Vested Interest Box Set: Books 1-3

by Melanie Moreland

  I sat close, needing to feel Cami beside me for our impending conversation. I picked up her hand, studying her long fingers, and stroked the soft skin of her wrist. The passing thought that a diamond bracelet would suit her skittered through my mind, surprising me. I had never bought a woman a gift before—I had never wanted to, until now.

  “Talk to me,” she whispered, sounding unusually shy.

  “Love scares me, Cami.”

  “Why?”

  “The only thing I associate with love is pain. I know I told you I had dyslexia, but there is a lot more to my childhood than simply a disorder I’ve had to struggle to overcome.”

  She shifted closer. “Tell me.”

  “My parents, for lack of a better term, were Henry and Gabby. I stopped calling them Mom and Dad when I was very young. They didn’t deserve to be called those names after the way they treated me.”

  Cami bit her lip, as if she already anticipated what I was going to say.

  “Henry was a drunk. A mean one—well, to me, anyway. My older brother and sister he liked well enough, but not me. I was different. If you can believe it, when I was a kid, I was a runt. I was little and scrawny—scared of my own shadow. I was slow to talk, didn’t catch on to things quickly, and was backward with everything in life.”

  “Because of your dyslexia.”

  “We didn’t know about it then. Henry simply didn’t like me. He was an impatient man at the best of times, and with me, he had zero tolerance.”

  “Why?”

  I met her confused gaze. “As I found out later in life it was because I wasn’t his. Gabby had an affair, and I was the result.”

  “Oh. That must have been hard. Did your…Gabby protect you from him?”

  I laughed, the sound harsh in the room. “She hated me. I was a constant reminder of her past. They, my whole family, had straight, sandy-colored hair, brown eyes, and freckles on their faces with red cheeks. Then there was me. Dark, curly hair, mismatched eyes, and no freckles. My skin tone was a little darker—just enough to be different. I stuck out like a sore thumb.”

  “Aiden, no mother hates her child, no matter how different they look.”

  “She did. I was never enough. If he hit me, she walked away. If I did something to displease her, she was the one who hit me.” I paused as memories swirled in my head. “I displeased her a lot.”

  I met her wide gaze. “She liked to use the belt. It hurt the most. Almost as much as her cruel words.”

  She slipped her hand into mine, holding tight.

  “I remember being hungry all the time. I was a runt, like I said, and my brother used to grab my food.” I grimaced as memories flooded my mind. “There was never a lot to eat, and when he took my food, I had to go without.”

  “Were you very poor?”

  “No, not poor. Gabby didn’t believe in wasting food, so she made just enough for each meal. She served the food from the kitchen, and because I was the smallest, I got the smallest portion. Once Eric grabbed some, I was often left hungry.”

  “Maybe that was why you were so small.”

  “Probably.”

  “That’s why you eat more quickly than some people.”

  “It’s a reflex, I think. I try not to, but it happens.” I smiled sadly. “I think that’s why I’m always hungry to this day.”

  “I like watching you eat. You enjoy it.”

  I had to grin. “I do. It’s one of the pleasures I can enjoy without guilt. Bentley calls me a garbage disposal.”

  “He teases you because he cares.”

  “I know.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Go on.”

  “I didn’t do well in school. I had trouble getting people to understand me. There were more times I didn’t comprehend what was going on than I did. My grades were terrible. I was picked on and bullied, and I got beat up a lot. The dumb runt, you know, is an easy target.”

  “I assume your parents did nothing to keep it from happening?”

  “No. I stopped saying anything since I knew they didn’t care. In fact, I think they thought I deserved it. Just like when they hit me.” I shrugged. “I know I did.”

  “No child deserves to be hit.”

  “You start to feel like you do, though. At home I was punished for my bad grades and failed tests. Criticized for being scrawny and weak. Called stupid and homely. I was picked on by my perfect brother and, for the most part, ignored by my sister. When the beatings would start, she’d leave the room.”

  “No one at school helped?”

  “They just pushed me forward to the next grade. They didn’t care either. Schools were overcrowded, so it was easier, I suppose. I was lost most of the time. I had one teacher, Mr. Randall. He was a good guy. He noticed how hard I struggled, and he did some tests with the school. They told my parents they thought I was dyslexic and explained about some treatments to help me cope. But they cost money, and my mother had zero interest in spending it on me. My brother, Eric, was in soccer and was pretty good at it, but it was expensive. My sister, Veronica, liked synchronized swimming. They were important, so my parents made sure they got what they wanted. They refused to ‘waste’ the money on me.”

  “But you needed the help!”

  I shrugged. “I wasn’t important, Cami. I never was to anyone. My entire life.”

  “You are to me.”

  My heart sped up at her soft declaration. “I don’t deserve it after the way I treated you.”

  “I disagree.”

  Unable to stop myself, I leaned forward and brushed her lips with mine. “Thank you.”

  “I want to hear more.”

  I wanted to kiss her more and forget the conversation. However, she deserved to hear it all.

  “Mr. Randall was great. He went above and beyond what he had to do for a student. He researched my condition and spent hours with me, helping me find ways to learn more easily. He discovered methods and tricks that helped me concentrate. Not everyone responds the same with this learning disability, and some find it manageable, while others struggle. I found ways of zeroing in on words I could understand, and slowly making my way through pages using those words.”

  “The font thing helps too, right?”

  “Yes. Plus, my memory trick, while unusual, is very helpful. I can remember details other people would forget. Once I read something and understand it, it sticks. I can recall passages and quote them.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I find listening to documents as I study them helpful. I can associate words easier and remember them. Technology has helped make my life simpler in many ways. Still, I struggle at times.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I was taught it was. I was made to feel I was something to be ashamed of in every way. No matter how hard I tried, I could never get their approval.” I leaned my forearms on my thighs, dropping my head for a moment as memories flew through my head. “I acted out a lot when I was younger. I was desperate for attention, but I didn’t know how to get it in a positive way. The affection my parents gave my siblings was denied to me. Instead, all I heard was a constant list of my shortcomings and failures. No matter what I did, I was never as good as they were.”

  “That would be hard to live with. No wonder you acted out.”

  “Henry was a wrestler in school. A good one. Once I finally started growing, he insisted I be part of the team. I did it to please him, hoping to finally do something he would be proud of, but I hated it. I hated every second of it.”

  “Why?”

  I shut my eyes, admitting another of my faults. “I hated being touched.”

  She looked horrified. “You hate it when I touch you?”

  “No, not at all—I like your touch.” I pushed her hand to my cheek, confessing my need. “I crave your touch.” She stroked my skin, once again so gently, I wanted to weep. I leaned back and cleared my throat.

  “Growing up, I related touching to pain. No one ever hugged me or gave me pats on the back. They hit me. Pun
ched me. Crowded me into a corner and smacked me with a fist or a belt. Wrestling was like that—the grabbing and shoving. The need to overpower another person to win. It reminded me of everything in my life. I was overpowered constantly. I felt like my world was one big wrestling match, and I was constantly being thrown to the mat.” I ran a hand over my face. “I quit the team when I was fifteen, and that caused a huge fight with Henry. In his anger, he told me for the hundredth time all the reasons I was such a loser, why he hated me so much, and that I wasn’t his son.”

  “Oh, Aiden…”

  “It got ugly. I was bigger, and it wasn’t as easy to push me around. Now, I could push back. He became enraged. Screaming in my face. Swearing and saying horrible things. I yelled at him, and somehow, we started wrestling—only it wasn’t for sport. I was sure he was going to kill me. I fought back with everything I had, and we bounced around the room, knocking over furniture and breaking things.” I swallowed as visions of that awful night replayed in my head. “At one point, he had me locked up, and I shoved back against him. We went flying right through the glass patio doors with me landing on top of him. It broke his hold, and I rolled away, right through all the glass that was around us.”

  Cami scooted close, gripping my hand harder. Her touch returned me to the moment, and I looked down at her elegant fingers restlessly clutching my skin. I traced her hand and bent down to brush a kiss on her knuckles.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t recall a lot of that night after that point. A neighbor had called the police. Gabby was screaming. I was bleeding, and Henry was unconscious. The police sent me to the hospital in a different ambulance from him—I got stitched up, and I spent the night. I never went back there again. A social worker came and saw me the next morning and said my parents had basically washed their hands of me. They said I was violent, disruptive, and they were worried not only about their safety, but also that I might hurt my siblings. They swore I attacked Henry without reason.”

  “That was a lie.”

  I smiled forlornly at her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Who was going to believe me, Cami? I never said anything at school. I had no friends. By that point, Mr. Randall had retired, and I had no teacher I confided in. I was just another student with issues. My file was full of times I when I got angry and lashed out at someone. I never hurt them, but I would yell. Now my parents were just confirming what everyone already knew. I was a waste of space and not worthy of love. Not even from my family.”

  She lifted our clasped hands to her mouth, brushing her lips to my skin. “No, you are,” she breathed out. “You so are.” She pressed my hand to her cheek, and I was startled at the wetness on her skin.

  “Don’t cry for me.”

  “Someone has to. You deserve to have someone who loves you enough to cry for you.”

  Her words rolled around in my head.

  Loves you.

  Deserve.

  They were foreign to me.

  “What happened to you?”

  “I went to a shelter. Then I was sent to a few foster homes, but they never worked. They expected a kid who needed discipline, and they acted accordingly. The abuse continued.”

  “What you needed was to be loved.”

  “I didn’t get that. I didn’t know a touch didn’t have to hurt until I was older.” I met her sad gaze. “Sex was the only way I knew how to connect with someone. Even then, I preferred to do the touching rather than be touched. I could never let anyone in. I didn’t know I could want the touch of another person on my skin all the time until I met you. I never felt the need to connect with someone the way I do with you. It scared the ever-loving shit out of me, if I’m being honest.”

  Our eyes locked, my mismatched irises meeting her beautiful green. Mine pleaded for patience; hers filled with acceptance.

  “Go on,” she urged.

  “I was lucky, though, and I had a social worker who helped me. Lori watched over me as best she could, and she tried to get me placed into the right home.” I barked out a laugh. “The trouble is there isn’t a huge line of people waiting to take a fifteen-year-old boy with anger problems, as I had been labeled. She stuck with me, though. Made sure I kept up my schoolwork and even got me a part-time job. When I aged out, she found me a little place to go. It wasn’t much, just a room with a bed and a chair, but it was mine. I worked hard, saved for school, and got in with a scholarship.”

  “Where did you work?”

  “Her son, Neil, owned a gym and she had gotten me a job working there not long after she became my case worker. I started as a cleaner and worked my way up. Part of my payment was that I could use the equipment. I discovered how much I loved to exercise. I had finally grown into my body, and the physical release was something I needed. It was something I understood. I got along well with her son, and he encouraged me. Neil said I was a natural. Watching the therapists at his gym showed me that touch had the power to heal as well as hurt, and I found it fascinating. I decided to take both business and physical therapy courses—I thought I wanted to run my own clinic. I got accepted at Toronto, and I moved here. Then I met Bentley and Maddox, and I finally I found friends who really cared, a place I could call home and where I was comfortable.”

  Reflectively, I traced the ink on my arm. “I got this tattoo when I was twenty. Bent and Maddox came with me. I wanted to cover up the scars I had. The ones they gave me. I didn’t want to look down and see them anymore.”

  Her voice was drenched in tears. “Aiden…”

  “When I was young, I would sneak away to the library. Every Wednesday, there was a woman who read out loud. I loved the stories about fierce, strong dragons.” I tapped my upper arm. “The dragon reminds me to stay strong.”

  She touched the clouds etched into my skin and traced her fingers over the red flowers. “What about these?”

  “The clouds represent life. They float and change, the darkness balancing the light.”

  “And the flowers?”

  I smiled, feeling strangely nervous about telling her their meaning. “The house the guys and I rented together had a bush in the front of it that bloomed with red flowers every year. Every time I saw it I knew I was home. It was the first time I had ever truly had a home.”

  “That’s beautiful, Aiden.”

  “I’ve never told anyone that before now.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” she whispered, the sadness in her eyes apparent. Her obvious emotion at hearing my story shook me.

  I had only ever shared it with Bentley and Maddox, and I had never gone into as much detail as I had with Cami. We all knew each other’s pasts. It was something that drew us closer—made us brothers instead of simply friends. They had been understanding and empathetic since they had both experienced trauma growing up themselves, but they weren’t emotional. We were tight and would do anything for one another, but aside from the odd hug, the constant banter, and the occasional argument, we didn’t do the whole emotion thing. It just wasn’t us, and we all preferred it that way. I knew Bentley was different with Emmy, and although he refused to discuss it, Maddox showed an alternate side of himself to Dee. For the first time ever in my life, I had opened up fully to someone. It was, I found to my surprise, cathartic. Cami’s tender compassion made the pressure I always felt in my chest ease.

  “Thank you for listening to me.”

  “You can talk to me anytime, about anything.”

  I lifted her hand and kissed the delicate skin of her wrist.

  “Do you stay in touch with anyone? Mr. Randall or Lori and Neil?”

  “Mr. Randall died before I finished school. He had a massive heart attack after breakfast one day. I went to his funeral and wept at the loss of the first man who had shown me kindness, and who told me I was more than my family let me think I could be.”

  I had to stop and clear my throat. “Lori retired, and when I became successful, I paid off Neil’s gym and helped him make improvements to it. He runs an after
-school program now to help more kids like me. I moved him and Lori into a nice house, and I make sure they’re okay. They will never need anything for the rest of their lives if I can help it.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  I shrugged, self-conscious. “It was the least I could do. They changed my life’s path. If Lori hadn’t seen beyond the reports and helped me, God knows where I would be today.”

  Cami sighed, her breath shaky. “I’m glad you’re here, with me.”

  The emotion in her eyes was overwhelming. No one had ever looked at me the way Cami did. She made me feel invincible. Strong. And more vulnerable than I had ever been because of the depth of my need for her. And my need for that look.

  “You frighten me, Sunshine. You scare the ever-loving shit out of me.”

  She gasped. “How is that even possible? I’m half your size.”

  “No, I don’t mean physically.” I hesitated, then spoke my fear. “Emotionally, you could destroy me.”

  “You have that power over me as well,” she declared quietly. “I don’t want to destroy you, Aiden. I want to share your life and be your partner. Help you through the bad days, not cause them.” She cradled my hand to her cheek. “I want to be the missing piece to your world.”

  I pulled her onto my lap fast, surprising her. “Love has always equaled pain for me, Cami. I let down my guard once, and it bit me in the ass. It proved to me that I was right. I wasn’t worthy of love.”

  “Can you tell me?”

  I pushed a tendril away from her face, tucking the curl behind her ear. “You really want to know?”

  She captured my hand, kissing the palm, and holding it to her cheek. “I want to know everything, Aiden. I want to know you. To understand why you feel the way you do.” She sighed. “Then I can show you why you’re wrong and that you’re so worthy of being loved.”

  I stared at her for a moment, unable to comprehend her thoughts. She was adamant in her feelings for me. She never wavered.