Cutting Cords (Cutting Cords Series Book 1)

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “Are we going to stand here all night?”

  I snapped out of my trance even as the blood rushed to my cheeks. Caught in the act of staring again, I was flustered and behaving like a total dweeb. Any hope of making a good first impression was shattered by my momentary lapse in judgment. “Sorry.”

  Cole didn’t offer to help with my gear or wait for me to cross the threshold. He spun around and I picked up my bags and followed him down the hallway into the living room. The place was immaculate, nothing like I expected.

  “Do you have a housekeeper?”

  “No, why?”

  “You can eat off the floor.”

  Cole whirled around and I stopped dead. “There’s no reason to live like a pig because I’m a bachelor,” he remarked coldly. “I’ll expect you to follow my lead and maintain this apartment to my high standards. Are you hungry?”

  “No, but I’d love a smoke. Can I light up?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  Trying to process this unexpected turn of events, I chewed on my lower lip, but in the end, I couldn’t hold back my indignation. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  “I’m afraid not. Is this going to be a problem?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “Tough,” he replied. “If you want to live here, you’ll have to follow my rules.”

  I was disgusted by Cole’s attitude. Moving in with him wasn’t my idea, but I’d come this far, and there was no way in hell I would submit to his stringent demands. Stepping a little closer, I did my best to change his mind. “My father kept me on a tight leash and I hoped things would be different now. You can’t expect me to behave like a well-trained pet. ”

  “Look, Sloan. I’m not trying to be difficult, but there are a few things I consider nonnegotiable,” Cole said, softening his tone slightly. “I must have a tidy apartment and I can’t be around cigarette smoke because of my asthma.”

  I took a good look at his face which was several inches closer. The artist in me picked out each feature, lingering over his nose, which was straight and narrow, his ridiculously high cheekbones, and finally his pouty lower lip, which I was tempted to suck out of spite. Maybe it would melt this block of ice and reveal the human I used to know. I tore my gaze away, though, and offered, “How about weed? It’s medicinal.”

  Amazingly, he agreed. “That’s fine, but only in your bedroom with the door closed and the window open. Understood?”

  I nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  “It’s late. If you have any more questions, they can wait until tomorrow. Let me show you where you’re going to crash.”

  I let him lead the way, giving me the perfect opportunity to check out his body. He was about five eleven and beefy around the arms and shoulders. His broad back tapered into a slim waist, and his silk boxers clung to his perfect ass. His long legs were tanned, well-shaped, and muscular. A sudden vision of those same legs wrapped around my hips stirred my imagination. My cock grew heavier, confirming the surprising attraction.

  “You still play ball?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t betray my emotions.

  “No,” he replied, without turning around. “I gave it up.”

  “I heard you were pretty good at it. In fact, my dad said you might be following in your father’s footsteps.”

  “Nah, no way,” Cole said, with a little hitch in his voice.

  We stopped in front of a door, and he pushed it open. “This is your room. We share a bathroom, so don’t be a slob. I can’t be wiping up after you all day.”

  “God, Cole. Have you always been this anal?”

  “Yup,” he replied. “Deal with it.”

  He spun around and disappeared inside the room across from mine.

  Again, I was taken aback by his draconian behavior, but I shrugged it off and started to unpack. It had been a long fucking day and I was ready to unwind. The only window in the room was locked, but the latch gave easily, and I cracked it open. A nice breeze blew in through the gap. The room was obviously facing in the right direction, which meant I could air it out any time I had too many cigarettes. I’d be damned if Cole was going to tell me what I could or couldn’t smoke.

  Chapter 2

  Cole lay in bed, mulling over the last hour. Things had gone as well as he could hope, considering they hadn’t seen each other in fifteen years, but there had been a few awkward moments.

  Despite the initial misgivings, he gave in to his father’s request but had no compunction establishing ground rules early on to make the arrangement more tolerable. He’d purposefully left his contacts in, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sloan when he finally knocked on the door. Cole deluded himself into thinking the lenses would help, when in reality they did nothing to improve his eyesight, which was rapidly diminishing. All he had was his central vision, and it was like looking at the world through a broken camera lens. It drove him crazy in the early days, but now, each sighting was a treasure he embedded into his memory bank. Sloan was much taller than Cole had anticipated and those piercing gray eyes were disconcerting and eerily familiar. Cole had a flash of recognition as soon as he opened the door and Sloan fixed his inquisitive gaze on him for the longest time. It had made him uncomfortable as a young adolescent, and now, it was ten times worse. Fanatical about his privacy, Cole resented anyone who dared to cross his boundaries without permission. When they were younger, Cole had retaliated by teasing Sloan and accusing him of throwing the baseball like a girl, which would make him cry and run away.

  Obviously, he couldn’t resort to bullying at this stage, but there had to be some way to get Sloan to mind his own business. Being scrutinized like a lab rat was beyond uncomfortable, and even if his father was telling the truth and hadn’t revealed Cole’s affliction, he was certain Sloan would figure it out eventually. Grown-up Sloan radiated smarts and hyperactive energy. Like he was supercharged or on drugs.

  Shortly after he was diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa, Cole had become intensely aware of people’s body language. One of his many doctors had attributed this heightened sense to his rapidly failing eyesight.

  It had started when he was in his teens. Driving at night had become a problem, but he’d blamed his glasses and ordered a new pair with antiglare lenses. It helped for a while, but when his vision continued to deteriorate, he never mentioned it to his parents because he didn’t want to lose his driving privileges. Soon after, his peripheral vision started to go. This was around the time he was coming into his own as a pitcher in the minor leagues. Cole had been groomed to follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d inherited the love of the sport, the arm, and the stamina. But somewhere in his complex gene pool lay a deadly mutation, which carried his disease. No one else in their immediate family had it, but the doctors were united in their opinion. An ancestor in Japan or in Ireland on his mother’s side had passed on the gene and Cole had been the unlucky recipient.

  For several months, he continued to struggle with his baseball career, pretending he didn’t have issues with depth perception. He’d laugh it off when he missed a ball because he couldn’t see it coming, until finally, reality had smacked him in the face: he had hit another ball player in the head with his ninety-mile-an-hour fastball. He’d dropped to his knees on the mound and buried his face in his hands so his teammates couldn’t see the tears, and even though the injured player had survived and eventually returned to the sport, Cole decided then and there to quit. He walked off the field and never looked back.

  In the present, he kicked off the bedsheets and wondered how long it would take Sloan to figure out his new roommate was as blind as a bat. Cole didn’t want to deal with the solicitous hovering or the forced kindness. He had enough of that from his parents and Juliana. He preferred Sloan’s snarky remarks and defiant attitude. It made him feel normal, and right then, normal was a good thing.

  It was two in the morning when I finally admitted I was starving. The weed had opened up the floodgates of my hunger, and I hadn’t eaten since I
left California. It was difficult to ignore the growling in my stomach.

  I decided to raid Cole’s fridge. The only sound I could hear as I padded down the hall in bare feet was the thumping of my heart, which sounded pretty fucking loud to my mind. The weed was magnifying everything, including my paranoia. Afraid to wake Cole and risk another rant—he didn’t seem happy to have me around—I didn’t turn on the lights until I got to the kitchen. My father and Ken had no right to foist me on Cole with hardly any notice. If the situation were reversed, I’d be pissed as well. What made the old fucks think Cole would accept me with open arms?

  I wondered if he had a girlfriend. Probably more than one, I supposed, with a face and body like his. Okay, so I noticed. Who wouldn’t?

  My interest in men wasn’t something new. It had started a zillion years ago, right around the time I’d discovered Queen. Another thing I had in common with Freddie Mercury, although I certainly hoped to do better than him and not die of HIV-related diseases. If my father only knew how Freddie’s history had affected the way I dealt with safe sex, he’d endorse the band. I was the poster boy for condoms, always carrying a spare in my pocket in case the need arose, which was really wishful thinking on my part.

  Sex wasn’t a huge part of my life, albeit constantly on my mind. The lack of experimentation had to do with my poor body image. Nonetheless, I’d had a few encounters, which wiped away my virginal status. The first one was when I had just turned sixteen and some pervert, who must have been in his late twenties, picked me up while I was rollerblading in Golden Gate Park. He’d blown me in one of the stalls in the public restroom. I was so shocked I didn’t realize that he’d expect me to reciprocate. I freaked instead and ran off, listening to him cursing at me as I rollerbladed down the road.

  My first relationship was with Andy, a geeky kid I knew in high school. We jerked each other off and perfected our blowjobs, but I would never take off my clothes in front of him. I was afraid he’d laugh at my bony frame and I couldn’t handle the thought of the school dweeb making jokes at my expense.

  There was only one part of my body I was proud of, but unfortunately, I couldn’t walk around with my eight-inch dick on display. When Andy kept pushing for more skin, I shoved down my pants, handed him my ass, and left him soon after.

  The third encounter was with a woman. I had convinced myself that if I were straight, all my troubles would disappear. My parents were mildly hysterical when I told them I’d begun dating Emily. They were so glad I’d come to my senses, they even bought me a car so I could have some privacy.

  And I often wished it had worked. Emily was inherently kind and very supportive of my career in graphic arts. We shared the same dry wit and self-deprecating humor. We found commonality in our low opinion of ourselves—she was still going through a growth spurt, all elbows and knees—with clusters of acne that drew the eye. Her engaging personality convinced me I could get past her gender and ignore my true nature. Big mistake.

  Our one attempt at fucking was an experience I try never to think about. She refused to take off her blouse, ashamed because she had no boobs, and I didn’t want her to see my xylophone rib cage, so we did it with all our clothes on. It was over much too quickly, and although the few minutes of relief were reasonably good, the pain and heartache that followed weren’t worth it. Emily and I agreed to remain friends and not fuck buddies. It was much more doable and a lot less embarrassing.

  Later, I’d take sex wherever I could find it, but it was always on the run and lacking in emotion. I turned to chat rooms, prowling them aggressively, but was uncomfortable hooking up with strangers who were only interested in getting off. The aftermath was always a disappointment.

  My stomach grumbled loudly, pulling me back into the moment. I switched on the light and examined the contents of the refrigerator. It was fully stocked, but most of it was unappetizing. There were two gallons of juice and some yogurt cups. I didn’t recognize a lot of small packages with labels in Japanese, but like everything else about my anal retentive roommate, the fridge was pristine. There was a small box of pizza, and I grabbed it, hoping it was still edible. It smelled okay, so I drew out a couple of slices and nuked them. I burnt my tongue in my rush to cram the cheesy dough into my mouth, but it was worth it, and I was satisfied enough so that sleep might come at last.

  On my way back to my room, I heard noises coming from behind Cole’s bedroom door. I pressed my ear to the wood, wondering what was going on. He was groaning, and it seemed to be escalating instead of dissipating. I turned the doorknob and carefully stuck my head in through the opening. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust. Cole was lying on the bed, naked, his eyes shut. I tiptoed forward, pausing by his bed, and inspected his body. He was beautiful in every way and my breath caught in my throat, the urge to touch so powerful it was making me careless.

  His circumcised cock was thick and pushing up toward his stomach. I would have given up every single DVD I owned to be able to suck on him. Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed and shook his shoulder, “Cole, wake up.”

  He opened his eyes almost immediately. “Who…what are you doing here?”

  “It’s me—Sloan. You were groaning, man, I thought you were hurt or something.”

  He grabbed hold of the bedsheet and covered himself. “Don’t ever come in here uninvited. Do you understand?”

  “Stop being an ass. I was just trying to help.”

  “Go!”

  I rushed out of his room and slammed the door behind me, the sound reverberating in the quiet of the night. I engaged my lock in case he had second thoughts and decided to add a few forceful blows to his tirade, but he didn’t follow. I crawled into bed and pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs to try to stop the trembling. I could feel the urge coming over me and I was doing my best to hold it at bay, but eventually, it was too strong to ignore. My need to hurt myself was the biggest demon in my life, the one thing I had yet to conquer, and once again, I stopped thinking rationally and dropped off the ledge, spiraling downward to my favorite spot in hell.

  I straightened out my legs and pulled my pants down, lifting my hips to get them off easily. I scratched the letter S onto my thighs with the ragged edges of my chewed-up fingernails. I didn’t stop until the pink lines turned red as blood seeped through the broken skin. In my head, I repeated the familiar mantra while ugly tears poured down my face in torrents. S is for sick, S is for stupid, S is for Sloan ….

  Chapter 3

  Cole scooped more food into his mouth, savoring the taste of the chicken and onion added to the scrambled eggs he’d made himself for breakfast. He ate leisurely, enjoying the different flavors as they blended with the rice.

  He’d become quite the chef—no small feat since he couldn’t boil water a few years ago. But he’d insisted on learning how to cook, adding it to the list of things he had to accomplish to become self-sufficient. Now, he could not only boil rice, he’d become quite skilled at preparing his meals, thanks to his mother’s tutelage. They’d spent many hours in the kitchen going over the finer points of traditional Japanese cuisine. Her contention was that he could always get burgers or pizza anywhere, but a fine donburi or tempura were hard to come by; so she’d taught him everything, just as her Japanese mother-in-law had taught her when she and Ken were newly married.

  He used chopsticks expertly, pausing as he lifted them to his mouth when noises came from Sloan’s bedroom. He supposed they’d have to have a discussion over last night’s incident, and now was as good a time as any. His intentions might have been good, investigating the sounds of distress, but he could have knocked instead of barging in uninvited. Cole had to emphasize the importance of boundaries or Sloan would have to find another place to stay, their fathers notwithstanding.

  Sloan stumbled into the kitchen, making a straight line toward the refrigerator. He mumbled a greeting of some sort and yanked open the door, cussing up a blue streak about not having one can of Coke inside.


  He slammed the door shut and turned to Cole, who continued to eat. “We need to buy something to drink.”

  “There’s juice.”

  “Duh. I meant something with caffeine. I noticed you don’t own a coffee maker so I was looking for the next best thing.”

  “Sorry. I don’t drink coffee, but I have tea if you’d like some.”

  “No.” Sloan slumped down on a chair and pointed at Cole’s bowl. “What the hell are you eating?”

  “My breakfast.”

  He leaned over to get a good look at Cole’s meal and recoiled. “It looks awful and smells gnarly.”

  Cole parked the chopsticks, trying to remain calm. So far, Sloan was doing everything possible to get on his last nerves. “I’m having a donburi, a rice bowl, if you must know. It’s got chicken mixed in with scrambled eggs and a light sauce to enhance the flavor. It’s a combination of soy, sugar, and ginger, like teriyaki sauce.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of Pop-Tarts?”

  Cole laughed in spite of himself. “I prefer something a little more nutritious.”

  “That’s it,” Sloan announced. “I’m grocery shopping. You don’t have shit in this place.”

  “There’s a ton of food.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t like most of it, and the rest is Japanese stuff,” Sloan accused.

  “It’s what I prefer,” Cole replied, directing his gaze at Sloan. It was like looking through a straw, his circle of vision was so tiny. He couldn’t make out all of Sloan’s features, but he could feel his body language, and it was definitely agitated.