Aiden ~ Melanie Moreland

by Moreland, Melanie

  “I would never have forgiven myself. I’m not sure I can forgive myself for what occurred today. I should have listened to my gut.”

  “You have to let it go. We thought it was over. Her mother lied about her whereabouts because she was too lazy to care or actually do anything. Louisa played everyone. It’s on her and her family.” I shook my head ruefully. “Some of the responsibility is even on me. Not you.”

  I stood. “I’m going to take a bath. You can let yourself out, okay?”

  He frowned, standing as well. “You really think I’m going to leave you alone after what just happened?”

  I drew in much-needed air and curled my hands into fists, seeking strength. “Aiden, I can’t express my gratitude enough. For everything you’ve done for me. But it’s over. She’s in police custody, and I’m safe. I need a bath to warm up, then I’m going to lie down.” A shudder ran down my spine. “I’ll nap in Dee’s room or here on the sofa.” I wasn’t sure I would ever sleep in mine again. “Before you go, though, I need to apologize to you.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Apologize?”

  I swallowed to rid myself of the lump that was forming in my throat. “For my behavior. I know you don’t have the same feelings for me as I have for you. I have pushed and forced my way into your life, and you’ve been amazing. I know you allowed me to hang around because of Emmy and Bentley, and you’ve been patient with me. You told me right from the start there would never be a relationship beyond friendship between us. Even when we were intimate, I knew how you felt, but I was arrogant enough that I thought you would change your mind. That somehow, you would know I was different, and that I could be what you needed.” I brushed my hair off my face. “I kept pushing you—trying to force you to feel something you didn’t. Just like Louisa did with me.”

  He started to speak, and I held up my hand.

  “Don’t. Please. I get it now. I really do. I promise you it won’t happen again. I won’t make you uncomfortable, and I won’t do anything to embarrass you. Our best friends are getting married. It’s inevitable we’ll be around each other, but I won’t push anymore. I promise. I’ll just be Cami—Emmy’s slightly weird friend and someone who will be grateful to you for the rest of her life.” Leaning up, I pressed my lips to his cheek. “Thank you.”

  He stood stock-still, a muscle working in his neck, but he said nothing. Desperate to keep my emotions hidden, I went down the hall and quietly shut the bathroom door behind me. I leaned against the wood, covering my mouth with my hand as the tears began to drip down my cheeks. I dashed them away and bent over the tub, pushing down the plug and turning on the tap. I grabbed Dee’s citrus bubble bath, needing a different scent than my usual jasmine. I would never again wear that fragrance.

  I heard the telltale sound of the door closing firmly at the front of the apartment, and with a quiet sob, I disrobed and slid into the water. Aiden was gone, and I was alone. I laid my head back and let the tears flow. I was so exhausted I couldn’t weep. No sounds came out, only tears rolled down my cheeks, hot and heavy. I let them go, knowing I needed to mourn. I had so many regrets, and I was going to relive them every time I saw Aiden. I could only hope the pain would lessen and one day I would be able to smile at him again without my heart breaking.

  I startled when the bathroom door opened, and Aiden came into the room.

  “What are you doing?” I gasped, wiping my hands across my cheeks.

  He shrugged, flipping the lid to the toilet down and sitting on it. He had changed, and he rolled up his sleeves, careful not to look at me. “You didn’t give me a chance to reply, so I thought I would come in and take advantage of the fact that you couldn’t walk away while I said my piece.”

  “I thought you left. I heard the door.”

  “I went to my car and grabbed my bag. I always have a change of clothes with me. I didn’t want to smell her on me anymore.”

  “I’m never wearing that perfume again,” I admitted.

  He bent forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and shook his head. “No, Cami. I love your scent. That perfume didn’t smell like you at all when she wore it. It was overpowering and sweet. Frankly, on her, it made me nauseous. On you, it’s light and airy. I like it. Your scent calms me like nothing else does. Don’t let her take that from us.”

  I had no idea how to reply to his statement.

  “Oh.”

  “As for what you said earlier, I think I’m the one who owes you an apology.”

  “I doubt that.”

  His unique eyes burned into me. “You have been offering me the gift of your love—without an agenda or any chance of it being reciprocated—and all I have done is treat you badly.”

  “You haven’t treated me badly—just the opposite. It’s not a gift if you don’t want it. I know that now.”

  He raked his hands through his hair roughly and huffed out a curse.

  “It is a gift. One I wanted so much but was too afraid to take.” He kept on talking, not giving me a chance to reply. “Today, when I realized what was happening, the danger you were in, I kept praying.” He snorted. “I never pray—I’ve never believed in any of that shit. But I did. I prayed and begged that you’d be safe—that you wouldn’t be hurt, or even worse.” His eyes drifted shut, then snapped open, once again pinning me with his gaze. “I promised, I swore, if I got there in time, if you were safe, I would tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” I breathed, terrified, yet enthralled with his words.

  “Tell you everything. How I feel about you. Why I pushed you away. Why I so desperately want you, even though I don’t deserve to have you.”

  “You want me?”

  He lunged, moving so fast that before I knew what was happening, he was on top of me in the tub, his heavy torso pushing me into the porcelain. His mouth claimed mine as he buried his hand into my hair and yanked me tight, holding me close. His kiss was possessive, deep, and carnal. He moaned low, the sound reverberating in the room.

  I whimpered, unsure where his actions came from, afraid to believe they meant what I hoped they did, and still so in love with him, I wasn’t sure it mattered.

  He dragged his lips over my cheek, pressing them to my ear. “I feel, Cami. I feel so much, and I’m fucking terrified of what I feel. I need you to help me.”

  “Tell me what you need.”

  He kept his voice low, as if ashamed to say it out loud. “Hold me for a minute. Let me feel you against me so I know you’re okay.”

  “She didn’t touch me, Aiden. You got here in time.”

  “Please. I need that.”

  I wrapped my arms around him, feeling the tremor that went through his massive form. I could feel his lips moving on my skin, but I had no idea what he was saying. He ghosted his hands up and down my back, never settling anywhere, but touching me so reverently, I felt the tears begin to well again. He had never touched me this way before now.

  “Please don’t,” he murmured. “I hate it when you cry. My chest aches.”

  “I-I don’t understand what’s happening, and I’m scared to hope that maybe it’s something . . .” I sucked in a long gulp of air. “Significant.”

  “I want it to be.”

  “But?” I whispered, my heart in my throat.

  “I have things I need to tell you.”

  “Now?”

  He drew back, bringing his hand up to cup my face. “Yes, but I think maybe I should wait until you’re out of the tub. You’re very distracting like this.”

  “Like this?”

  A slow smile spread across his lips, and his expression changed, becoming lighter. “Wet, slippery, naked, and far too tempting.”

  “You’re all wet now too.”

  “I have another shirt.”

  “I’ll get out. We can talk. I can have a bath when you leave later.”

  He pressed his lips to mine sweetly. “What if I don’t leave?”

  “Then you can join me and wash my back.”

  His mouth was
warm as he kissed me one more time. “Okay, deal.”

  Aiden

  CAMI CURLED UP on the sofa, looking more tranquil than she had been lately. I had stayed with her, making her lie back in the tub and relax for a while. Despite the fact that I was still hard and aching for her, and seeing her naked and wet in the tub only made it worse, I ignored my throbbing cock and talked to her. Nothing heavy or personal—I knew that was going to happen soon enough. I talked about the project we were working on; I shared a few stories of Bent and Mad with her, things to get her to smile. While she was getting dressed, I had called Bentley, let him know everything was okay and promised to have Cami call Emmy later that evening. I sent a fast text to Dee, telling her everything was handled, Cami was safe, and she could relax. I would call her later and explain.

  I sat close, needing to feel Cami beside me for our impending conversation. I picked up her hand, studying her long fingers, and stroked the soft skin of her wrist. The passing thought that a diamond bracelet would suit her skittered through my mind, surprising me. I had never bought a woman a gift before—I had never wanted to, until now.

  “Talk to me,” she whispered, sounding unusually shy.

  “Love scares me, Cami.”

  “Why?”

  “The only thing I associate with love is pain. I know I told you I had dyslexia, but there is a lot more to my childhood than simply a disorder I’ve had to struggle to overcome.”

  She shifted closer. “Tell me.”

  “My parents, for lack of a better term, were Henry and Gabby. I stopped calling them Mom and Dad when I was very young. They didn’t deserve to be called those names after the way they treated me.”

  Cami bit her lip, as if she already anticipated what I was going to say.

  “Henry was a drunk. A mean one—well, to me, anyway. My older brother and sister he liked well enough, but not me. I was different. If you can believe it, when I was a kid, I was a runt. I was little and scrawny—scared of my own shadow. I was slow to talk, didn’t catch on to things quickly, and was backward with everything in life.”

  “Because of your dyslexia.”

  “We didn’t know about it then. Henry simply didn’t like me. He was an impatient man at the best of times, and with me, he had zero tolerance.”

  “Why?”

  I met her confused gaze. “As I found out later in life it was because I wasn’t his. Gabby had an affair, and I was the result.”

  “Oh. That must have been hard. Did your . . . Gabby protect you from him?”

  I laughed, the sound harsh in the room. “She hated me. I was a constant reminder of her past. They, my whole family, had straight, sandy-colored hair, brown eyes, and freckles on their faces with red cheeks. Then there was me. Dark, curly hair, mismatched eyes, and no freckles. My skin tone was a little darker—just enough to be different. I stuck out like a sore thumb.”

  “Aiden, no mother hates her child, no matter how different they look.”

  “She did. I was never enough. If he hit me, she walked away. If I did something to displease her, she was the one who hit me.” I paused as memories swirled in my head. “I displeased her a lot.”

  I met her wide gaze. “She liked to use the belt. It hurt the most. Almost as much as her cruel words.”

  She slipped her hand into mine, holding tight.

  “I remember being hungry all the time. I was a runt, like I said, and my brother used to grab my food.” I grimaced as memories flooded my mind. “There was never a lot to eat, and when he took my food, I had to go without.”

  “Were you very poor?”

  “No, not poor. Gabby didn’t believe in wasting food, so she made just enough for each meal. She served the food from the kitchen, and because I was the smallest, I got the smallest portion. Once Eric grabbed some, I was often left hungry.”

  “Maybe that was why you were so small.”

  “Probably.”

  “That’s why you eat more quickly than some people.”

  “It’s a reflex, I think. I try not to, but it happens.” I smiled sadly. “I think that’s why I’m always hungry to this day.”

  “I like watching you eat. You enjoy it.”

  I had to grin. “I do. It’s one of the pleasures I can enjoy without guilt. Bentley calls me a garbage disposal.”

  “He teases you because he cares.”

  “I know.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Go on.”

  “I didn’t do well in school. I had trouble getting people to understand me. There were more times I didn’t comprehend what was going on than I did. My grades were terrible. I was picked on and bullied, and I got beat up a lot. The dumb runt, you know, is an easy target.”

  “I assume your parents did nothing to keep it from happening?”

  “No. I stopped saying anything since I knew they didn’t care. In fact, I think they thought I deserved it. Just like when they hit me.” I shrugged. “I know I did.”

  “No child deserves to be hit.”

  “You start to feel like you do, though. At home I was punished for my bad grades and failed tests. Criticized for being scrawny and weak. Called stupid and homely. I was picked on by my perfect brother and, for the most part, ignored by my sister. When the beatings would start, she’d leave the room.”

  “No one at school helped?”

  “They just pushed me forward to the next grade. They didn’t care either. Schools were overcrowded, so it was easier, I suppose. I was lost most of the time. I had one teacher, Mr. Randall. He was a good guy. He noticed how hard I struggled, and he did some tests with the school. They told my parents they thought I was dyslexic and explained about some treatments to help me cope. But they cost money, and my mother had zero interest in spending it on me. My brother, Eric, was in soccer and was pretty good at it, but it was expensive. My sister, Veronica, liked synchronized swimming. They were important, so my parents made sure they got what they wanted. They refused to ‘waste’ the money on me.”

  “But you needed the help!”

  I shrugged. “I wasn’t important, Cami. I never was to anyone. My entire life.”

  “You are to me.”

  My heart sped up at her soft declaration. “I don’t deserve it after the way I treated you.”

  “I disagree.”

  Unable to stop myself, I leaned forward and brushed her lips with mine. “Thank you.”

  “I want to hear more.”

  I wanted to kiss her more and forget the conversation. However, she deserved to hear it all.

  “Mr. Randall was great. He went above and beyond what he had to do for a student. He researched my condition and spent hours with me, helping me find ways to learn more easily. He discovered methods and tricks that helped me concentrate. Not everyone responds the same with this learning disability, and some find it manageable, while others struggle. I found ways of zeroing in on words I could understand, and slowly making my way through pages using those words.”

  “The font thing helps too, right?”

  “Yes. Plus, my memory trick, while unusual, is very helpful. I can remember details other people would forget. Once I read something and understand it, it sticks. I can recall passages and quote them.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I find listening to documents as I study them helpful. I can associate words easier and remember them. Technology has helped make my life simpler in many ways. Still, I struggle at times.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I was taught it was. I was made to feel I was something to be ashamed of in every way. No matter how hard I tried, I could never get their approval.” I leaned my forearms on my thighs, dropping my head for a moment as memories flew through my head. “I acted out a lot when I was younger. I was desperate for attention, but I didn’t know how to get it in a positive way. The affection my parents gave my siblings was denied to me. Instead, all I heard was a constant list of my shortcomings and failures. No matter what I did, I was never as good as they were.”

&
nbsp; “That would be hard to live with. No wonder you acted out.”

  “Henry was a wrestler in school. A good one. Once I finally started growing, he insisted I be part of the team. I did it to please him, hoping to finally do something he would be proud of, but I hated it. I hated every second of it.”

  “Why?”

  I shut my eyes, admitting another of my faults. “I hated being touched.”

  She looked horrified. “You hate it when I touch you?”

  “No, not at all—I like your touch.” I pushed her hand to my cheek, confessing my need. “I crave your touch.” She stroked my skin, once again so gently, I wanted to weep. I leaned back and cleared my throat.

  “Growing up, I related touching to pain. No one ever hugged me or gave me pats on the back. They hit me. Punched me. Crowded me into a corner and smacked me with a fist or a belt. Wrestling was like that—the grabbing and shoving. The need to overpower another person to win. It reminded me of everything in my life. I was overpowered constantly. I felt like my world was one big wrestling match, and I was constantly being thrown to the mat.” I ran a hand over my face. “I quit the team when I was fifteen, and that caused a huge fight with Henry. In his anger, he told me for the hundredth time all the reasons I was such a loser, why he hated me so much, and that I wasn’t his son.”

  “Oh, Aiden . . .”

  “It got ugly. I was bigger, and it wasn’t as easy to push me around. Now, I could push back. He became enraged. Screaming in my face. Swearing and saying horrible things. I yelled at him, and somehow, we started wrestling—only it wasn’t for sport. I was sure he was going to kill me. I fought back with everything I had, and we bounced around the room, knocking over furniture and breaking things.” I swallowed as visions of that awful night replayed in my head. “At one point, he had me locked up, and I shoved back against him. We went flying right through the glass patio doors with me landing on top of him. It broke his hold, and I rolled away, right through all the glass that was around us.”

  Cami scooted close, gripping my hand harder. Her touch returned me to the moment, and I looked down at her elegant fingers restlessly clutching my skin. I traced her hand and bent down to brush a kiss on her knuckles.