Page 9 of After the Rain
“I’ll take you one day.” The very thought of Rain sitting next to me, bundled up in a warm jumper, preferably one of mine, as I sail us across the water, with nothing but the lapping water and the birds to keep us company, is altogether too appealing. My imagination runs wild as I picture Rain snuggling into my arms, his back to my chest, my hand over his on the tiller, as I teach him how to steer the yacht, protecting his head when the boom swings across as we come about. I shouldn’t want that picture so much after only a few days. But I know, rightly or wrongly, that I do. Too much. Fuck!
Five
Rain
“I’d like that,” I say in response to Aidan’s offer to take me out on a boat one day, but I’m pretty sure he’s zoned out. “Aidan?” I say a minute later, when he still hasn’t said anything. He shakes his head as if clearing some mental fog, and looks at me again, his dark brown eyes warm and reassuring.
“Sorry, I was miles away. What did you say?” I smile indulgently at his flustered expression.
“No worries. I said I’d like that. To go out with you. On a boat, I mean.” His smile brings out the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes and one lone dimple in his left cheek that captures my attention. I think it’s the first time he’s smiled big enough at me for me to see it. I decide then and there that I want to do whatever I can to see it again. And again. And again.
I was right about Aidan being a big teddybear. I’ve been here for three days, and Aidan has done nothing but give me space to get my head on straight. I was relieved when Nash confirmed nothing was actually broken, and I’m glad that the bruising should heal on its own in a matter of weeks, but even bigger was the relief that Aidan seemed to understand that I needed to work through some shit in my head.
Over the last few days, I’ve had a lot of time to consider my relationship with Dan, my injuries, my mental state, my friendship – or rather the missed potential for a deeper friendship – with Corey, my financial situation, my current living situation, and my future. And one word comes to mind that basically covers all of it. Fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. But there is a strange kind of freedom in reaching rock bottom. The fact that there is very little for things to do but improve.
Aidan and I stand in a comfortable silence, gazing beyond his fleet of boats to the small river that they are parked on – no, moored up on, that’s what he said – drinking our tea companionably. At the end of the short stretch of river, the bare trees form a ghoulish archway, beyond which, I can see an expanse of open water that’s choppy as fuck in the cold November weather. Today is actually my favourite kind of winter day – cold enough to have a frost on the ground andturn your breath into fog, but bright and sunny, creating a cold haze that surrounds everything. I’ve enjoyed these kinds of days in the parks of London for the last few years, but seeing the softness of the landscape here settles something in my heart.
Yes, it’s definitely the landscape that settles my heart, and not the gorgeous giant of a teddy bear, lumberjack-looking, boatbuilder who makes me feel more protected than I have since, well, ever. I don’t know, or care, if this is some kind of trauma response, or if Aidan is just a good fit for my current state of mind, but either way, I don’t want to leave. I mean, realistically, I know I have to. And soon. But I really, really,reallydon’t want to.
“Is it weird that I don’t feel sad?” I ask quietly, bracing myself for the inevitable judgement or incredulity I anticipate from Aidan. Aidan, whose jaw clenches and unclenches as he considers his reply.
“No. I don’t think so,” he replies, seeming to know exactly where my head is at, even with such a vague, out-of-context question. “I’m assuming that this relationship you left is one that’s not been happy for a while?”
“Correct. I’m not sure it ever was happy, really. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, I guess, and looking back, I can see how early hismanipulations and red flags for coercive and controlling behaviour really started. I think Mum saw it as well, to be honest. She tried to tell me, but being a stubborn nineteen-year-old in love, I didn’t listen. Even after he hit me for the first time, and I had to hide the bruises when I visited Mum over that last year before she died, I wouldn’t listen.” My throat tightens up around a solid lump, and I feel tears spring to my eyes, but I force the words out. Aidan deserves to know who he’s invited to stay in his home. “I think the thing that kills me is that looking back, I’m pretty sure she knew what was happening, and she died knowing I would stay with him.” My words are coming out strangled now. “I hate that she died worried about me.” A sob breaks free from my throat, and tears that I’ve been holding in for what feels like years stream down my face as I drop my tea mug to the boards below my feet. The crash startles Pax from his position, jolting him upright, before he slowly walks toward me and leans against my legs. A strong arm reaches gently across my shoulders and pulls me into a warm, strong body, and a second arm holds me tightly but carefully, telling me everything I already knew about Aidan. Gentle giant, strong protector.
I hear another mug hit the boards, before a subsequent splash makes me giggle, the soundmuffled by the massive chest I’ve buried my face against. A deep rumble of laughter echoes in his chest as Aidan chuckles, too.
“Oh well. I hated those mugs anyway.”
We stay there for I don’t know how long, Aidan’s protective embrace wrapping me in a sense of safety, my fingers clinging to the back of his T-shirt. Minutes, hours? All I know is it isn’t long enough. But the realisation that Aidan is, in fact, wearing a T-shirt outside, next to a river, in November, and must be freezing – hellI’mfreezing, and I’m wrapped up in a fleece, and a giant man-radiator – is enough to get me to pull away slightly, and look up at his face. Aidan looks down at me.
“Maybe we should go indoors? You must be freezing!” I say quietly. Aidan’s eyes catalogue every inch of my face, their reddish-brown colour warming me even more. Could there be any possible chance that Aidan is gay? Please, God, let my karma be good enough that this walking fantasy plays for my team. His arms release me, but before I can move, his big hands cup my face, and thick, rough thumbs show surprising softness as they wipe away the tears still staining my cheeks.
“Let’s go in,” he says, voice a rumbling whisper. “You must be hungry.” We stare at each other for another handful of seconds before Irealise that if I don’t move now, I’m going to do something incredibly stupid and kiss this beautiful man. I slowly ease out of range and take a few steps backwards; my movement prompting Pax to move away from me and start heading back to the boatshed. Reluctantly, I break eye contact with Aidan and turn back the way we came, returning to the house. I look back over my shoulder just before I turn the corner of the boatshed and see Aidan rub his hands over his face before he bends to pick up my mug from the boards, then leans over the edge of the walkway and produces the other mug from the water. He shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts before standing up and following me.
The fact that Aidan was not unaffected by whatever that little moment was shouldn’t make me feel giddy and excited. But it absolutely does.
“Bollocks,” Aidan grouses as he opens the fridge for the fourth time in the last few minutes. “Uhm, so I apparently don’t have any food in. We can go to Poppy’s café for some lunch, then pop to the supermarket to get some shopping?” He looks adorably embarrassed by the fact that he’s all a bit ‘Mother Hubbard’s cupboards’, as my mum used to call it. I take pity on him.
“That sounds great. I’d like to stop by my carand get some more stuff, if possible?” He whirls to face me so quickly I jerk my head back in surprise. “What?”
“Your car!” He looks horrified. “I forgot about your car. Where is it?” I chuckle at his consternation.
“It broke down, and I left it on the side of the road. I was trying to walk into the village to find somewhere to stay when, well, you know, you found me.” I smile at him, and he just gapes at me.
“I can’t believe I forgot about your car and didn’t even think that you probably had your stuff somewhere. Fucking hell, what an idiot! I’ve been drowning you in my clothes, and you’ve had stuff just up the road!”
I’m laughing harder now. I won’t tell him how much I’ve enjoyed drowning in his clothes. They smell just like him – sawdust, and cedar oil from his work, and a rich, earthy, spicy scent that is all him – and even if I have my own stuff, I’m going to try and hang on to this big fleece plaid shirt he hasn’t taken back, and the hoodie I’ve been sleeping in. Fuck, I’m neurotic. It’s probably best I don’t mention that, or he’ll worry that he’s accidentally provided a psycho with a place to stay. Although, to be fair, if Onley James, one of my absolute favourite gay romance authors, is to be believed, even psychos deserve love.
“To be honest, I think it was just as well. I actually have no idea where I dumped my car.” He stares at me again for a few seconds before a loud bark of laughter erupts from his gorgeous mouth. His deep, booming laugh is infectious, and I join him until we are both wiping tears from our cheeks, and I wince at the pain in my ribs, a pained groan escaping me.
“Shit,” Aidan mutters, sobering instantly, rounding the kitchen island in seconds to place his hands on my shoulders. “You OK?” The concern on his face is enough to sober me as well, and a tightness forms in my chest at the show of care from him.
“I’m fine,” I say, reassuring him with a nod. But before we get trapped in another moment of lingering eye contact and longing (on my part, thanks for the hero-to-lover fantasy…fucking romance novels), I move out of his hold and turn to grab the notepad that is stuck to the front of the fridge. “Let’s make a shopping list, then we’ll go.”
“Oh, OK. I never really bother with a list. I just get easy to cook shit, like pasta, and stuff for the freezer.”
“Well, that’s no good for you. And I can cook, so let me make some of my favourites for you to say thanks for letting me stay.”
