The Deeper He Hurts (10 page)

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.

“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.

“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 your 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.

“What do you know about Asher?” The question was out before he could second-guess the wisdom of it.

Grady froze, hands slapped together around a chunk of ground beef. His brows edged up, mouth working into a smirk. “Why?”

Why?
His sigh gusted from his chest in a desperate wish to retract what he'd started. “Never mind.” He stood, the walls closing in so fast he could hardly breathe.

“Wait,” Grady blurted in a rush. He set the patty down, tone and expression serious. “What do you want to know?”

What didn't he want to know? Yet asking for information on someone, outside of how it related to his job, was so foreign to him he had no clue what he was doing. That corkscrew of shit in his stomach twisted another notch.

“Forget it.” He waved a dismissive hand at Grady. “I'm going to head out. Have fun tonight.” He had to get away. Run. Breathe.

He was at the stairs when Grady spoke. “For what it's worth, Ash is cool. He can be a bit standoffish and he talks like a prick sometimes, but he's direct and smart as hell.”

Sawyer waffled between bolting down the stairs to the exit and learning more. His heart beat too fast and sweat collected on his nape.
Breathe. Show nothing. Think.
He already knew those things about Asher. What else did he expect Grady to know? How he played in the dungeon? Who he played with? How often? None of those things had ever mattered to Sawyer before.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding at Grady. “I got that much.”

“He's single, with a solid reputation for hardcore pain play.”

He knew both of those things too. “So?” What was he hunting for? Validation or a flaw?

“Thought you might want to know.” Grady shrugged, pointing at the burger patties. “I have plenty if you want one.”

The idea of food had his stomach revolting even more. Acid crawled up his throat, burning a path of lies based in want. “Nah.” He rubbed his abdomen. “Lunch didn't sit well. But thanks.”

He bounded down the stairs and out the door before Grady could say more, berating himself the whole way. This wasn't like him. He didn't ask questions or dig for insight into a guy. Any guy. He took the pain and walked away.

Yet he wanted to know more about Asher. Wanted to see him again. To play and talk and fuck.

He sucked in a long breath, head spinning, but he pushed through the dizziness to get to his car. He was outside, safe, free. The trapped sensation faded slowly, each layer falling away until his lungs expanded with a full inhalation.

None of his normal defense mechanisms had kicked in to keep him from setting up tonight's…date. Meeting? No. It was a date, but he had no idea what kind. He hadn't asked for details after Asher had agreed.

He started his car, checked the time when it lit up on the dash display. One hour before he had to be there. An hour to drive around while his safeguards crumbled beneath the weight of this new desire.

Getting closer to Asher would hurt. He had no doubt of that.

But staying away would leave him exactly where he was, and he was so damn tired of where he was. Of the solitude that kept him safe and confined. Of the restrictions he'd placed on himself in order to survive.

Of the life he had but still didn't know how to live.

And he never would if he didn't try. If he didn't take a chance and, for the first time since the fucking fire, let someone in.

But could he?

He'd come here searching for something to shake him out of his solitary existence, but he hadn't expected to find Asher or the connection with him that'd escalated so quickly.

Asher was waiting outside for him when he pulled into his driveway. He'd barely shifted into Park before Asher opened the passenger door and got in.

“Hey,” he said by way of a greeting. “I'm starved. Let's get dinner first.”

His stomach did a double somersault at the thought of eating. His hour of leisurely driving through the streets of Portland and the neighborhoods around Asher's home had done nothing to settle his nerves.

“Sure.” Sawyer focused on backing out of the drive instead of on the man beside him. It was harder than it should have been. The car filled with Asher's deep musky scent, and his nerve endings were crackling on high alert. “Where to?” he asked, his voice thankfully normal.

“There's a great little place down a side street near Northwest Twenty-Third. Hot sandwiches, burgers, tacos. Salads too. That work?”

“Sounds good.” He stopped at the end of the drive to check for traffic. “Which way do I go?”

Asher was silent until Sawyer looked at him. He smiled, a slow shifting of his features until the warmth shone from his eyes. “I wasn't sure if I was going to hear from you again.”

Sawyer cringed, the truth tumbling out. “I wasn't sure either.”

“What changed?”

He searched Asher and found only curiosity, along with a touch of vulnerability. He could give a glib response, brush it off, and pretend it wasn't important. But it was, and something inside him couldn't let it mean nothing.

“I think it was you.”

“Me?”

The air thickened around him, his pulse kicking up a notch. He wet his lips, choked back the panic turning his skin to lava. He'd said too much and not enough and couldn't get anything else out. His throat ached, and swallowing didn't help.

Shit
. He jerked his gaze away, made a pretense of looking behind them for street traffic, then backed out. They had to return to Portland, and he only knew of one way to get there.

His palms were clammy, and he tried to casually wipe them on his shorts. “I didn't dress for anything nice,” he said as a topic change, forcing a laugh into his voice. He made a pointed glance over Asher's button-down shirt and khakis. He ripped his gaze forward when it lingered too long on his crotch.

Asher gave him the same once-over. “You'll fit in better than I do.”

He didn't have a comeback for that, so he didn't give one. Focusing on driving while acting casual sucked up his normal supply of witty responses.

“Turn left here,” Asher said as Sawyer slowed for a stop sign. “You'll follow this road into Portland.”

The rest of the short drive was quiet except for Asher's additional directions as they left the residential neighborhoods. He could've filled the silence with chitchat about the week and Kick, but the quiet was surprisingly comfortable. Instead, he used the time to calm himself down. Long deep breaths that slowed his pulse. A shuffling of thoughts until he was steady in the moment.

Don't think about what this means. What it could mean
.

Just be.

He'd perfected that state years ago. Why was it so hard to find it now?

He pulled into an open spot on the street a block past the restaurant. The evening was still warm, so he left his flannel in the car.

“We should be done with rain for a while,” Asher said as they walked.

“How do you know?”

“I don't.” He shrugged. “But I've lived here my entire life. July and August are the only months I dare to predict that.” He squinted up at the clear blue sky. “My mother would say I've jinxed it now. So if it rains for two weeks midsummer, it's my fault.”

Sawyer chuckled, letting the lighter notes fill him. “I won't rat you out.”

“She'd only admonish you for being a tattletale.” He opened the restaurant door. “Then she'd get me alone and remind me of how words become truth.”

“I hope all of them don't.” Sawyer would be in hell for sure if they did.

“Right?” Asher scanned the room and led the way toward the back. The restaurant narrowed and darkened the deeper inside they went, the mood probably meant to be intimate or cozy, with candles on every table. Each step had the walls closing in on Sawyer, the hairs on his arm rising as the candlelight danced over the table surfaces and walls.

Fuck
. He grabbed Asher's arm, searching for another table. “How about up here?” He pointed to one near the door, next to the front window.

“It's quieter back here.”

And darker. “I like the light.”

He didn't wait for an answer, just headed to the open table and took a seat. He blew out the candle before Asher sat down, the smoke wafting between them.

He shrugged at Asher's quizzical look and tried to brush off his strange behavior with a slice of truth. “I get claustrophobic in close spaces.”

At least he could go in buildings now without panicking. The years of therapy forced on him before he'd turned eighteen had managed to work that fear out of him. Living in a tent the first winter after the fire had been a bigger motivator, though. Mick had finally hauled his ass inside to sleep when the temperature had dropped below freezing.

“That'll be good to know when we play.” Asher rested his arms on the table. “We haven't done a formal contract or list of limits, injuries, et cetera. We probably should—if we're going to play again.”

“If?” When had “if
”
come into the situation?

Their waiter chose that moment to greet them with a flirtatious smile. He placed two glasses of water on the table, his gaze appreciative as he cruised them both. “Are you ready to order?”

Sawyer made a quick glance at the menu, then opted for a basic cheeseburger. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to eat much of it anyway. The screw in his stomach was lodged tighter than ever.

“I didn't know there was an ‘if' about that,” he said when the waiter left, picking up the conversation where they'd left off.

Asher tipped his head in a side nod. “I didn't want to assume anything.”

“Of course you didn't.” He leaned in, arms crossed on the table. “But in case you missed the signals, I'm definitely in for more scenes with you.”

“Something more formal?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Where?”

“What do you suggest?”

“I rarely play in public anymore.” Asher narrowed his eyes, lips compressing. “And I don't think we should play at Dane's.” He glanced out the window before looking back to Sawyer. “I told Rig about us—that we'd played together,” he rushed to say before Sawyer could question what he meant. “Not the rest.”

The rest.
That they'd fucked like two crazed men against his bedroom window? That they'd connected on another level besides pain?

“Did he lay into you about breaking company policy?” He didn't have the balls to dig into Asher's definition of “the rest.”

“No.” He shrugged, a half smile going with it. “He just said to be careful and to let him know if you go wacko and decide to threaten the company because of my fucked-up needs.”

A laugh burst free before he got his hand over his mouth to muffle it. “
Your
fucked-up needs? Like any of us have room to throw stones.”

“It wasn't a stone, really. More of a fact we're both aware of.”