wanted to be the one Jessie called. The one who would come to mind first if Jessie needed a ride home or…anything. "He could have called me," he said, trying to bite back the words after they had escaped. This was all his fault. He was the one who'd driven the wedge between them, the one who'd taken time away with the bullshit excuses. All because he was too chickenshit to take a chance.
He met Nancy's gaze and tried to ignore the sympathetic expression on her face.
"Thanks."
She gave him a sad smile and squeezed his arm before walking away.
Aidan grabbed his phone and dialed a number, speaking before giving his friend a chance to respond after answering the call. "Tell me you're with him."
Bull's laugh echoed through the line. "He's as stubborn as you are. He can tell me to go away all he wants, but that's not his call. I'm at his apartment building now. I can monitor the main entrance and parking garage from my location."
"Thanks," he said before disconnecting the call. Aidan rubbed his chest to fight off the sudden ache. He couldn't be angry at anyone but himself for the distance he'd shoved between them. Jessie was simply granting him the space he had—in not so many words—demanded. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks to stop fidgeting. He surveyed the staff as they ran through the hallway, oblivious to anything around them other than the clipboards in their hands. So much had changed in the last two weeks. The staff shifts had adjusted and so had most of the familiar faces. He felt out of place. He took a deep breath and fisted the hands in his pockets. He looked upward and blew out a deep breath, hoping for some sign or guidance on what he should do next.
He thought of Jessie and the look in his steady, warm, caring blue eyes. Always strong, always supportive…always patient. There was nothing he wanted more in the world than to be with Jessie, but the fear, the pain, and all the other crap that circled in his mind kept his walls firmly in place. Fuck it. He withdrew his hands from his pockets and tugged on the cuffs of his shirt. He worked his way out of the hospital and jumped in his SUV. He turned the key and made his way onto the expressway, a
bsently passing each exit without a second thought before finally taking an exit. He shook his head and scoffed at himself for being so stubborn. Even though he sat behind the wheel, a fundamental need to be near Jessie drove his actions.
* * * *
"You can't just lock me out," Jessie said, still trying to take in enough air to settle his breathing. The two flights of stairs had seemed like a climb up Mount Everest. His good arm was numb from firmly holding the crutch and the ache under his armpit a clear sign the crutch had left its mark. Hobbling around was bad enough, but climbing the steps with the cast on his lower leg felt like lugging around an iron weight wrapped around his muscles. He couldn't seem to catch his breath or settle the current of pain radiating in his shoulders and arm.
"Mr. Vargas, I don't have a choice," the building maintenance man said. "I was asked to change the locks. I put the personal stuff I found in the apartment in the box and stored it in my office for you so I could give it to you when you arrived."
Jessie leaned against the wall for balance and tried to steady his shaking hands. "I've lived here for years and you still don't know my name? It's Vega. And you can't just pack my things in a box and kick me out. I've been current with the rent and you have no legal justification for evicting me." He looked down at the medium-sized box holding his belongings. How had his life been reduced to a box no bigger than one of the banker's boxes he used for case files?
"I'm sorry, sir. It wasn't my decision," the pudgy man said in a broken accent.
"Who decided?"
"The board made that decision," a new man said as he walked up the stairs.