Page 53 of Nothing To Lose
I'm a good boy until we're about to drift off to sleep, Tyler's back spooned against my chest. I lean down and give his earlobe a soft kiss, then whisper low against the shell of his ear.
"I can't wait to have you inside me."
His aroused whimper helps guide me into the sweetest dreams.
17
TYLER
The financial advisor's office smells like stale coffee and paperwork. It's nothing like the Dean's office, where my father and I were treated like kings. That office smelled like money and expensive cologne. Back then I was a sought-after student, not because of my exemplary record and grades, but because Talon Valdin, top attorney to the elite assholes of the world, is a connection they wanted to make. That day, we were ushered into lux leather sofas and armchairs, offered drinks, and signed paperwork on a sleek dark mahogany desk. Now I'm herded into a dingy office, sat in a plastic chair, and told that my choices are limited.
I'm terrified. But I also love it. Because this is mine. My choice. My future.
"Well, Mr. Valdin, you're paid up through the rest of the semester, but I'm afraid it's too late to apply for financial aid for the upcoming semester if you were planning on taking summer classes. With your academic record, I do think you'll qualify for some scholarship opportunities. If you get started on the applications now, I think you have a good chance to get some assistance for the upcoming academic year."
Too late for FAFSA. No summer aid. I wasn't planning to take the summer off, but I can handle that. And, according to the list of potential scholarships the advisor handed me, I might just be able to make this work.
"I think I can work with this. Thank you for meeting with me."
"Give our office a call if you have any questions about the application requirements, otherwise I'll see you in the fall."
After shaking the advisor's hand, I step out of the office and inhale frostbitten air. The weight of my new reality has been slowly sinking in, settling on my shoulders. I could be freaking out right now.
Maybe I should be freaking out right now.
Hell, I probablywouldbe freaking out right now if I didn't have Isaac Casey waiting for me at home.Hishome. The one he's opened to me, where he’s not only made me feel welcome, but wanted. I'm not a burden in his space. Not an asset that isn't worth the return on investment. I no longer take up too much space. Or not enough space. Or not the right space.
I'm realistic enough to know I wouldn't be able to do this without Isaac's support. I try to tell myself that I'd have figured it out eventually, that I would have broken from my father's control once I could stand on my own two feet. But part of me questions if I'd have the courage without the extra assistance.
Am I shifting from being indebted to one man to another? The thought sits heavily in my stomach, but I push it away.
Isaac isn't like that. He's given me a place to live, yes, but he also supports me in a way that lifts me up and makes me think I'm strong enough to pull through.
He makes me feel like I could do anything, accomplish anything. And with him there cheering me on, I believe it.
Codependent? Who, me?
* * *
The campus libraryis quiet at this time of day. The low hum of the heating system, paired with the soft rustling of pages and the light clacking of a keyboard, is like background music. It's relaxing and familiar.
I settle at a table, pulling up some of the research I've been doing. Isaac hasn't asked me to help with anything. He wouldn't, but if I'm going to be hanging around, I might as well make myself useful. Graphic design and digital marketing are different fields, but they're tied closely enough that I've taken plenty of classes to be useful. If I look hard enough, if I'm creative enough, maybe I can find a way to help the gym be successful. It's the least I can do.
I’m so lost in the intricacies of content marketing that I don't notice a presence behind me until a familiar voice cuts through my focus.
"Tyler."
My entire body stiffens and my stomach churns, bitter nausea climbing up my esophagus.
Schooling my features as best I can, I slowly look up. My fingers tighten around my pen like it’s a weapon.
He's standing too close, dressed like he's been golfing all morning at the country club. Probably with my father, if I had to guess. He's all pressed lines and smug arrogance, his gaze sweeping over me with blatant distaste.
Mouth twisting into a sneer, he doesn't bother keeping his voice down. "You've been ignoring my calls."
I swallow, forcing my expression into something neutral. "I've been busy."
Guy scoffs. "Too busy to answer a simple call or text? Too busy to spend your nights at your own apartment?"
