A Mended Man (The Men of Halfway House Book 4) (16 page)

Aidan mumbled something and waved to the group on his way out the door, quickly making his exit without looking back.

"Did we interrupt…something?" Matt asked.

Jessie waved his hand in the air. "No, we were looking at something with one of his cases and he got a break."

Ty started to walk toward the door but stopped when Cole grabbed his arm and subtly shook his head. Cole glanced back at Jessie with obvious concern.

His poor excuse seemed to satisfy the others, and they each found chairs from within the room or pulled from the nurses' station. Jessie enjoyed their visit, but his mind wandered back to Aidan. The insecurity and love visible through the window to his soul made Jessie's heart ache. He wanted to comfort him and ease that worry, but Aidan had undoubtedly escaped to bury it all again and hit his reset button.

Long after everyone left, he pushed his dinner around on the plate as he absently looked up at the door. Waiting. Aidan had been gone for hours. He'd come back. But Jessie wondered how tough that inner shield would be upon his return, and if there was any way he'd be able to break through again.

* * * *

Aidan finally arrived home and shut the door behind him, leaning back and breathing heavily. Even after spending hours at the precinct then going for a run at full speed for several miles, he still couldn't seem to shake the warring emotions unsettling him. He was attracted to Jessie. He hadn't denied that to himself since the first moment he saw him. But he had forced his mind and body to disconnect years ago. Yet something had shifted between him and Jessie earlier. There, in that moment back at the hospital table, strong tendrils twisted and knotted around his heart, braiding with the tether that always lingered between them, pulling him toward Jessie, daring him to take a chance.

And it fucking scared the shit out of him.

His chest heaved with each rapid breath. He'd never felt so vulnerable, so open, so willing to do anything to inch closer and take what was offered. He screwed his eyes shut and swallowed past the lump in his throat. His mind had weakened, going blank with all thoughts but one.
Jessie
. His body had betrayed him, syncing with his mind…and heart. The way Jessie had looked at him and that tentative touch along his skin had almost broken his resolve. He lowered his head and tried to annihilate the thoughts that fueled his betraying body.

Nothing worked to dispel the want.

The need.

Not just to relieve a physical craving but to satisfy the desire for intimacy.

To connect.

His mind returned to visions of those lips. Those perfectly defined, equally full lips which he'd never tasted but almost had. And most likely, never would. High, sharp cheekbones centered by the slope of his perfectly straight nose which led upward to those incredibly piercing eyes beneath those thick dark eyebrows. His eyes. He could lose himself in those crystal blue pools.

He steeled himself and finally stepped away from the door, hoping to reset the carefully crafted facade that had taken years to build. He swore he wouldn't go there ever again. What was the point? Pain was the only outcome…in more ways than he had imagined. And he was tired of having life bitch-slap him and make him beg for mercy. He couldn't subject himself—or others—to that again. He took a deep breath and made his way to the shower, hoping to wash away the seed of hope that had tried to plant itself in his heart.

He turned on the water then stepped into the steaming shower a few moments later, letting the warm water sluice the planes of his body. The rivulets traveled along his torso, reminding him of Jessie's fingers tracing his ink, instantly driving a bolt of want and need through his body. His breathing sped and he planted his palm against the tiled wall. He dipped his head under the spray and closed his eyes, trying to calm the battling thoughts waging war in his mind. He wanted Jessie—he wanted to touch him, hold him, and be inside him. But most of all, he
wanted
to feel the tug of that tether between them, the one that reminded him he was in the land of the living, feeling, and with someone who thought he was worthy enough to stay with. He willed his body to calm down, to remember the promise he had made so many years ago. Maybe this time would be different? Maybe it didn't always end the same. Maybe?

He couldn't.

He wouldn't.

There was no way he'd ever hurt Jessie. Aidan's heart would shatter if Jessie ever walked away.

The water pelted his body, unable to wash away the haunting memories or cool the desire coursing through his veins. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around his hardened shaft, instantly groaning at the contact. He pushed his hips into his fist, quickening his pace with each harsh tug. He snarled and grunted like a feral animal, seeking friction, forcefully yanking his dick, desperately reaching for that elusive precipice. His fingers clawed at the tile wall as he pulled and pulled, jerking his hips forward into his tightly clenched hand, battling his warring thoughts and the flashback worming its way into his mind, threatening to derail his path to release. He closed his eyes and parted his lips when an image of Jessie immediately flooded his consciousness.

Jessie's fingers tracing his skin.

Crystal blue eyes. Soft, dark hair. Full lips.

Those full lips wrapped around him… The warmth of Jessie's mouth sucking and pulling until his cheeks hollowed.

A roar ripped through Aidan's body as he coated the tile wall with his release.

He leaned into the spray, chest heaving as he tried to settle his breathing.
That wasn't real. That won't happen.
He turned the dial to the hottest tolerable setting, angry at his life, fate, and the weight of the memories that haunted him. Under the spray of the steaming hot water, he scrubbed his skin until it was almost raw. Regret flooded his weakened limbs at the realization that he'd washed off Jessie's touch from his skin—both the real and the imaginary. He flattened his hands against the tile shower wall and let the hot water beat against his back. He looked upward, begging for the heavens to give him strength to continue, to carry out his solemn vow to remain on the path he had chosen to take years ago.

He dried off and looked at himself in the mirror, his vision following the lines of the tattoo. He took a deep breath as phantom fingers tentatively grazed his skin—Jessie's fingers, tracing each shadowed line of his angel and scroll.

He grabbed his shaving cream and razor. He lathered up and swiped the stubble off his face.
Fucking persistent shit
. It didn't matter how often he shaved, the damn thing would sprout up within an hour after he'd managed to scrape it all off. Finally finished, with his face burning more than the norm, he walked into his room and reached into his almost empty closet. He flattened his palm against the wall for balance and sighed. Most of his clothes either needed a wash or were at the hospital. He turned and leaned his back against the wall, gasping for air, suddenly feeling a suffocating grip at his throat, constricting each labored breath as everything closed in on him. He slid down along the wall, stopping only when his towel-wrapped ass hit the floor. He huddled against the wall of the large room, resting his chin on his knees. He looked around and couldn't see anything in the blackness of the room.

Darkness and loneliness was all that accompanied him.

His chest tightened as he willed his mind to focus on the nothingness of the space rather than the series of snapshots that had transitioned into a full-fledged, high-definition multimedia presentation only he could experience from a time he wished he could permanently wipe from his mind. A private showing that was quick to castrate any hope that dared take root in his heart. He reached up and fisted the sides of his hair as a scream ripped through his body, hoping to drown out the sounds and the pictures and smells that accompanied them. He needed to be strong. He needed to be the safe haven Jessie sought during his recovery.

He didn't know if he could. He wasn't sure he deserved it. Was it punishment for his past crimes or just a shit hand of luck in life? He wasn't attracted to women, why the fuck would he think Lady Luck would give a shit about him? He wanted to be Jessie's pillar of strength. The one Jessie would turn to when he needed someone.

He couldn't…

He began to shudder, and he could no longer contain the sobs that racked his body in the darkness. He resented himself, his decisions, his life. But most of all, he hated hope and how that bitch teased him just when he thought he could manage things on his own. He was cursed to a life of solitude and it was a burden he had accepted years ago.

But now, with Jessie, he realized one thing far worse than any torture he thought he had survived.

He hated being alone.

"Here you go," Nancy said, handing Jessie the discharge papers. "Do you want me to call anyone?"

Jessie shook his head.

"I can call Aidan."

"I already called a cab."

Aidan had returned that night two weeks ago, but he had closed himself off more than ever. Every now and then, the expression in Aidan's eyes softened, but almost immediately, that damn iron wall would erect in full force. Each day, a little more of Aidan's clothes emptied out of the small hospital closet until nothing remained. More work meetings resulted in less hours during the day at the hospital. Work became the official excuse. It was clear in Aidan's eyes. Something had spooked him and forced him to keep his distance. Jessie swore if he had another chance to break down that damn barrier of Aidan's, he'd take it and wouldn't back down. He'd do anything to avoid the unbearable ache that pained him in Aidan's absence.

"Does he know you're being discharged today?"

He reached for his jacket and winced when a shock of pain traveled the length of his arm.
Dammit
. He hadn't known being so dependent on using a crutch would resurrect his need for pain meds when he pushed too much. He refused to risk stressing his wrist so he overcompensated, which only seemed to aggravate his shoulder and good arm from holding the crutch so damn hard. At least his ribs didn't hurt as much, assuming, of course, he didn't tighten his midsection when lugging around the extra weight of the leg cast. He was still a mess, but dammit, he was getting discharged today. Period. He steadied himself and tried again, finally grasping the material.

"Jessie?"

He tried to ignore the concern in Nancy's eyes and tone. "He was here when the doctor mentioned I would be discharged soon."

"Soon is rather vague. He may not have expected you to be discharged this
soon
."

He shrugged and hissed when a jolt traveled across his shoulders. "He's been here too long. He needs to get back to work. Can you please help me with the backpack?"

Nancy scowled but guided his arms through the shoulder straps.

"Thanks," he said, balancing the weight of the laptop in his backpack. He adjusted the strap on the new sling that had replaced the temporary forearm cast, fidgeting, busying himself to avoid the topic. He wanted Aidan with him, and if he had asked, Aidan would be there in a heartbeat, regardless of the distance he tried to place between them. And if he tagged on a "please," Aidan would cave if there had been any resistance. That was what kept Aidan by his bedside each night. Even though the drug-lingering nightmares were less frequent, having Aidan's presence to keep the nightmares at bay was a far better alternative than the body-numbing sleeping pills that would put him at the monster's mercy in the abyss until he could move again.

Was he silly to want Aidan to come back of his own accord? He was starting to think he'd missed his chance that one day when they came so close he could feel the link between them. But it had snapped, almost quicker than the time it had taken to build.

Hope bloomed when he reached for his vibrating phone but quickly dissipated once he caught sight of the display. "Cab's here."

Nancy sighed. "I'll get the chair."

"I can walk."

"You know it's policy." She exited the room and returned a few moments later with the wheelchair. 

He slowly rose from the bed and steadied himself, extending a hand to stop Nancy who immediately jumped to help. He needed to take the pain pill, but getting out of the hospital was the priority. He reached for the crutch and eased it under his good arm then carefully walked the few steps to reach the chair. One step at a time, just as he'd done for the last few weeks. He tried to reach for the wheelchair armrest but couldn't reach down far enough with the crutch limiting his movement. He took another deep breath and tried to shift his weight. He reached again for the armrest and let his body drop into the seat, ignoring the clank of the crutch hitting the floor.

"Sorry."

Nancy reached down and retrieved the crutch, slipping it into a makeshift sleeve in the back of the chair. "No worries." She grabbed the bag of prescriptions and placed them in his lap. "Don't forget. You're due for your pain meds as soon as you get home."

He nodded. How could he forget? When he walked for more than ten or fifteen minutes, each current of pain rippling through his body was a constant reminder, not to mention that stupid crutch was bruising his armpit as well. He was better and able to walk short distances without help, but he hadn't mastered the
don't-push-yourself
philosophy everyone kept jamming down his throat.