The Deeper He Hurts

by Lynda Aicher

  “You can also get them through the Kick app,” he told one guy who’d grumbled about the lines. The increase in income since the app had released last month was significant enough to consider generalizing the code and selling it to other companies.

  Another employee came behind the counter, and Ash happily handed his tasks over to him. “Thanks,” he said, stepping away from the organized chaos. Dealing with piles of wet booties, helmets, and splash jackets wasn’t high on his list of fun things to do.

  He wiped his hands on a towel and slipped into the small office in the back. “Is this where you hide to avoid work?” he joked with War.

  “Hell. This is your shit.” He shoved his chair back, scowling hard as he waved at the cluttered desktop. “Why don’t we have an admin to deal with this paperwork garbage?”

  “Because I handle eighty percent of it and you can manage the other twenty.”

  “Then here.” He stalked toward the door, smile gleaming. “You deal with it, since you’re here. I’ve got other shit to do.”

  “Like I don’t,” he said to himself once War had gone. What the fuck? He glanced at the clock as he sunk into the battered office chair. The springs squeaked when he leaned back, which got him to smile. That’d drive him nuts.

  He rubbed his eyes, then dug into the work War was bitching about. The partners in charge of each outpost were responsible for logging employee hours and any cash sales made there. That was it on the monetary side. Most of the work consisted of inventory management. They had a lot of gear to track and inspect at the end of each day, as well as keeping the souvenir and food items stocked in the stores.

  It was possible that they should hire someone at their busier outposts to oversee this stuff, which was why they were checking in at each location. They were over halfway through their busiest season, and the first one they were navigating without Chris and Finn. All the partners were actively involved in the company, but none of them had been as connected to every part as those two had been.

  The rest of the afternoon flew by behind the numbers and columns he was far more comfortable with. It was closing in on six o’clock when Rig popped his head into the office. “We’re leaving for dinner in ten.”

  He was gone before Ash could respond. “What if I’m not ready?” he asked anyway. He’d adapted to the hierarchical, military style of operating, but it didn’t mean he liked it. Especially when he had more than ten minutes of work left to do.

  Fuck. The books were balanced and he’d fixed a glitch in the inventory database, but he was only mid-thought on the payroll upload code he’d been rewriting. He jotted down a few notes, then closed the software. He couldn’t finish until he got more data from the other outposts anyway.

  At least he’d been a part of the company when most of the remote locations had been established, so every building was adequately wired and had Internet access.

  Switching over to the Web, he typed in the search he’d resisted doing for weeks: Sawyer Stevens Moab. He’d done a cursory search before hiring, like he did with all potential employees, to see if anything major popped up. But he hadn’t gone snooping for dark secrets. And he wasn’t now. Right.

  Fuck. His pulse thumped faster the harder his conscience revolted. He glanced through the search results anyway. No red flags jumped out, only references to his name at various outfitters and social media pages for guys with the same name. Nothing that would reveal the hidden pieces of his past.

  He entered another search and then another, changing the construct each time until a link appeared that chilled him. There in thin blue letters, it read: Stevens Family Memorial Established. The two lines of text beneath gave him enough information to conclude that Sawyer’s parents and two siblings had died in a tragic accident fourteen years ago.

  The room was suddenly too warm, his skin clammy and hot as he reread those words. An accident. But what? When? How? Sawyer would’ve been sixteen. Too young, but too old, too. That awful age between childhood and adult where little was relevant yet everything felt monumental.

  This one little link explained so much without telling him anything. Sawyer’s inability to commit, his fear of connection and establishing relationships was undoubtedly related to this enormous loss.

  Damn. He absently rubbed over his heart, the ache spreading for both the boy and the man. His mouse hovered above the link, his conscience rearing up to halt him from clicking. The sense of invasion crawled down his nape and into his morals. He’d already learned more than Sawyer apparently wanted him to know. These were his demons to share or not. His past and battles that Ash had no right to excavate.

  A bead of sweat inched its way down his temple, his glasses edging down the bridge of his nose. There was no going back from where he was, no forgetting what he’d learned. He could stop, though. Could wait for Sawyer to share this himself—if he ever did.

  His urge to know battled with his right to know. He wanted to help Sawyer—but this wasn’t the way to do it. If anything, it would drive a wedge so deeply between them they’d never bridge it.

  Sawyer’s trust was too important and fragile to break it this way.

  The browser closed with a simple click. It wasn’t as easy to pack up his stuff and pretend he hadn’t crossed a line. He’d dug for information, and was stuck with having knowledge and no way to use it, but it would intrude on every interaction he had with Sawyer going forward.

  If he let it.

  Regret pounded behind his forehead, and no amount of pain pills or rubbing would eliminate it. The urge to confess his sins ate at his stomach and wound around his guilt. Fuck. He’d overstepped, and this was his penance. He would keep silent, no matter how much the questions and knowledge ate away at him.

  He slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way to the back patio. The grill was on and people were clustered together at picnic tables and informal circles of canvas chairs. He glanced over them, hunting for Sawyer and recognizing few among the group. His knowledge of most of the seasonal employees consisted of a name on a page with personal stats. It didn’t help that pictures taken at hiring rarely resembled their state while working. And some were definitely tourists who were most likely camping on their lot.

  “Grady, War, and Sawyer will be here in a minute,” Rig said, stepping up beside him. “Hopper and Dog are meeting us there.”

  Ash frowned, heart hitching. “Why is Sawyer coming? I thought this was a partner meeting.” He wasn’t ready to face Sawyer, let alone in an intimate group setting.

  Rig shrugged. “It is. But since Sawyer’s running a lot of the day trips on his own now, I wanted to hear his thoughts too.”

  “And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”

  “I didn’t think it’d matter.” He leveled a steely look at him. “It doesn’t, right?”

  He glared right back, every doubt hidden. “No.” Intimidation didn’t work on him. He wouldn’t have lasted at Kick if it had. “What about our relationship?”

  “What about it?” Rig’s grin was only slightly evil. “You’re the one who made the damn HR rule. I trust you know how to manage it.”

  “So you don’t care if the others find out?”

  “That’s your business, not mine.” He turned away. “Let’s go. Trooper has things covered here.”

  Trooper? Who the fuck was Trooper? And who in the hell came up with the stupid nicknames? How was he supposed to track employees when no one seemed to go by their given name?

  It was easier to stew over nonimportant things like employee names than over the pile of shit he’d created on his own. Forget—that’s what he had to do. Forget what he knew. Treat Sawyer the same as ever. Go with it—as Rig had said.

  Now to figure out how to do that without fucking everything up.

  Chapter 19

  Sawyer sat back and let the conversation flow around him. The tactic had worked for years. He only needed to laugh at the right moments, shoot back any direct jabs, and keep smiling.

&nbs
p; Asher nudged him beneath the table, his leg maintaining contact instead of pulling away. Ignoring him crossed his mind, but there was no reason to. His cranky mood wasn’t Asher’s fault, not directly at least.

  “What?” he asked. The frown he got back said his tone had been too sharp. Damn it. He tried to bury his irritation behind another swallow of his beer, but the brew was bitter on his tongue.

  “What crawled up your ass and died?” Asher raised a brow in sardonic question. His attempt at humor was surface level only.

  He glanced around the table and forced his smile wider. “Not a thing.”

  “Right.”

  His grin strained his cheeks, but he held it. Asher’s disgusted head shake shouldn’t have bothered him. Damn it all to hell.

  He rubbed the back of his head and made an attempt to focus on the conversation. The discussion had flowed from trip issues to general concerns and was now down to basic bullshitting. He dipped a cold fry in his ketchup and ate it despite the churning state of his stomach.

  Dog let out a loud laugh on his other side. “Screw you, Rig. I haven’t seen you navigate the falls without flipping.” The growly tone of his voice reminded him of an angry dog, which he figured might account for his nickname. He’d never asked.

  “We haven’t seen you do it either,” War hassled him further. Due to the precise line required to run it, the ten-foot drop of Husum Falls had a reputation as being one of the most challenging commercially navigable rapids in the country.

  “And you keep giving me the least experienced crew. There’s only so much I can do when the people don’t respond to my commands.”

  “True,” War conceded, his smile spreading.

  “You’ve had some epic flips, though,” Hopper added. “I’d think you’d be tired of swimming by now.”

  Not to mention tired of the panic that sets in until all swimmers are accounted for. They might be joking now, but no one breathed easy until everyone was safely on land or back in a raft.

  The hassling continued, and Sawyer followed the discussion just enough to know the topic. The rest of him was zeroed in on the silent man whose leg was still braced against his. He could move away from the contact. Just like he could’ve chosen another chair instead of sitting next to Asher. It annoyed him to admit it, but he liked being near the guy.

  That in itself should’ve set off all kinds of retreat signals. Damn if Asher hadn’t gotten to him, though. Or through his walls at least. Some of them anyway.

  “Are you staying the night?” he asked under his breath, turning his head just enough to direct the sound of his voice but not actually looking at Asher. Their text exchange hadn’t included that information.

  “No. We’re heading back after this.”

  The disappointment hit too hard. He shouldn’t care. It was dangerous to care, and even more so to desperately want to see someone or to wish they’d be around longer.

  “No chance to play then.” He’d stated the obvious, but it covered the longing that proclaimed he actually missed Asher. Which was snuggled in close to his desire to see more of him. To touch him and do nothing but fuck and talk.

  Talk. Another thing he’d avoided before Asher.

  “Only Rig knows,” Asher said. “About us.”

  He snapped his head around so quickly his neck cracked. His scan of Asher’s expression gave him no additional information. “And?” He played the dumb card just in case he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion.

  Asher glanced at the other guys, then gave a slight head shake in answer. He nudged his leg again to reinforce the unspoken.

  “Good.” That was good. Then why did he want to plant a kiss on Asher right there and declare their relationship to the other partners?

  Asher shrugged, looked away. “It wouldn’t matter that much if they all knew.”

  Matter to whom? “I’m not sticking around, Asher.” Was the reminder for himself or Asher? Three weeks and he was out of there. He’d be back in Moab before Labor Day and Asher would be part of his past. A brief escape that’d kept him sane when he’d begun to doubt his sanity.

  Still did.

  Loneliness was a bitch that’d crept into his doubts and raided his mind. He wasn’t acknowledging his heart. Not if he wanted to keep that fucker locked down. He snorted at himself. Right. Like he had any chance of that when Asher had blown the door away and was most likely going to hold the damn thing captive when Sawyer walked away.

  “I know.”

  He waited for more, but nothing came. What did he expect? Want? Saying more could shatter the tenuous thing they had, and he wasn’t ready to let it go. Not yet.

  His evenings spent with Asher were the best he’d had since the fire. He looked forward to them, and it wasn’t just about the pain. In fact, it had very little to do with that anymore.

  The walls started to close in, his world darkening around the edges with each hard beat of his pulse. Heat simmered over his skin, hairs standing up in warning.

  Fuck. He shoved back, mumbled “Bathroom,” and wove his way through the tables and out of the restaurant. The evening air greeted him with a refreshing wave of lingering heat and cooling breeze. He made it around the corner of the building before he had to lean against the wall and concentrate on breathing. Long, slow breaths that lowered his heart rate and lifted the weight on his chest.

  The crunch of the footsteps reached him before they rounded the building, Asher’s presence simmering over him. He knew it was him before he opened his eyes. Everything in him screamed to get closer and run at the same time.

  Asher ran a hand up his arm, cupped the back of his neck. He arched into the touch despite needing to resist it.

  “Can I do anything?”

  Go away. Hold me. The absurdity racing through him came out in a sorry-ass cackle. He snapped his mouth shut when the off-note reached his ears. Shit. He was losing it over a guy. A damn guy who shouldn’t mean anything to him.

  Yet he did.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing.” The repeated statement tumbled out in a bid for understanding. He’d been alone for years, but never so lost. Floundering.

  Fuck. He shook himself and stepped away from Asher’s touch. A hard face scrub got rid of the last of the fuzzy-headed sensation left over from the near panic attack.

  “Sorry.” He grinned, swagger rolling over him in a protective cloak. “I’m good.” He shot Asher a wink. “Just needed some air.”

  Asher stared at him, expression flat. A little wrinkle was wedged between his brows, though, his eyes intent, in the way that saw through Sawyer so clearly. “What are you doing?”

  He swiped at an itch under his nose and looked away. “I’m going to head back.” He motioned toward the parking lot. “Can you let the others know?”

  Asher studied him for another long moment before he shook his head, disappointment flashing. “Sure. I’ll tell them your dinner didn’t sit well.”

  “Fine.” Anything was better than the truth.

  He turned to leave, but Asher caught his arm, stopping him. He was crowding again, stepping close enough that his breath gusted over Sawyer’s ear. Sawyer bit his lip to stay silent, his moan lodged in his aching throat.

  “I told you I wouldn’t push,” Asher said, voice low and intimate. His musky spice scent wound around him, ticking Sawyer’s longing and triggering more regrets. “But I won’t be pushed away, either.” The nip struck the tender side of his neck. The sting zinged deep and spread in a warm buzz outward from the contact point. “Just let us happen, Sawyer. Stop overthinking it.”

  “How?” The question had snuck out between his doubts.

  Asher’s airy snort tickled his ear. “I’m still working on that myself.” He stepped away, the space gaping between them even though he was only a foot or two away. “But I think if we keep doing what we’ve been doing, we’ll be fine.”

  Hooking up whenever he was free. Meeting at Asher’s for scenes and other things—which he wouldn’t focus on. “I can do
that.”

  “So can I.” Asher smiled, a softness smoothing over his features. This was the Asher he saw at his home. The private guy who let his guard down and stopped thinking long enough to watch the sunset with Sawyer, or debate the pros and cons of green energy until they conceded mutual defeat.

  The guy who gave Sawyer things he’d never acknowledged he’d needed and still didn’t push him when he was so obviously holding back. Asher’s restraint was amazing, his patience even more so.

  Three weeks—until he had to leave. What if he wanted more than that? That thought was too scary to contemplate.

  Chapter 20

  Ash sprawled on the grass, chest heaving as he sucked in air. The sun blinded him and beat down on his overheated skin.

  “Damn,” Sawyer huffed, flopping beside him. “You kicked my ass on that last sprint.” His breaths were deep, each gasp audible. “You didn’t warn me about the damn hills.”

  The scent of fresh-cut grass was driven out by sweat and man. He inhaled, holding it in until his lungs protested. “I thought they were obvious.” Their five-mile run had been intensified by the hills around his house, the gentle inclines more deceptive and therefore harder than the blatantly steep ones.

  “I’m used to running on flat.”

  “And I thought you were the rugged adventure man who could leap tall buildings in a single bound.”

  Sawyer shoved his shoulder. “Fucker.”

  Ash let his chuckle roll out, an easy lassitude spreading through him. The heat of the day had abated, the early-evening air comfortable as he soaked up the sunlight before the trees blocked it. Sawyer joining him on his run was yet another twist in their ever-changing relationship.

  “We should move inside and get some water,” Ash said with reluctance. He spent too much time indoors, which was ironic given where he worked.

  “Nah.” Sawyer patted around on the grass until he found Ash’s hand, and squeezed it. “This is nice.”