The Deeper He Hurts

by Lynda Aicher

  “It’s a dying tradition, but yeah. We did.” He frowned. “It was over fifteen years ago.”

  “How old were you when you got married?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Damn.” He’d known by fifteen that he preferred guys, had confirmed that by sixteen, and had explored every aspect of gay sex before he was eighteen. “That’s kind of impressive.”

  Asher turned his head, brow raised. “I did say she was saving me from the seminary.”

  “And her from the nunnery?” He frowned. “Is that even a word?”

  Asher smiled, a little crack that managed to weave into Sawyer and spread its warmth.

  “ ‘Convent’ is the word you’re looking for, and no, but she wanted to go to college, and marrying me gave us both the freedom and financial aid we needed to do what we really wanted—and break free of our families’ expectations.”

  “I guess it didn’t work, huh?”

  His shrug was small. “It sounded great when we did it, but the novelty wore off quickly. We made it last until we’d both finished school and then we dealt with the ‘I told you so’s’ and filed for divorce.”

  “And the gay sadist part? When’d you figure that out?”

  Asher’s chuckle was filled with sardonic mirth. He rolled to his side, the approaching darkness warded off by the glow of the forgotten bathroom light. “The gay thing was something I refused to acknowledge. Denial worked until I got into bed with my wife and realized I couldn’t keep it up unless I thought about naked guys.”

  Sawyer couldn’t stop his grimace. “That’d blow.”

  “You have no idea.” Asher scrubbed his face, his groan muffled. “The guilt almost sent me to the seminary anyway.”

  He couldn’t see him confined behind the cloth of a priest. Not Asher. “It would’ve broke you.”

  “You think?”

  “Self-flagellation isn’t your thing.” There was too much passion buried beneath the contained outer shell he presented. Damn. Why in the hell did he think that? Know that? The closeness prickled down his back, churned in his stomach.

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Did everyone beat up on themselves? “We’re our own worst enemy. Isn’t that how it goes?”

  “So they say.” Asher searched him, traced his fingers where they lay on the mattress, the absent caress soothing when it should have been annoying, even threatening. “What about you?”

  “Meaning?”

  “What eats at you?”

  Fuck. Too close. Too personal. He yanked his hand away, ready to vault from the bed, covers already pushed back, instinct and habit taking hold.

  Asher grabbed his wrist, stopping his sprint to safety. “Hey. Sorry.” He traced small circles over Sawyer’s pulse, every stroke a shot of empathy Sawyer didn’t want. “Forget I asked.”

  Could he? Should he? His heart raced, every swipe of Asher’s thumb telling his tale of panic. Over a question. One he usually dodged with ease.

  “I, uh…” He sniffed, offered a tight smile to Asher. “I should get going.”

  “You’re running, Sawyer. Not going.”

  The truth hung between them, and Sawyer had no way to fight it. Denial was useless. Agreement revealing. And who the fuck cared? Since when did he give a shit what anyone thought of his actions?

  He twisted his wrist out of Asher’s hold, his glare pointed. “So let me.” He didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t need an answer. A corner of his brain logged how dicky his actions were, but he didn’t have it in him to change. Not that much that fast.

  His pain was his. His secrets too deeply engraved to simply divulge them over pillow talk with a fucking sadist. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he mumbled to himself as he hitched his shorts up. “Digging into my shit to watch me squirm.”

  “Not really,” Asher stated, voice flat. He still lounged on the bed, apparently unconcerned by Sawyer’s quick departure. “We were having a conversation. You’re the one going ape-shit over a question.”

  Ape-shit. Fuck. He hung his head, hands dropping to his sides. Asher was right. Again. Ass. “Fuck.” The curse rebounded in his mind but didn’t help. If anything, it pounded home his own insaneness.

  He dragged his hands through his hair until his fingers clamped over the base of his skull. How long could he keep running before his past brought him down? Before he gave up completely?

  His parents wouldn’t have wanted this for him.

  That knowledge had driven him to Oregon. Had kept him from falling into the endless pit of self-destruction. If only they were still alive…

  He squeezed his eyes closed, blocked the rush of pain.

  Wishing on the past was futile.

  “I’ll drive you back,” Asher offered, sheets ruffling.

  Sawyer snapped out of his private hell, scrambled to pull himself back together. “It’s fine,” he said, already moving toward the exit. “I’ll get a ride.”

  “From who?”

  He stopped at the door, grin wide as he dug his phone out of his pocket and waved it at Asher. “There’s an app for that.”

  Asher hesitated, brows furrowed. Bathed in the soft yellow glow from the bathroom light, white covers pooling over his groin in a pop of brightness against his golden skin tone, he was all man. Hard muscles, lean frame, stark beauty exposed for Sawyer to examine.

  He lowered his phone, heart wrenched tight. “Let me go, Asher.” He cleared his throat, the rumble gouging his pride, yet he pushed on. “I need the space.” The wide-open space to hide in.

  Asher’s shoulders lowered with his sigh. He gave a slow nod, lips compressed in a thin line of acceptance.

  Thank you. Sawyer swallowed and managed a weak smile in place of the words. “I’ll be in touch.” And then he was gone, escaping down the stairs and away from everything that threatened to break him.

  Chapter 13

  “Yes. I know what I’m doing.” No he didn’t, not really. But there was no way Ash was sharing that with Rig—or anyone. “So stop hounding me.”

  Rig’s response came over the cell connection in a distorted grumble he didn’t try to decipher.

  “Look.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing he’d let this call go to voicemail. Dealing with Rig’s concerns while his family waited to lay into him for his perceived deficiencies drained his patience to nothing. “I told you about Sawyer because of the complexity of him working for Kick. It was informational only.”

  “Are you worried he’s going to come at the company with a false claim of some kind?”

  “What? No.” He glared at the phone, temper rising. “That’s not even a thought.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes!” The urge to bang his head against a wall was only curbed by the lack of a nearby wall. “Fuck.” He dropped his head back and cut off his sigh. Rig was only doing his job. He’d stepped into the leader role at Kick after the accident had removed Chris and Finn from the position. All the partners were committed to keeping Kick productive and operating while Finn recovered, but Rig had willingly taken on a lot of the heavy weight.

  And Ash was right behind him, his second in line to handle the shit and keep things running smoothly. Which made this mess even more annoying, because he’d brought it on himself.

  “Okay,” Rig said before the silence got awkward. “I trust you’ll tell me if I should be worried.” Ash heaved a sigh of relief as he rolled his head on his shoulders. “Now, as your friend, what the fuck is going on?”

  His laughter ripped from him on a dry rasp. “Hell if I know.” He scrubbed his face, not that it helped. He had no fucking clue what he was doing or where he stood with Sawyer. If he stood anywhere.

  “That’s not like you.”

  “Tell me about it.” He adjusted his glasses, stomach clenching. Nothing about this situation was like him. He didn’t get invested in his play partners beyond the normal connection that came from scening together. He definitely didn’t get fucked by them for the
pleasure of it, nor did he continue to think about them days later.

  Rig chuckled. “Good luck figuring it out. I’m here if you need a drink or an ear.”

  “Thanks.” Did Rig know how much that offer meant to him? He had a lifetime of friends and family who didn’t know him. An entire network that believed him to be someone he wasn’t and very few who liked him for who he really was.

  Buying into Kick had been more than a business investment for him. It’d been a chance to be accepted in his entirety.

  He ended the call, hand clenching around his phone. Six days without a word from Sawyer. Yes, he was back at White Salmon. Yes, he was busy all day getting tourists safely down a crazy-ass river in a rubber boat. Yes, the cell service was shit on the river—but not at camp.

  They had no obligation to each other. No commitment of any kind.

  And he still wanted to call. Text. Ensure he was…okay.

  War provided daily updates on the staff and trips, and nothing had come through regarding concerns about Sawyer. Only glowing comments on his skill and professionalism.

  I need the space.

  He cringed, teeth clenching, and shoved his phone into his pocket. Chasing after a guy was illogical and foolish. He’d never chased anyone, ever. Not even his ex-wife.

  And he’d never connected with anyone the way he had with Sawyer. Which didn’t mean jack either.

  “Hey, Nerdster.” His younger brother punched him in the arm as he passed, his usual cocky grin plastered on. “Are you coming inside or should I tell Mom you’re too busy picking your ass to join us for dinner again?”

  “Fuck off, Lance.” With a ten-year difference in age, they’d yet to bridge the gap of maturity and commonality to launch them past brothers and into friends.

  Lance walked backward over the pavement, hands raised in mock offense. “Ooh. Are those your nerd-boy words?”

  Responding would get him nowhere. It never did with Lance. Instead, he chose to ignore the childish antics and simply stared his brother down. He’d long given up on them being more than cordial to each other, unless Lance decided to grow the hell up one day. It could happen, but he wasn’t holding his breath waiting for it.

  “I see you still got a stick up your ass,” Lance said, before heading across the parking lot to the family restaurant. A loud welcome burst from inside when he swung the front door open.

  Closed on Sundays in an outdated custom of observing the Sabbath, the family descended—or was expected to descend—for dinner every week. The invitation extended to every relative in the area regardless of how many times removed they were. It didn’t matter that half of them cooked together all week or worked here in some capacity, they still gathered, argued, laughed, and drank like they hadn’t seen each other in months rather than days.

  He’d pretended to fit in for more years than he could count. At one time he’d honestly felt like he belonged. That’d been before the divorce—or annulment, as his mother insisted on calling it. His first shame to the family. His second black mark came when he’d taken a job at a local tech company instead of working at the restaurant. His self-made wealth had been the final blow, taken as a statement of what the family lacked instead of what he’d achieved.

  But they were his family, every annoying, suffocating, loving, embracing part of them. Even if he’d been avoiding them more and more, his skin not stretching enough to encompass their view of him. His fraudulent façade was growing harder to maintain, let alone embrace.

  He sucked in a last breath of fresh air and strode forward, each step heavy but determined. This was the heart he’d grown from, the foundation that’d shaped him into who he was today.

  The comforting scent of fresh-baked bread and spicy pasta sauce hit him in a welcoming waft as he stepped into what had been his second home growing up. His grin was automatic, and happened every time he entered the restaurant.

  “Asher Geno Ruggiero,” his mother boomed over the ruckus, her honing instincts toward her offspring stronger than ever. “It’s about time you joined us.”

  He wove through a pack of cousins, a smile growing from his heart. “I’m sorry, Mom.” Her hug was as encompassing and full of love as it’d been when he was seven years old and upset about some wrong. “I’ve been busy.” The lie pricked at his conscience, but it was minor compared with the bigger ones he’d harbored for years.

  She swatted his arm in a gentle reprimand. “Too busy for your family?” Her brow arch held the power of a condemnation that still made him duck his head. “Shame on you, Asher.” Her brows shifted, speculation overtaking annoyance. “Unless it’s a woman keeping you away from us.” His stomach twisted, the cramp locking down on his lies. “Are you holding out on your mother?”

  She looked up at him, all five foot two of her to his six feet, and somehow he still managed to feel two inches tall. Her round face was wrinkled around the eyes, the grooves deeper near her prominent nose and mouth. Her skin was starting to sag beneath her jaw in the way of natural aging that fit the rounder girth and sturdy frame hidden beneath her customary apron.

  “No woman.” He offered a smile that cracked his heart even further.

  Her brows furrowed into a deep line of concern. “It’s not good to be alone, Asher. You need to share your life with someone to find true joy.” Equally free with her opinion and her love, she’d always found room for more people in her heart, which accounted for the packed state of the room.

  He kissed her cheek, his love sincere despite how much her words cut. She meant well, wanted the best for all of her children. “When I find someone I want to spend my life with, I’ll bring them to you.” He met her gaze, honesty blazing forth for the first time since he’d entered the building. “I promise.”

  Would that day ever come? He’d spent years thinking it wouldn’t, but then in crashed Sawyer and now he didn’t know what to think or believe—or hope for.

  “You do that, son.” She patted his bicep. “Now go say hi to your father and nonna.”

  He nodded and dutifully followed her orders. He might be an adult and well past the age of being told what to do, but respect for his elders had been ingrained in him since he could walk. There was a comfort in it, a sense of place much like being with his family gave him.

  Embraced in the customs and traditions of his heritage, he ached to fit in, but each day brought the growing acceptance that he never really would. That he could lose all of this if they ever found out how much he hid from them.

  His phone buzzed before he reached his father, the vibration snaking down his thigh in a whisper of hope he quickly shut down. He caught a glimpse of the text message from Sawyer before his screen went black, but it was enough to have that hope kick him in the chest. His breath caught, a silent curse flying.

  Their first contact in a week, and he was responding like a lovesick teenager. He was smarter than this, wiser and way too jaded to trust his emotions. None of that knowledge stopped his smile from spreading or the constriction around his chest from easing.

  I’ll be in town tomorrow night. You free?

  He was now.

  Foolish or not, he had no desire to deny what could be.

  Chapter 14

  “I’m stopping by the rehab center to visit Finn, and then heading to Dane’s tonight,” Grady said. “Micah’s working until ten. Do you want to meet me there?”

  Sawyer lifted his gaze from his phone and shook his head. “No, thanks.”

  “You have plans then?”

  Grady set a package of raw hamburger on the counter before making another study of the inside of the refrigerator. The place he shared with Micah was nice. The earthy tones of the décor and furniture put Sawyer at ease, even if the room was seriously lacking in windows. At least for him. Now Asher’s place…

  “Yo, Sawyer.”

  He snapped back, brows winging up at Grady’s frown. “What?”

  Grady wiggled the beer bottle he held in his hand. “Do you want one? Where the hell’s you
r brain? You’ve been distracted all day.”

  “Have I?” His attempt at being unaware of the fact was such a load of crap he doubted Grady believed him. “Sorry.” It was worth a shot, anyway. “I’ll take a water.”

  The beer was switched out for a water and handed over the kitchen island to him. “You’ve been distant all week.” Grady wasn’t letting him off the hook.

  He shrugged. “I’m always distant.”

  “Not like this.” Grady tossed the bottle cap in the trash and took a drink of his beer, his smile spreading when he lowered the bottle. “Is everything okay with Kick?” His frown returned. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

  “Yes. And nothing’s wrong.” With Kick directly. Now, the preppy sadist whom he couldn’t stop thinking about, that was bugging the piss out of him.

  “Right.” Grady’s agreement was loaded with sarcasm. He stripped the plastic off the meat package and dropped it in the garbage. “Have you played at Dane’s yet?”

  “Have you?” His defenses slammed down so quickly, he didn’t process they’d kicked in. The topic change was too close to his own thoughts, and he didn’t talk about that part of himself. Hell, he didn’t talk about himself at all—until he’d come here.

  “Not in public. We don’t play that way.” Grady worked the burger into patties, his focus on his task.

  He could respond that he didn’t either, but that wasn’t true, when he normally only played in public places. Yet with Asher, all of their play had been unplanned and private. And so damn good he wanted more, when he wasn’t used to wanting anything.

  More pain, more talks, more hot wild sex that reached that closed-off part of him he’d sworn was long dead.

  He shifted on the barstool, took a drink of his water. The ball of nerves and whatever the fuck else was eating away at his stomach twisted tighter. What the hell? Annoyed with himself and the entire situation, he set the bottle down and studied Grady.

  Could he trust him? Did it matter if he didn’t? He could leave the area at any time with only a small dent to his conscience—if any.