Love in the Dark

by 12 Book Boxed Set (epub)

  “His sex talks were annoying,” Sterling groans.

  He’s right. Dad was uncomfortable and honestly, they were awkward as fuck.

  “Your thing goes inside her, but you have to be careful because you can hurt her. Make it meaningful.” Sterling tries to imitate Dad’s voice. “Thank fuck I’d had sex way before he said that shit or I might still be a virgin.”

  “Why?”

  “Because sex is like bungee jumping. If you overthink it, you’ll never do it.” He shrugs.

  “That’s a strange comparison.”

  “Well, if I’d have known that I’d hurt Kara—that would’ve fucked with my head,” he mentions his first girlfriend. “Back then I was an idiot who would do the impossible just to make her happy. I wouldn’t have made a move if I was afraid that I wasn’t good enough or that by doing so, I’d inflict pain.”

  He presses into the clay harder. I remember Kara. She was his first kiss, his first love, and I’m pretty sure she’s still his kryptonite. They seemed so in love until they hated each other just as fiercely. He changed so much after they broke up.

  “Remember when Mom caught me milking the moose,” Sterling releases a loud laugh, waking up the dog who’s sleeping close to his feet.

  He’s sweeping his feelings about Kara under the rug.

  “We don’t pet the lizard in the media room,” I imitate Dad’s voice, giving him that same angry glare.

  “He never told me not to watch porn,” Sterling grins.

  “I miss him,” I say grabbing a glass and pouring myself some milk.

  He continues molding the clay while staring at me. “I always wished I had a relationship like the one you two had.”

  Sterling’s face sags. “We never understood each other. Sometimes I hated him and hated you too,” he confesses.

  “Because I wasn’t his son?” I cock a brow unsure of how to react.

  “No, I never thought about it like that. You are one of us.”

  “Then why?” I set down the empty glass of milk and cross my arms listening to him.

  “I wanted him to accept me and for you to support me even when I fucked up.” He presses the clay tighter, his forehead wrinkles. “You just saw me as your annoying little brother, and you always agreed with him when he criticised my life.”

  He takes a deep breath. “You made me feel like I was a fucked-up kid who never belonged.”

  I laugh at the irony because all my life I worked hard to please my parents. It wasn’t a competition against Sterling, but I knew that no matter what he did, they’d always love him more. I had no idea where I stood.

  “Did you ever think that I felt like I was walking on a tight rope afraid to fuck up?”

  “You were perfect,” he says.

  “I wasn’t, and it was fucking hard to be what he needed. But I had to be, or he might just treat me like shit or kick me out of his house. I wasn’t his real son.”

  He drops the piece of clay in his hands and his gaze flies to find mine. Those eyes, dark green just like Dad’s, observe me for several minutes.

  “Fuck, of course you thought that. If he treated me like shit he would be worse with you, wouldn’t he?”

  I nod once, shoving my hands inside my pockets.

  “Sorry, I just thought … fucking hell.”

  “Dad was hard on you because he was afraid,” I confess what I’ve known all along.

  “Afraid?”

  “Of your freedom. You didn’t need Dad because you were your own person since you were little, Slugger. But he believed if you turned out to be like him, then you would depend on him.”

  He remains silent for a few seconds, nodding several times while working.

  “I loved him, but at some point, I wanted to be as far away from him as possible. He didn’t understand me or give a fuck about my art.” He lifts the unshaped piece of clay. “This is me. My heart and my soul. I do as I want with it and share it with the world. You should try it.”

  How ironic, my little brother giving me life advice. I’ve been so wrapped up in my father’s world that I lost myself. I lean my head against the cold steel door of the refrigerator absorbing his words. The six years I spent at Stanford were the best. Even though I studied business, I took computer classes. My master’s degree included a major in information systems. Computers are my passion, but Dad didn’t see it my way. He was shaping me to become him.

  Why is it that I continue to work so hard for his approval? As I open my eyes, I see my brother enthralled by his work. Sterling had it right. If he treated his own blood like he didn’t matter, how would he have treated me if I didn’t do as he wished? I was just a kid he picked up from the streets.

  And that fear prevails.

  “Dad would be happy to see you with Abby,” Sterling says out of nowhere. “He wanted her to be an Ahern, and if he had a choice, of course, he’d have chosen you to be with her.”

  “Are you telling me you have a crush on her?”

  “No, of course not. I can’t emphasize enough that she’s like a little sister to me. We might not have grown up together, but I see her as part of the family. You never did. Ever since she arrived, you saw her as the girl you had to save.”

  He goes quiet for several breaths; I assume that our conversation is over and march toward the stairs.

  I stop when he asks, “Why is it that you feel the need to save her?”

  “That’s not why I love her.”

  “You didn’t answer my question, Weston.” His eyes narrow. “I like to observe, analyze, and study the human form as well as people’s behavior. She’s not yours to save, but she could be yours to love, Weston. Be careful.”

  “Why the warning?”

  “A hunch.” He shrugs and goes back to work. “Good night. Ask my girl to take Terry on her daily run, please. He’ll enjoy it.”

  — — —

  Abby

  As the sun rises and the morning brings a new day, I want to go back in time because I don’t want the moment to end. I just hope that last night was the first magical night of many.

  I stretch and listen carefully to the sounds of morning. The birds sing, and I smile when I hear the loud barks coming from downstairs. Wes’ side of the bed is empty but still warm. He spent the night with me. For the first time in weeks, the nightmares stayed away, and I didn’t wake up at all. I’ve missed this—feeling refreshed and ready to start my day.

  I get out of bed, put on a pair of shorts, my sports bra, and fetch my wireless headphones that are inside my purse. It’s time for my morning run. When I arrive downstairs, I find Wes shirtless trying to catch Terry. I can’t help but laugh at the two of them. A six-foot-tall man chasing a tiny French Bulldog puppy. The little dude’s tongue is hanging out while he smiles happily because his new buddy is playing with him.

  Wes stops, glaring at Terry with frustration.

  Pup one, Wes zero.

  His rubs his chest with one hand and then sets it on his waist as he catches his breath. A glimpse of his naked torso makes me want to run my fingers across the firm lines of his broad chest—trace the bear tattoo on the left side of his sculpted pecs. I lower my gaze toward his muscled stomach which is chiseled into a perfect eight pack. The ridges and lines continue downward, but I can’t see more because they are covered by a pair of basketball shorts.

  “You like what you see, Abby girl?” His cocky voice breaks through the hazy lust.

  “Do you need help?” I ask, composing myself.

  Instead of waiting for him to agree, I lower myself and call Terry who wags her tail and comes running toward me.

  “That’s cheating,” Wes complains, handing me the leash and walking away.

  “Do you want to join us?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Good morning to you too, Ahern,” I say working on the leash and rubbing Terry’s tummy.

  “How is that cheating?” I find Wes in the kitchen and walk to him. He’s preparing coffee, and I hope it’s for m
e.

  “Hey,” I say, rising on my tiptoes and giving him a peck on the lips.

  “Good morning, beautiful. How did you sleep?” He raps his knuckles along my jaw and hands me a mug. “You attracted him with your cuteness.”

  “I can’t help it if I’m adorable. And surprisingly I slept well,” I admit, drinking my morning coffee.

  Wes then exchanges the empty cup for a granola bar.

  “It’s not breakfast, but we can have a substantial meal after our morning jog,” he says unwrapping his own bar.

  “Are you cooking?” I arch an eyebrow as I guide the pup toward the door.

  I look over my shoulder glancing at Wes who’s staring at my ass. “Are you joining us, or are you planning on staring at my butt?

  “It’s a nice ass,” he says with a smirk. “You’re right though. We should get a dog.”

  He’s referring to our conversation from yesterday. I thought the subject was closed and forgotten. It wasn’t.

  I pride myself on knowing almost everything that goes through that mind of his, but for the past couple of weeks, I’ve come to realize there’s a big part of him that he doesn’t share, and that I don’t know. We’re not as in sync as I thought we were and I wonder if that should concern me.

  “Hey,” he traces my brows. “Whatever is bothering you, let it go. We’re here to relax and think only about us.”

  “Only us,” I repeat.

  “Yes, this is our beginning. Everything else doesn’t matter. At least not until we’re back in the real world.”

  I shiver, afraid of what might be waiting for us outside of our bubble. He’s right though. For now, I won’t let anything tarnish what we’re becoming.

  28

  Abby

  Wes stands in front of the stove, freshly showered, hair still wet, and smelling delicious. Bacon and his natural scent. The kitchen is finally clean after the mess Sterling left last night. He should learn that we don’t work where we eat—literally.

  “He cleaned the kitchen,” I say making sure that the island doesn’t have any clay smeared on top of the granite counter and that the floors are clean before Terry ingests any clay.

  “You seriously think he cleaned,” Wes groans. “I did. Hopefully, he won’t complain that I put his junk outside.”

  He bursts into a loud laugh. Weston has the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old boy. I stretch my neck looking out the window. The junk is now sitting atop the garden table. The sculpture looks like a twisted piece of pasta.

  “The next time I mess up dinner, we’re going to post a picture of it on eBay and call it, art.” He lifts a single eyebrow easily as if waiting for me to laugh along with him.

  Poor thing. He’s on a roll cracking one bad joke after the other. Someone should tell him he is no comedian. I wouldn’t dare.

  “I don’t understand his abstract art,” I stare at Sterling’s latest piece from afar.

  “Who does?” He turns his attention back to the stove.

  Do you have to understand art to appreciate it? I don’t ask him. Sterling has thousands of followers on social media who at times call him the modern Rodin. Do they even know Rodin’s work? Apparently, only Sterling Ahern can create a dramatic piece with rough edges that contrasts against the ordinariness of an everyday object. That’s what the experts say about the art work he creates by juxtaposing one of his shapeless clay sculptural pieces with a brick or a metal part, like the wheel of a car.

  His versatile and abstract pieces are his best sellers, though Sterling tends to dabble in many other media. I love his paintings. Those Colorado sunsets he creates by the dozen are my favorite ones. What can I say, I’m a sucker for sunsets?

  “You’re awfully homey today,” I say while I turn on the Sonos system with my phone and set it to the alternative music station.

  “Homey?” He speaks without turning around.

  I march toward Wes and hug him from behind kissing his shoulder and leaning my head against him. “Mmm. Eggs and bacon?”

  “That’s a nice hug,” he says.

  Wes leaves the spatula on the counter, turns around, and hugs me, bending his head and kissing me deeply. He’s right. Changing the definition of our relationship has its perks. I can cling to him without any excuse. It’s nice to be this close to him, to feel the warmth of his taut body against mine. Or sleeping pressed against him, listening to the soothing beat of his heart and tracing the hard lines of his muscles. Everything that I dreamt about but was afraid I’d never have—is happening.

  “Huevos rancheros with homemade salsa. I’m frying bacon for my favorite person,” he says, pointing at the fried tortillas with the spatula he holds and the bowl with salsa. “Why’d you say I’m awfully homey, gorgeous?”

  “You had the coffee ready before I woke up, and you cleaned up the mess that Sterling made last night.”

  “Slugger needs to find another place to work,” he says out loud, but it sounds like an afterthought.

  Is he planning on kicking the guy out of Tahoe before the weekend is over?

  “His house is an accident waiting to happen,” he continues.

  Well, he’s right. Sterling’s house should be condemned. This reminds me that we haven’t spoken about his business, my new role as his accountant, or my idea about buying or renting a space dedicated to his work. It’ll be an investment as much as a saving grace. He lives among torches and oxygen tanks. All in the name of art. I’m afraid that one of these days he’s going to blow himself up either while he’s working or sleeping.

  “What smells so good?” Sterling climbs down the stairs.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” I greet him, releasing Wes and glaring at his brother. “You’re not allowed to work in the kitchen.”

  “I told you she’d get mad at you,” Wes chuckles.

  “You didn’t have to pick up,” Sterling walks to the cupboard grabbing a mug and pouring some coffee.

  “What the fuck is this?” He spits it over the sink and scrunches his nose.

  He empties the cup and begins a new pot of coffee. “Are you two trying to kill me?”

  “If you woke up a couple of hours ago, it’d be fresh and hot,” I say, grabbing the tongs from the drawer to serve the bacon and set the fried tortillas on the plate, waiting for Wes to add the eggs on top of them.

  I should’ve fried the eggs. This guy can’t make sunny side up eggs to save his life.

  His version of huevos rancheros is scrambled eggs on a fried tortilla with salsa. I love that he tries though. He might not be the next Iron Chef, but I adore that he’s willing to do anything for me. This breakfast describes him in a nutshell. If he can’t make it happen the way it’s supposed to be, he’ll find his own way. Nothing is impossible.

  “What are your plans for today?” Sterling asks.

  Wes and I look at each other and shrug. There aren’t any plans. We tried to come up with something last night that would include Sterling, but the only thing I really want to do is swim and read one of the thrillers in the library.

  “We could go kayaking,” Wes offers.

  I nod. “Or paddle boarding,” I offer.

  “Surfing,” Sterling grins.

  “You’d have to drive to California for that,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “I would, but you moved away from the ocean.” He gives me a one-shoulder shrug.

  Wes cracks his knuckles distractedly. Something is going on inside that head of his, and it involves Sterling. I just don’t know what’s on his mind.

  “Wes, why don’t you sell me this house?” Sterling shuffles in his seat, straightening his back.

  I gasp, my eyes widen. No, this house is my haven. Well, not mine, but I adore this place. It’s our sanctuary.

  “Do you need a realtor?” I speak before Wes has a chance.

  “This is her place,” Wes says, squeezing my hand reassuringly.

  “Ugh, it’s happening already. I’m becoming the third wheel,” Sterling says, taking a bite of hi
s eggs. “Have you told Mom about this?”

  I hold my breath, waiting for Wes’ reply. I haven’t dared to mention it. Each time we’re on the phone, we discuss her new friends, her sister, and her traveling plans. Sooner or later we’re sitting down to talk about her finances. I doubt she needs me to keep her checkbook. If I could choose, I’d just spend my time with the grants that Ahern Inc. provides to various charities.

  “She likes to know what’s going on with baby Wes,” Sterling says in a mocking voice.

  “Does she have to know about it?” I squeeze my eyes shut.

  Linda is lovely, but a meddler. She likes to give unsolicited advice and know every detail of my dates. I can hear her already, asking about our relationship. I’m mortified just thinking about the conversation and her questions. Will she give me the sex talk again? I cover my eyes with the heels of my hands. God, what if she asks me about her son, just like she did when I went out on my first date?

  “Did he know how to pleasure you?”

  I had no idea what to answer.

  “It’s important to talk about likes and dislikes. You deserved to have an orgasm, just like him.”

  “Is everything okay?” Wes asks.

  “She’s blushing. I bet Mom’s had the sex talk with her,” Sterling says. “Have you guys discussed any of that, like safe sex and how to paddle your pink canoe?”

  “God, please don’t say that.” I shriek, horrified at the embarrassing conversation that’s waiting for me when Linda finds out.

  Lowering my hands, I say, “She doesn't have any filter. I’m not going to discuss our relationship with her. What if she asks me if you’re a good lover or if you need pointers?”

  “I don’t need pointers,” Wes argues.

  Sterling laughs. “I can’t wait to hear how this ends.”

  Six years ago, when Wes first told me that his mom was overbearing, I wasn’t sure what he meant. It didn’t take me long to find out. The woman is nosy to the point of being intrusive. Her mission in life is to make everyone’s life more comfortable, but at some point her helpfulness can be overwhelming, to say the least.