Shannon laughed, finally, and it was louder than anything else in the room. He took the bottle for himself and tilted it against his lips in silent agreement that using a glass was a ridiculous idea.
“See?” Aiden said, trying not to growl at the people still watching them from the other side of the crowded room. “We’ll lose our cups or break the glasses; this is better.”
“You’ll lose your cup. And you’re absolutely right; I don’t know why I thought I could hand you something breakable without you breaking it.”
Aiden scoffed and reached for the bottle. Shannon held it behind him at arm’s length.
Narrowed eyes glared at Shannon’s Cupid’s bow. The counter bit into Aiden’s lower back as he leaned against it. Shannon set the bottle beside Aiden with his fingers latched around its green neck; his free hand settled on Aiden’s waist.
“Your friends are confused.” Aiden tilted his head. “They have no idea who I am or why I’m here with you. My money’s on them thinking I’m an arrest-in-progress.”
“Oh, no. I’m sure Chelsea told everyone.” One side of Shannon’s mouth lifted. “I doubt they think I’m arresting you.” He gripped Aiden’s waist a little harder. His fingertips curled under the bottom of Aiden’s tank top and tapped on his exposed hip, right above the black line of his jeans.
“I don’t know, Detective. Take a look around. All eyes have been on you since we walked in. You must’ve been a pretty big deal around these parts.” His voice dropped into a mock Southern accent.
“Don’t make fun.” Shannon unmasked the boyish Georgia drawl that he fought to keep at bay in Laguna.
A short, clipped laugh burst from Aiden.
“And I don’t think they’ve been looking at me, by the way.” Shannon looked around the room. “They’re definitely looking at the most interesting thing in the room, which is you.”
“I’m not interesting.”
“You’ve got California written all over you.” Shannon tugged on the front of his jacket. “Looks like you might bite ‘em if they get too close.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Aiden spotted Chelsea’s silky blond hair. Her mildly irritating voice whined out the lyrics to whatever bullshit song was playing.
He pushed off the counter and into Shannon’s chest, grasping his face with both hands. Their lips fell together; the taste of champagne mingled between them. Aiden gripped the hair on the back of his head; Shannon’s arms wrapped around his middle. He opened his eyes to peek at Chelsea, who watched from the doorway.
Aiden felt Shannon smile. “Don’t be petty,” Shannon said against his lips.
“Petty’s written on my birth certificate right next to ‘Might Bite You.’”
“Of course it is.” Shannon rolled his eyes, snatched the champagne bottle, and untangled himself from Aiden’s arms.
Even over the boom of music and the ever-present shouting between rooms, Aiden flinched at the ring of Chelsea’s shrill voice. “I have to admit, I didn’t believe it until right now,” she exclaimed, looking impeccably dishonest and manufactured. She crossed her arms over her chest. “How’d you meet?”
Shannon opened his mouth, but no words followed.
“He tried to arrest me,” Aiden piped up. Chelsea’s humoring expression fell. Shannon tilted his head to stare at the balloon-covered ceiling. “It was super-romantic, threw me against a wall and everything,” he added, lips pulled back, showing his teeth in either a smile or a snarl.
Chelsea’s gaze skittered between Aiden and Shannon. Her pink lips rounded in a silent ‘O’ that Aiden thought was her default expression. She laughed, obviously attempting to go along with a joke that wasn’t a joke at all. “Wow, he’s funny too, Shannon. The Clock did a good job.” She turned to Aiden. “You know, Aiden.” She sounded out his name as if it was foreign. “I wanted to tell you before, you totally remind me of like, a singer, or a guitar player, or you know, a musician.”
“Oh? Yeah, no, I’m none of those things. I’m a retired burglar and I pour beers for a living, and you know what? I’m gonna go smoke.” He patted Shannon on the back, right between his shoulder blades. “You two have fun. Make sure you tell her all about our first sleepover. You remember that? When I got stabbed? Good times.” Aiden took the champagne from Shannon, whose lips were squirming, snuffing out laughter—and surely a bit of anger.
Aiden heard Chelsea say, “He smokes?”
Shannon sighed, a familiar sound, but Aiden was around the corner, bottle against his lips, weaving through pulsing bodies in the living room before he heard Shannon’s response.
00:00
That went as well as Shannon could’ve hoped for.
Chelsea thought everything was a joke, which kept his throat strained around contained laughter through the entire conversation and made it easy to sneak away after she’d finished her long-winded college success story.
He popped open another bottle of champagne and tried to get through the living room without being interrupted. He should’ve known better. As soon as Aiden wasn’t by his side, every face he recognized, and even some he didn’t, had something to say.
“Hey, buddy!”
Shannon waved.
“Wow, so what was it like?” Shannon shrugged and gave a half-assed answer.
“Is California pretty?” Yes, to that he gave a resounding yes.
“It’s been ages! Who was that you were with? Chelsea said he’s your Rose Road.” A nod. Multiple nods. “He’s really hot.” That was a girl he’d taken chemistry with. He remembered her. He nodded again.
“Totally.” That was Chelsea. Even muffled by the music, her grating sarcasm was a dead giveaway.
A song came on that everyone knew, granting a window of opportunity for an easy escape. Shannon slipped out of the crowd in the living room. He found the back door, which led to the spacious backyard stocked with a couple open coolers, a tented pool, and a bubbling Jacuzzi filled with people—one of whom lifted an arm and hollered, “Wurther! Heard you were here!” Shannon had no idea who the guy was, but he waved back, offered a smile, and followed the smell of cigarette smoke.
Nestled in darkness on the lonely side of the house, Aiden smoked. The dark ivy champagne bottle dangled from Aiden’s fingertips. His chest caved as he exhaled, head tilted back, smoke billowing from between his lips. The sole of one boot was propped against the wall. Red glowed at the end of his cigarette and lit his mouth and chin.
Shannon had seen it all, all of Aiden, all of his Rose Road, and all of him reminded Shannon of winter’s end, the time before a full bloom, when things thawed, and the sun shone brighter. That’s what Aiden was, spring surging to life from beneath a layer of frost—and Shannon loved him.
Thoughts shouldn’t come as fast as that one had. It knocked Shannon backward, dried his throat, and sent his head spinning.
The world turned, second by second, and, for once, Shannon couldn’t keep up.
One breath at a time, one thought at a time, one thing at a time. Shannon chewed on the realization. Alcohol simmered in his veins.
Aiden turned his head, the same handsome face from the gallery, the same soft smile from inside his car, and the same sharp eyes that watched him tangled in the sheets of his bed. Shannon’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. It was as clear as the day was long that Shannon Wurther was aggressively in love with Aiden Maar. However, that clarity hadn’t surfaced until right then, on New Year’s Eve, at his ex-girlfriend’s house, drinking champagne in a dog run. Like everything else Aiden Maar, falling in love with him happened in pieces: recognition, dismantlement, and then the haunting presence, a cold whisper in Shannon’s chest.
“You got your own bottle?” Aiden chuckled, pleased.
“I figured you’d finish that one.”
He flipped the bottle upside down. Shannon was correct. Aiden had finished the bottle on
his own.
“Yeah, thought so.” Shannon leaned against the wall next to him. “Retired, huh?”
The dog run spanned the length of the house and was closed off by a gate attached to the driveway. Aiden heaved a sigh and flicked his cigarette into the dark.
“Bet you’re excited, Detective.”
“I am.” He turned to meet Aiden’s eyes. “I’m glad I won’t have to arrest you.”
“You were actually going to?” A sly curl at the edges of Aiden’s lips matched the tone of his voice, playful and teasing, a part of Aiden that wasn’t covered in thorns.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Yeah,” Aiden mumbled, turning his gaze to the night sky. “Thought so.”
The back door swung open and Chelsea yelled, “Two minutes!”
What it would be like to love him, Shannon wondered. Would it hurt? He was sure it would. Would there come a time when he wouldn’t love him? Shannon watched Aiden watch the sky. No, he thought, there would never be a time when he wouldn’t. Why now? Shannon touched Aiden’s hand.
Aiden grabbed his wrist and pulled, cutting off Shannon’s silent questions. “C’mon, we should go in for the countdown.”
“Yeah, okay,” Shannon said around the lip of the champagne bottle. Aiden’s hand uncurled from around his wrist, and his fingers laced between Shannon’s knuckles—warm hands, fairytale hands.
The living room was a mess of people, dancing, singing, and throwing confetti in the air. The music was louder, a song Shannon remembered from the ride to the lake, a song he knew and Aiden knew, too. In an instant they were singing, mashed in the middle of an ocean of people, some familiar and some not, one more familiar than the others. Voices singing about breaking hearts and finding them fought over the chorus of people yelling ten, nine, eight, seven…
Another countdown. Another year. Another winter gone. Another spring ahead.
Aiden slipped his arms over Shannon’s shoulders and a smile lit his face, bright and true and merciless, stirring a wave of heat to whip against Shannon’s bones. They sang along, grinned around each word, and stared at each other as streamers and glitter rained on the crowd.
Champagne bottles popped, the DJ cranked the volume up, and the whole room shouted, “Happy New Year!”
Shannon sipped from the bottle of champagne and then held it over Aiden’s mouth, tipping it against his lips. He should have said it. He should have leaned over and pressed his lips against Aiden’s ear and said, “I fucking love you.” But he didn’t. The words were there, spinning in him, knocking against his insides, sending his heart ricocheting in his chest.
Aiden grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him close. They kissed, messy and overwhelmed and honest, the kind of kiss that told a story—incomplete—but a story all the same. Spilt champagne dripped from Aiden’s chin. Shannon dropped the empty bottle at their feet and put his hands to better use. He pressed them low on Aiden’s spine and drew him in, sealing their bodies together.
Aiden laughed, and Shannon thought it was exquisite to watch Aiden sing about falling out of love while Shannon was falling irreparably in love. Aiden’s eyes cracked open, molten and alive and a little bit like candlelight.
He was a wolf and he was beautiful and he was everything.
And god, Shannon loved him. He did, he did, he did.
28
“Aiden…”
No.
“Aiden.”
No.
“Aiden!”
“No.” He wasn’t sure whether he’d responded to any of the earlier mentions of his name. They started slurred, whispered into the pillow by his head, and then repeated, stern and drowsy; the third was an aggravated shout. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Shannon? Go back to sleep.”
Did people get up on New Year’s Day? Aiden didn’t. His plan was to stay right where he was, in the dark, sprawled on someone else’s bed, enduring a nasty, champagne-flavored headache. He shoved his head in the pillow and turned away from Shannon, who stood by the side of the bed, buttoning his jeans.
An open palm swatted the bed next to Aiden’s face. No, Aiden had absolutely no intention of moving until sundown. Once it was dark he would shower, dress, and seek out the nearest place that served everything dipped in batter and fried. They were in Georgia, which meant fried food wouldn’t be tough to come across.
“Get up.” This time it was a growl, urgent and panicked. Aiden cracked one eye open and shifted, his stomach pressed against the mattress with his arms under the pillow.
“Why are you freaking out?”
“It’s ten. We have to be at church at twelve, our flight is three hours after that, and we’re still at Chelsea’s.”
“I haven’t sinned enough for church.” Of course he had.
His brow furrowed and lips pursed, Shannon responded with a clipped laugh.
Aiden blinked. A light from the connected bathroom illuminated the pearl white carpet. He blinked again. A mirrored closet faced the bed, and its reflection showed all of the room they’d stumbled into hours ago, a room they’d been sure was a guest room—not that Aiden had paid any attention to the room or anything other than Shannon. It hurt to lift his head. It hurt worse to look around.
Baby pink curtains tied back with lace strings let in the dusty morning light. A silver lamp stood on a black nightstand, which was home to the half-empty bottle of bourbon they’d shared after the champagne, the countdown, and the four cigarettes that came after the countdown.
It was entirely Shannon’s fault they’d landed in any room. Almost screwing against the side of Chelsea’s house wasn’t the best idea, but, during Aiden’s fourth cigarette, with both of them drunk and unable to escape each other, Shannon plucked the half-smoked cigarette from Aiden’s mouth and took its place—initiating the loss of their self-control. So, Aiden steered them up a flight of stairs, down a hallway, and into a dark room. Shannon stretched out beneath him with Aiden’s fingers in his mouth. Words, not words, rough, not rough. Shannon saying, “You taste like champagne.” Aiden’s teeth breaking skin on Shannon’s shoulder. Shannon saying, “You taste like me.” Aiden’s head spinning, heart pounding. Shannon’s uninhibited desires, and Aiden being surprised he knew how to fulfill them.
They’d been sure the dark room was a guest room. He sat up on his elbows and squinted at a framed certificate hanging prettily above a fully stocked vintage vanity.
The Degree of Bachelor of Science
Chelsea Renee Cavanaugh
Aiden couldn’t help it. His face hit the pillow and sharp, vicious laughter shook his whole body. It made his headache worse to laugh, but there was no stopping it.
They were not in a guest room. The bed they’d practically destroyed was not for visiting relatives or for decoration.
“Get. Up.” Shannon grabbed Aiden’s ankles and pulled. “I know you think this is funny, because you’re petty and terrible, but it’s not. I am a horrible friend, I am a horrible ex, and worst of all—”
The bedroom door swung open. In the doorway, arms crossed, a sickening smile stretched across her face, Chelsea stared at them. She leaned over to scan Aiden’s bare form. She took in the tattoo first and then the low dip of his back and thigh scarcely covered by her Egyptian cotton sheets. A thin eyebrow lifted. Her lips twitched.
“Y’all have a good time last night? I sure did, sleeping on the couch and all.” Chelsea’s accent was thick as honey. She pushed daggers into Aiden with her eyes, one foot rapidly tapped the carpet. “Thanks for leaving your cancer sticks all over my backyard, Aiden, and for your consideration in general.” Her smile faded. “I sure love cleaning up after other people.” The last of her speech was directed at Shannon.
Her gaze was poisonous; Aiden was impressed.
“I’ll pick them up.” Aiden tried a smile, but her lips tightened at the sight of it. “We’re sorry.”
His teeth sank into his bottom lip, stifling another laugh.
“Chels…” Shannon’s face darkened. He shook his head and stammered, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea this was your room, we just found it, and we were drunk, and—”
“No idea? Nice try, Shannon, but five years together is a little too long a time to conveniently forget.” She glanced at Aiden, and her face hardened. “You know that bed just as well as I do.”
Shannon’s mouth closed. He exhaled, sharp and indignant.
“Leave the sheets in the laundry basket,” she snapped. Chelsea turned and left. The door didn’t slam, but it might as well have.
Confrontation wasn’t one of Aiden’s strengths, but at least he hadn’t said anything too horrible. Shannon repeated his own atrocities over and over as he paced around the room and threw Aiden’s clothes at him.
“I’m horrible, absolutely horrible. How could I not remember…?” A wrinkled black tank hit Aiden’s chest. “She’ll never forgive me for this, Aiden. We were friends, you know? We have history.” Jeans smacked him in the face. “Horrible friend, horrible ex, horrible drunken mess.” Boxers next, then jacket, one sock.
“The title of ‘horrible, drunken mess’ is mine. I’m the longstanding champion of drunken messes and being horrible. Pretty sure someone gave me a trophy for it once.” Aiden flashed his teeth.
Shannon stopped pacing and hung his head back, a very Shannon thing to do. His hands covered his face. “We’re horrible,” he whined. “We have to apologize. A real apology.”
“Oh, okay.” Aiden snorted. He zipped his jeans. His tank top was perfumed with spilt champagne, and the smell turned his stomach. “‘Sorry for fucking in your bed, Chelsea. Come visit sometime.’”
Shannon groaned and threw one of Aiden’s black combat boots, which whacked him in the shin.
“I’m kidding! We’ll say we’re sorry again, okay? Fucking relax. I guarantee you it’ll go over better if you do the apologizing. She loves you too much not to forgive you, anyway.”
Fortitude Smashed Page 20
