The Deeper He Hurts (14 page)

“Come, Sawyer.” The grit in Asher's voice another trigger. “Now. Fuck. Now.”

He let go, shoved everything outward from his core. His roar echoed in his head, his heart raged against his ribs, his mind blank to everything but the incredible nothingness of release.

He dove into it with a recklessness he'd never allowed himself. Not in this manner. Never with anyone else.

Only with Asher.

The only guy who'd ever given pain or pleasure to Sawyer instead of just taking it. And that was…everything.

“Are things still good between you and Sawyer?” Rig glanced across the cab of the truck, brow raised in question at Ash.

“Yes.” He kept his answer deliberately short. A long explanation would only encourage more questions.

“Yeah?” The ring of surprise hit a little too hard. “You still playing together? I haven't seen either of you at Dane's.”

So much for dropping the subject. Ash stared out the window at the passing landscape and highway ahead of them. The wall of trees hemmed in by the rocky cliff on his side was countered by the span of the Columbia River on the other side. It cut through the gorge in a wide murky divide between Washington and Oregon.

“Yes.” He hoped his clipped tone would end the discussion. The month had flown by in a series of long days broken up by time spent with Sawyer. His schedule dictated when they saw each other and with vacation season at high volume, the timing was hit-or-miss. But they'd managed to meet up a few times a week. Add in the random texts and occasional phone calls and he was in the longest relationship he'd had since his divorce. Hell, his first one, really.

“Yes what?” Rig dug in, his sergeant voice dropping into place. The lower tone underlined with a demand might work in the Marines, but he was one of the odd ducks in the partnership who didn't fall into the rank-and-file bullshit.

“Yes, it's none of your business,” he snapped, then sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, winced at the ache that spread to encompass his forehead. The mounting tension that'd collected there was only growing bigger the closer they got to White Salmon.

Rig stayed quiet, the next few miles passing beneath the muted sounds of the radio. Ash dug pain meds from his bag and swallowed two pills dry. He was used to keeping secrets. Hell, his family's view of his life was one big illusion. But he'd never
had
to keep anything from the guys at Kick. Why did he feel the need now?

Oh yeah, Sawyer was an employee and he was the asshole who'd laid down the no-play-with-employees policy years ago. Sawyer wasn't a naïve college student, though, or likely to cause problems for the company.

Two consenting adults engaging in mutually satisfying play was fine.

And a relationship? What about that?

“Yes we're still playing together,” Ash finally said. “We've been using my playroom.” Which was normal for him. The dinners, conversation, and evenings spent in his bed were the anomalies.

Rig rocked his head in a contemplative nod. “Is there a reason you're so touchy about it?”

“Besides the fact that I'm breaking the very rule I established for the company?”

“Besides that.” He scratched behind his ear, stretched his neck. His nonchalance sucked the last of Ash's reluctance out of him. Rig was his closest friend since Chris's death, and the only guy he trusted with this level of personal information.

He calculated the pros and cons of saying more. He wasn't used to dealing with anything that couldn't be quantified into a box. Numbers were simple and logical, and Sawyer was far from that.

“I don't know what I'm doing with him,” he finally admitted, the truth leaving a sour residue on his tongue. “I mean past the play part. We just…connect. I know it's not logical. I know he's leaving at the end of August.”

“Yet”—Rig nudged when he didn't go on—“you're getting attached.”

Ash sighed, a long release of frustration and admission. “Yes.”

“And that's bad because?”

“He won't commit.” He grimaced at how pathetic that sounded. “Fuck. Neither should I.”

“Why?” Rig frowned. “Because of your family?” His scowl deepened. “How long are you going to live your life for them? If the accident has taught us anything, it's that life's too short to live it behind a lie.”

“Fuck you, Rig.” The venom flew from him so quickly he had no chance of reeling it back. “That was low and uncalled for.” Chris had been dead only four months and the loss was still too fresh. But the point was valid.

Rig's quiet chuckle dug into every exposed spot on Ash. He clenched his jaw and held in the rest of his anger.

“You didn't show Grady any mercy when he needed a good kick in the ass with Micah.” Rig shrugged. “I figured you'd appreciate the same.”

The irony slapped Ash in the face. and he barked out a harsh laugh. “Dick.” He could dish the logic and hard truths but apparently couldn't take them.

“I've got one.” Rig cupped his junk and winked.

Ass
—whom he appreciated with everything he had. Ash closed his eyes, options looping through his mind. What was he really worried about? Getting hurt himself, or Sawyer being hurt?

Their scenes had gotten increasingly intense, with Sawyer giving over his power behind a blanket no-limits-except-the-obvious policy. That recklessness thrilled his sadist, and scared the shit out of the man.

“Have you ever played with a guy who had no limits?” he asked without opening his eyes.

“Everyone has limits. Or they fucking
should
have them.”

“I know.” The motion of the car lulled him despite the almost constant churn of his mind. “But have you encountered a guy who says he doesn't?”

The pause lengthened, but he didn't look at Rig, just waited for him to respond. “No. I haven't. Even the few guys I've had relationships with had limits.”

Ash nodded, a sad confirmation settling over his chest. Only someone who was so deeply damaged he didn't care about himself or his life went into a scene without setting down limits. Especially with a sadist.

“If it was me,” Rig said, “I'd try to find out what's behind the behavior. Letting him go means he'll find someone else who might not have your ethics.”

“What if my question was hypothetical?”

“What if it's not?”

Ash flipped him off, eyes still closed against whatever was showing on Rig's face. He wasn't looking for empathy or sympathy. Hell, he didn't know what he was looking for. Advice, but what kind? Was it even his place to try and figure Sawyer out? To help or at least show him how dangerous his actions were?

Sawyer was an adult. A responsible, logical adult who could manage his own life without Ash digging it apart.

“Just go with it,” Rig said, jerking him out of his thoughts. He glanced around to realize they were halfway over the Hood River Bridge, which crossed to the city of White Salmon.

He frowned at Rig. “What?”

“Go with this thing with Sawyer. Enjoy the time and be realistic about the end. Who knows what'll happen.” He shrugged. “Predicting the future is impossible. Take it from a guy who's watched too many men leave on a routine mission and never come back.”

“You.” Ash paused, head shaking. “Are a morbid fuck.”

“Reality sucks.”

“And then you die,” Ash finished with a wry laugh. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

Rig punched his arm, the hit solid enough to linger. “I've got your six.”

Ash nodded, the certainty of the statement sinking in to loosen the tension balled around his heart. The guys at Kick were the family unit he trusted more than his own. The one that'd accepted every facet of him without a blink. He shouldn't fit in with the group of rugged, battered Marines, but he did.

And who had Sawyer's six? The man was a loner searching for someone to catch him, even if he didn't know it. His cries for help were silent and quickly covered, but Ash heard them. He wanted to be there for him. Longed to ease the pain eating away at him from the inside.

And he would be there, if Sawyer would only let him.

Vans full of sun-drenched tourists flowed into the White Salmon outpost. Exhaustion screamed from their slumped shoulders and slow movements, but smiles lit their faces and talk bubbled around the excitement of the day.

Ash helped with cataloging the returned gear and pointed people toward the tablets mounted on the wall where they could view and purchase their trip pictures.

“You can also get them through the Kick app,” he told one guy who'd grumbled about the lines. The increase in income since the app had released last month was significant enough to consider generalizing the code and selling it to other companies.

Another employee came behind the counter, and Ash happily handed his tasks over to him. “Thanks,” he said, stepping away from the organized chaos. Dealing with piles of wet booties, helmets, and splash jackets wasn't high on his list of fun things to do.

He wiped his hands on a towel and slipped into the small office in the back. “Is this where you hide to avoid work?” he joked with War.

“Hell. This is your shit.” He shoved his chair back, scowling hard as he waved at the cluttered desktop. “Why don't we have an admin to deal with this paperwork garbage?”

“Because I handle eighty percent of it and you can manage the other twenty.”

“Then here.” He stalked toward the door, smile gleaming. “You deal with it, since you're here. I've got other shit to do.”

“Like I don't,” he said to himself once War had gone.
What the fuck?
He glanced at the clock as he sunk into the battered office chair. The springs squeaked when he leaned back, which got him to smile. That'd drive him nuts.

He rubbed his eyes, then dug into the work War was bitching about. The partners in charge of each outpost were responsible for logging employee hours and any cash sales made there. That was it on the monetary side. Most of the work consisted of inventory management. They had a lot of gear to track and inspect at the end of each day, as well as keeping the souvenir and food items stocked in the stores.

It was possible that they should hire someone at their busier outposts to oversee this stuff, which was why they were checking in at each location. They were over halfway through their busiest season, and the first one they were navigating without Chris and Finn. All the partners were actively involved in the company, but none of them had been as connected to every part as those two had been.

The rest of the afternoon flew by behind the numbers and columns he was far more comfortable with. It was closing in on six o'clock when Rig popped his head into the office. “We're leaving for dinner in ten.”

He was gone before Ash could respond. “What if I'm not ready?” he asked anyway. He'd adapted to the hierarchical, military style of operating, but it didn't mean he liked it. Especially when he had more than ten minutes of work left to do.

Fuck
. The books were balanced and he'd fixed a glitch in the inventory database, but he was only mid-thought on the payroll upload code he'd been rewriting. He jotted down a few notes, then closed the software. He couldn't finish until he got more data from the other outposts anyway.

At least he'd been a part of the company when most of the remote locations had been established, so every building was adequately wired and had Internet access.

Switching over to the Web, he typed in the search he'd resisted doing for weeks: Sawyer Stevens Moab. He'd done a cursory search before hiring, like he did with all potential employees, to see if anything major popped up. But he hadn't gone snooping for dark secrets. And he wasn't now. Right.

Fuck
. His pulse thumped faster the harder his conscience revolted. He glanced through the search results anyway. No red flags jumped out, only references to his name at various outfitters and social media pages for guys with the same name. Nothing that would reveal the hidden pieces of his past.

He entered another search and then another, changing the construct each time until a link appeared that chilled him. There in thin blue letters, it read: Stevens Family Memorial Established. The two lines of text beneath gave him enough information to conclude that Sawyer's parents and two siblings had died in a tragic accident fourteen years ago.

The room was suddenly too warm, his skin clammy and hot as he reread those words. An accident. But what? When? How? Sawyer would've been sixteen. Too young, but too old, too. That awful age between childhood and adult where little was relevant yet everything felt monumental.

This one little link explained so much without telling him anything. Sawyer's inability to commit, his fear of connection and establishing relationships was undoubtedly related to this enormous loss.

Damn
. He absently rubbed over his heart, the ache spreading for both the boy and the man. His mouse hovered above the link, his conscience rearing up to halt him from clicking. The sense of invasion crawled down his nape and into his morals. He'd already learned more than Sawyer apparently wanted him to know. These were his demons to share or not. His past and battles that Ash had no right to excavate.

A bead of sweat inched its way down his temple, his glasses edging down the bridge of his nose. There was no going back from where he was, no forgetting what he'd learned. He could stop, though. Could wait for Sawyer to share this himself—if he ever did.

His urge to know battled with his
right
to know. He wanted to help Sawyer—but this wasn't the way to do it. If anything, it would drive a wedge so deeply between them they'd never bridge it.

Sawyer's trust was too important and fragile to break it this way.

The browser closed with a simple click. It wasn't as easy to pack up his stuff and pretend he hadn't crossed a line. He'd dug for information, and was stuck with having knowledge and no way to use it, but it would intrude on every interaction he had with Sawyer going forward.

If he let it.

Regret pounded behind his forehead, and no amount of pain pills or rubbing would eliminate it. The urge to confess his sins ate at his stomach and wound around his guilt.
Fuck
. He'd overstepped, and this was his penance. He would keep silent, no matter how much the questions and knowledge ate away at him.