Aiden (A Next Generation Carter Brother Novel Book 2)

by Lisa Helen Gray

  “Aiden told the lads what happened to your parents. I hope you don’t mind, but I told Lily,” Charlotte says, her voice quiet and filled with emotion. “Landon told me.”

  I take the hand she offers, squeezing it, and close my eyes for a second. “I don’t mind. It was front-page news everywhere for ages, so it’s not like it’s a secret. The only thing that wasn’t mentioned was me and my grandparents accusing those four of setting the fire intentionally.”

  “You do know that if Aiden knew it was them, he wouldn’t have—you know, don’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t he?” I ask, glancing at her. “In my last year, one of the new guys at school walked up to me. I was so starved of affection, I nearly had a heart attack when he approached.

  “We would meet up after school, sometimes go to the cinema, and I started to feel like a normal girl. Back then, the fact those four girls never said a word to him should have been a neon sign that something was wrong. Everyone who tried to talk to me ended up receiving the same treatment as me until they stopped. It wasn’t long before everyone just stayed away. When I didn’t see Owen getting the same treatment, I thought… maybe they had stopped. They even gave me a break from the hitting, shoving, and spitting. I didn’t need to hide out in the girl’s loo or at the back of the school to eat my lunch. They left me alone.

  “We started going out as a couple. I thought I loved him. But I think all I loved was the attention, not feeling so alone,” I murmur, feeling my throat tighten from digging this all back up.

  “We planned a night, when my parents were away at the cottage my grandparents own, to sleep together. He was pushy, and I didn’t want to lose him; he was the only friend I had. The first day back at school—after not hearing from him all weekend—I was ridiculed in the halls. Lads were laughing at me; girls were slut-shaming me; and pictures were pinned up on the walls. Of me. Naked in my bed. He took them after I fell asleep. I thought maybe one of the girls who had bullied me had stolen his phone, using that as an excuse as to why he never called me back.

  “I went into the breakroom, where I knew he would be, and found Marie sitting in his lap. She grinned at me when I walked in. She held up a voice recording of us together and played it. He didn’t even care. He got to fuck a virgin and be with the most popular girl in school,” I tell them, wiping under my eyes.

  “Aiden isn’t Owen, Bailey. He’s a lot of things, but he’d never do that to anyone,” Lily declares softly.

  I look up at her. “She was sitting in front of him. It reminded me of that day at school. The worst thing—the thing that hurt the most—was the fact he won’t even kiss me, but he’s slept with her. She’s ugly inside—and it shines brightly on the outside. How could he not see that?”

  “I don’t know the full details. I can’t even tell you why. But he does care,” Charlotte tells me.

  “Just not enough,” I whisper.

  “You’re always enough,” Lily whispers back.

  Charlotte rests her head on my shoulder, her hand still in mine. “You just have to believe.”

  Lily wraps her arms around me, and like always, I seek the affection offered to me, resting my head on her shoulder as we watch their show.

  *** *** ***

  Yawning, I clean up the last of the mess in the kitchen. When Charlotte had to leave during the third episode, Lily decided to stay and we had a late dinner together.

  When I saw it was getting late, I sent her home, not liking the thought of her travelling alone in the dark.

  It’s been good having them here. Not only for my soul but my sanity. Having friends is a new concept to me, one I like having.

  I’ve noticed Lily doesn’t talk about herself too much, preferring to talk about others in her life. She talked about her cats, the children she teaches, but nothing really personal.

  I’ve just finished wiping down the side when there’s a noise at the front door. I glance around the doorframe, down the darkened hallway, and frown.

  The scuffing noise against the door happens again, so I move closer to investigate.

  “You do realise the person who investigates always gets murdered,” I hiss to myself, my entire body shaking.

  I glance through the peephole, but don’t see anything, wishing I hadn’t left my mobile upstairs. If this is Marie and her friends, there is no one here to witness what may happen, or help me. I quickly run back down the hallway, into the kitchen and through the conservatory, to make sure the backdoor is locked. I sag with relief when I find it is, before moving back into the kitchen, locking that door too.

  A loud band against the front door has a squeak falling past my lips. I rush back down hallway, sweat beading at the back of my neck.

  I glance through the peephole again and gasp at the sight of a large form bending over. I push away from the door when Aiden pops his head up, like he heard me.

  What is he doing here?

  He knocks on the door, and I weigh my options. I could ignore him and hope he goes home. But as I look through the peephole once more, my chest hurting at seeing his face for the first time in weeks, I can see something is wrong. He’s swaying on his feet, reaching for something on the ground.

  Ignoring my better judgement, I open the door.

  “Aiden?”

  He quickly grabs something from the ground and my eyes widen at the sight of one of the plant pots my gran placed at the bottom of our path. She said it would make it look presentable until we have the gardening company come in next week to lay the fresh grass and plant new flowers in the flower beds. To me, they just looked out of place, but she’s not a woman you argue with.

  Why Aiden has one has baffled me.

  “I brought you flowers,” he slurs, wobbling towards me.

  “They’re from my garden,” I tell him, confused by his behaviour. Why is he turning up here drunk? Did something happen? Where is Sunday? They’re all questions I have no right to ask, or receive answers to, but I can’t help but want to know.

  I miss him. So much.

  “The shop was closed,” he tells me. At least that’s what I think he was trying to say; it didn’t come out right.

  He goes to hand me the flowers, but before I can reach it, the pot slips from his fingers and smashes on the doorstep. Dirt and broken pottery cover my feet, and I wince.

  “Who moved the table?”

  “Aiden, there wasn’t a table,” I groan, moving into the house. When I hear him step in behind me, I turn back around. “Stay there. Do not walk dirt into my gran’s house.”

  He salutes me. “I want to talk to you, Bailey.”

  “Let me get a dustpan and brush,” I tell him, moving quickly through the kitchen and into the laundry room. I grab the dustpan and brush, and a black bag, before walking back down to Aiden, finding him sitting against the door, his head flopping forward.

  Sighing, I sweep up as much as I can get and drop the bag of dirt and pottery just outside the house.

  Stepping back inside, I lock the door behind me and bend down so I’m face to face with Aiden. it hurts to look at him. He has dark circles under his eyes, and it doesn’t look like he’s shaved for a few days.

  “Need to tell her,” he mumbles.

  I go to help him up, but my hand is met with something slick and wet. I pull my hand back, revulsed as I look down at the gooey mess. “Um, Aiden, why do you have egg all over you?”

  He looks up at me, his boyish smile popping out as laughs. “I accidently threw them on myself,” he says, before his faces scrunches up. “That’s what Maddox said anyway. I think he threw them at me.”

  “He threw them at you?”

  He nods, smiling wide. “You’re here.”

  He reaches out to touch my face, but I grab his wrist before he can. “Yes, but I want to know why you’re here.”

  “I needed to see you,” he says, his expression turning sad.

  “We’ve got nothing to say to each other,” I whisper painfully.

  “I love you, Bai
ley. I’m sorry—I’m sorry for everything.”

  My breath freezes in my lungs at hearing him say those three words to me. I’ve dreamt, over and over for the past two weeks that he would tell me he loved me. Not like this though. Not drunk.

  My eyes fill with tears, and I try hard to keep the emotion out of my voice when I answer.

  “Let’s talk about this when you’re sober.”

  Or never.

  “No. I need to tell you. You need to forgive me,” he slurs, grabbing my arms. I nearly topple over but manage to stay upright.

  “Let’s get you home.”

  “I don’t want to go home,” he tells me, before pulling me against him. I fall on top of him, my face meeting a gooey surface, and cringe. “You smell so good.”

  “I smell like eggs now,” I mutter unhappily.

  “Hmm, I could eat an egg sandwich,” he hums, squeezing me.

  I pry myself out of his hold and take his face in my hands, trying to get him to look at me. When it’s clear he’s in no fit state to go home, I realise I have a choice to make.

  He either goes home and chokes on his own vomit, or he stays here—where I can keep an eye on him.

  I already know what the answer is, but the war inside my heart still rages on. It’s so hard to be in front of him, especially when he’s telling me things I’ve desperately wanted to hear.

  “Come on; you can stay here,” I tell him, helping him to his feet.

  “I love you, Bailey.”

  A sharp pain shoots through me once more, but I fight through it, helping him over to the sofa. His weight bares down on me, and my legs threaten to give out more than once before we reach the sofa.

  He flops down, closing his eyes. “Stop spinning the damn room,” he chokes out.

  I lie him down. “The room isn’t spinning; it’s you.”

  “You make my world spin,” he says, his eyes opening and landing on me. Trapped in his intense gaze, I don’t see his hand reaching for my face until it’s too late. He cups my cheek, running his thumb smoothly over it. I close my eyes, willing the emotions running through me to disappear. They don’t. And when I open them, his gaze burns through me. “Soft,” he murmurs. “I love you, Bailey. And I need you to forgive me. You’ve wormed your way under my skin and I can’t forget about you. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so goddamn hard.”

  “Right back at ya,” I mutter under my breath so he doesn’t hear me.

  “Why do you have egg on your face? Is it a new face mask?” He yawns, his eyes drooping.

  I wipe the disgusting egg yolk from my face and glare at him. “No, it isn’t.”

  “Do you forgive me?”

  I ignore him—as painful as it may be—and get up. “I’m going to get you a bowl, a glass of water, and some paracetamol. You’re going to need it.”

  “I only need you. Just you. I didn’t know what I was missing until you came into my life. You and Sunday,” he says, slowly drifting off. “You and Sunday. You.” He yawns. “Make my life.” He sighs. “Complete.”

  With one last yawn, he drifts off, and I finally let the tears fall. I get up and head to the kitchen for supplies, before returning to him with a bowl of warm water. He’s still lying at an awkward angle, so I grab his legs and lift them onto the sofa, then take off his trainers. He mutters my name under his breath, and the tears fall harder.

  He isn’t making this easy on me. It was already hard for me to get over someone I never really had, but to have him come here and tell me he loves me… He’s made it impossible.

  After removing his shoes, I grab the cloth from the bowl and start cleaning down his face.

  Wait, is that a tyre mark on the side of his face?

  At first glance, it looks like dirt, but on closer inspection… it’s definitely a tyre mark.

  “What the hell did you do tonight?” I muse out loud.

  I wipe it off the best I can before moving onto the egg on his clothes. It would be better if I could take his jacket off, but he’s dead to the world. I’d need a crane to move him right now.

  A puff of air escapes his plump lips, and my eyes are immediately drawn to them. He looks so peaceful right now, no longer bleary-eyed and drunk.

  Finishing up, I place the cloth back in the bowl before drying him the best I can with the tea towel.

  I run my fingers through his hair, and before I can stop myself, I lean forward, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. I close my eyes against the array of emotions running through me, unable to handle them. They’re consuming me, just like my love for the guy in front of me.

  He says I’ve wormed my way under his skin, that I complete his world, but he’s so off balance and so utterly wrong. It’s he who makes my world complete. He fills it with family, friends, and love. He brought me laughter when I didn’t have a reason to laugh. He fills my heart with hope. He brought me a future I felt was worth living.

  He brought me peace.

  “I love you too,” I whisper back, tears running down my cheeks and landing on his face.

  Heaven help me, I think I can forget he slept with the enemy. He didn’t need my forgiveness. There was nothing to forgive.

  And tomorrow, when he wakes up, I will tell him that. Because if the last two weeks have taught me anything, it’s that my life is dull and gloomy without him in it.

  I just hope he makes it through the night without choking on his own vomit.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  AIDEN

  With bleary eyes, I sit up, clutching my head. I groan, feeling like someone’s taken a sledgehammer to my brain.

  How much did I drink last night?

  And why can I smell eggs? I sniff myself and gag. Standing up, I go to rush to the loo but realise I’m not even in my apartment.

  How did I get to Bailey’s?

  With no time to ask questions, I grab the vase from the side table, throw the flowers out, and vomit. Whiskey burns as it rises up my throat.

  Fuck! It tastes just as bad coming up as it did going down.

  Memories from the night before assault me. I remember throwing an egg towards Marie’s house but hitting Maddox in the head. I think he was trying to let down her tyres—I’m not sure. The whole scene is blurry. I do remember him getting pissed and throwing eggs at me. And I think I dropped one on myself.

  I heave again, fluid pouring out my mouth.

  Oh, God, someone kill me.

  I sit back down on the couch, a wave of dizziness hitting me.

  “Do you have something against my gran’s flowers?” Bailey’s sweet voice calls as she walks in.

  I look up at her, wincing at how bright it is in here. She looks tired. I inwardly smile. Does that mean she’s missed me as much as I’ve missed her?

  “Are you going to keep staring at me or answer?” she asks, handing me a cup of coffee. I put the vase down, greedily taking it from her. I moan in appreciation when the strong coffee burns my tongue. If I’m going to survive today, I need caffeine.

  My voice is hoarse when I speak. “What did you ask?”

  “The flowers,” she muses, glancing down at the floor. I wince when I see the flowers I dumped there, and the clear vase filled with brown liquid.

  “I’m sorry. It was either the vase or the floor.”

  “You also smashed my gran’s flower pot outside.”

  I cringe. “I’m so fucking sorry. How did I get here? Did I do or say something stupid?”

  She flinches like I just slapped her. What the hell?

  “Nothing that matters. Did you want some breakfast before you have to go?”

  She’s letting me stay?

  Wait! Go! That means she’s just being polite about breakfast and wants me gone.

  “Bailey, I’m really fucking sorry for what happened. I really am. Marie…” I grimace; even her name tastes bitter on my tongue, making me want to vomit all over again. “It’s no excuse, and it’s a lame one at that, but it’s the truth—”

  “You don’t have to
talk about her,” she rushes out, sitting on the arm of the sofa opposite.

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I shrug. “I need to. It was only one time—one time I don’t even remember.” I let out a bitter laugh. “God, that makes me sound even more of a jerk,” I tell her, feeling hopeless. I feel like I’ve already lost her. “I was so drunk that night. Her and her friends have always tried it on with me and my family, but we’ve never given them the time of day. I don’t know why; it was just something about them. I just need you to know I would never have given her the time of day had I not been drunk to the point the whole night was a blur.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Aiden. I overreacted. My past with them isn’t exactly pretty. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Seeing her next to you brought back some painful memories.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, focusing her.

  I listen to her as she explains what happened in school—the lad called Owen. Anger boils through me as she replays everything he did to her.

  I want to kill him.

  “Now you know,” she whispers, looking ashamed.

  I get up from the sofa, my footing unsteady at first. Her eyes are round as I walk towards her. I cup her face, relishing in the way her eyes close and she leans into my touch.

  “I’m so fucking sorry,” I painfully choke out. “So, so fucking sorry.”

  She stands, her cheeks bright red. “I’m really sorry for the way I reacted. And that you got hurt,” she says, her fingers running over the fading bruise on my cheek.

  “Don’t be. It kept me from hitting a girl for the first time in my life. After I realised who they were, I wanted to strangle them.”

  Most girls would be repulsed, but if anything, her gaze softens as she chuckles softly. “It might make me a bad person saying this, but they would have deserved it.”

  I lean forward, ready to kiss her for the first time. There’s no hesitation inside me, no what ifs. Bailey is what I want.

  She ducks out of the way, and my ego takes a massive hit. She looks at me with disgust. “You stink of vomit and rotten eggs.”