Fortitude Smashed Read online

  i’ll leave the door unlocked

  Aiden smiled around the filter of his cigarette and took a long drag.

  12

  “He got stabbed, really?” Karman gasped and shook her head at Shannon from across the table at Mozambique.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Shannon groaned. He picked at a piece of calamari. “But, yeah, he got stabbed a couple weeks back by some guy at a bar. I tried to find whoever it was, but they were long gone. I don’t think Aiden would press charges anyway.”

  Karman waved her hand. “Okay, but your boyfriend got stabbed, Shannon.”

  Fae’s head shot up; her attention was pulled from her coloring sheet to Shannon. “Shannon’s got a boyfriend? Where’d you find him?”

  “No, Shannon doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Shannon said.

  “Yeah, honey, Shannon has a boyfriend. He found him in an art gallery; it was real cute. Let’s keep coloring, though.” Karman scribbled with a crayon on Fae’s sheet and then handed it to her. Her flawless brows raised and her crimson lips spread into a wicked smile. “I mean, how did he pull that off? Who gets stabbed in Orange County?”

  “Aiden does. Aiden pulls off getting stabbed in Orange County.” He inhaled sharply and shook his head. “He could’ve used some stitches, but he came to me instead of going to a doctor.”

  “Makes sense, you being his Rose Road and all.”

  “It doesn’t though… A few weeks ago we were in a different place. We weren’t in any sort of place, actually. I don’t know.” He ran his hand over his face and stuffed a piece of fried squid into his mouth. “I don’t know if we’re in a place now. I just—I can’t find a reason to be with him or not to be with him, and I’ve tried. I’ve made lists. But, I can’t stop, I just—”

  “God, chill out, Wurther. You want him. He’s your Rose Road, soul mate, life partner. He’s the whole enchilada. Whether you think there should be a reason or not, this is it. He’s it.”

  “I know that,” Shannon growled, cramming another two pieces of calamari into his mouth. “That’s my point. I know he’s my Rose Road; I can feel it. I get it. But I need to know why. Why him? Why us? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Who knows?” Karman brushed crumbs off her long-sleeved paisley dress. “Shit, I didn’t know. Granted, it’s easier when you’re sixteen, but come on. Stop being…” She batted the air and her nose scrunched. “Controlling and stuffy.”

  “Quarter, Mommy.”

  “Sorry, baby,” Karman winced and patted Fae’s head. She glimpsed at the drawing of a bouquet on her coloring sheet and whipped back to get a better look. “That’s real good! Look at all those colors, Fae. Where’d you learn how to draw like that? Show Shannon!”

  “My teacher, Marcus.” Fae held up her sheet.

  Shannon grinned. “Look at that,” he said, eyes wide as he scanned the bent edges of purple stems and smudged bits of navy petals. Even that, a child’s drawing of wildflowers, reminded Shannon of Aiden. “It’s really pretty.”

  A waiter swung by the table and served a salad for Karman, pasta for Shannon, and rice for Fae.

  “Should’ve told me when it happened,” Karman said. Her eyes flicked from her dinner to Shannon. “Or when I found his file on our desk.”

  He nodded. “I know. I just didn’t know what it was or what to do with it, with him. I was still trying to get myself to accept it.” He didn’t say I know how you feel about Rose Roads, because he knew she would try to get around it.

  Aiden—everything and nothing at all—was the sensation of being home in a place Shannon had never been. The thought of going through what Karman had, of losing him, was incomprehensible, a computer malfunctioning. Now that Shannon had his Rose Road, he wondered how Karman lived without hers.

  “Stop it, Shannon. Stop thinking about whatever you’re thinking about and eat your dinner.” Karman winked at him.

  Fae giggled, watching him. “Yeah, I’m sure he likes you if he’s your boyfriend.”

  Children were irritatingly perceptive.

  “I bet you’re right,” he said and tried to smile, all the while thinking of Aiden, who was on the right side of falling to pieces, while Shannon was on the wrong side of falling into him.

  00:00

  The front door of the loft was indeed unlocked. Aiden turned the knob, pushed it open, and locked it once he stepped inside. A program played on the television, but the volume was turned down. A couple empty beer bottles were on the coffee table. Shannon’s shirt was on the back of the couch; his jeans made a wrinkled pile on the floor. Aiden spotted the long shape of Shannon buried under the comforter. The flashing light from the TV threw disorienting shadows, causing Aiden to trip over himself as he kicked off one of his boots.

  So, he was at Shannon’s loft in the middle of the night and he had no idea what to do.

  Aiden watched the line of Shannon’s torso rise and fall; his face was hidden by the bottom edge of the pillow halfway under the white sheets. He put his helmet on the coffee table and bounced on one foot as he tugged off his other boot. A soft purr came from the bed, and Shannon turned over. He pawed at drowsy half-lidded eyes with the backs of his hands.

  “I heard you come in,” Shannon mumbled, voice rough with sleep. He ran his hand through his hair and sat up on his elbows. “What time is it?”

  Now that his jacket was gone, Aiden fidgeted with his shirt. “Close to eleven. I can go if you’re tired.”

  “You can stay if I’m tired, too.” Shannon sank into the bed and swatted the place beside him, inching away to make room for Aiden.

  “Yeah, I can do that.” His nose twitched, and he glanced over his shoulder at the empty beer bottles. “Can I have a beer?”

  “Go for it. Hope you like IPA.”

  Aiden winced at the light inside the fridge. He snatched a bottle and twisted the cap off. He was still unsure of the protocol of sleepovers and what happened during them—if anything happened at all. Thoughts raced, memories from two nights ago and how he’d never considered it happening again. Not actually. Not like this.

  Hoppy bittersweet liquid warmed his throat. He sat on the edge of the bed just out of reach with the lip of the bottle balanced against his mouth. The press of fingertips started at the base of his spine. Aiden closed his eyes. His mother used to pluck leaves from the tree in their backyard and tickle his back with them. Shannon’s fingers felt like those leaves. The side of his hand ran between Aiden’s shoulders, his thumb brushing Aiden’s nape. Eyeing him carefully in the dark, he sat up, tugged the bottle from Aiden’s grasp, and took a sip.

  Aiden wanted to spread Shannon out on top of the covers and take his time, drink him in, memorize. Aiden wanted to know him, carnally, viscerally, blindingly.

  “How’s your cat?” Shannon handed the bottle back.

  Aiden smirked. “Mercy’s fine. She’s at my brother’s for the night. That’s why I said I’d be late. I was having dinner with him.”

  “Your brother watches her?”

  “Sometimes, yeah. We’ve had her for seventeen years, and when I got my own place I took her with me. My brother makes me bring her to his house so he can spend time with her.”

  Shannon’s forehead rested on his shoulder. He sighed out a laugh as his hands crept beneath Aiden’s shirt. “Do cats even live that long?”

  Aiden nodded and swallowed another mouthful of beer. Shannon’s hands brushed across his stomach, along his sides, over his chest. He leaned into them, unaware that he’d stopped breathing until his lungs started to ache. Shannon took the bottle and set it beside the bed. Aiden wanted to touch him.

  “Thought you were tired?” he whispered.

  “Exhausted.” Shannon pressed the word into Aiden’s throat where bruises had faded into muted yellow circles. Lips hovered beneath his ear. “Tell me about your job.”

  Aiden wanted to consume him
, impossibly.

  “I’m a bar-back at 101, the dive uptown. Tips are nice; hourly is, too. Why?” Aiden lifted his arms and helped Shannon tug his black shirt away to toss it into the dark.

  “Curious. Favorite cocktail?”

  His hands settled on Shannon’s waist and gripped. “Manhattan. Yours?”

  Shannon’s back hit the sheets, and Aiden followed. His palms traced Aiden’s spine to his nape. “Whiskey anything. Last concert you went to?”

  He grinned, shifting when Shannon’s legs squeezed around his waist and tugged him down. “Some punk show in Long Beach.”

  “Punk show?” Shannon’s hands found Aiden’s throat. Fingers tapped along his jaw. Aiden felt them in places they weren’t. Shannon’s waist stirred. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  The drag of Shannon’s index finger on his brow coaxed Aiden to close his eyes. He pressed their foreheads together. What is this, Aiden asked the mess in his head, what is happening to me?

  Aiden chewed on his bottom lip. His arms tensed; one hand was still wrapped around Shannon’s hip, the other gripped the pillow near his head. A clipped breath ghosted Aiden’s mouth, and he opened his eyes. Shannon’s gaze drifted around Aiden’s face. He didn’t smile or frown. It was an in-between, a tiny curve at the edges of his lips and nothing more.

  Aiden swallowed, unsure of the words building in his throat. “I dropped out of high school because my parents died in a car accident when I was sixteen. I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

  Shannon blinked and tilted his head. Aiden slid his eyes away, unwilling to observe even the smallest bit of sympathy. Aiden could’ve said more, used the proper terminology, told the whole story—the diagnosis his doctor had said with a smile, dissociative dysthymia, the story people cringed at and responded to with I’m sorry or that’s terrible or it wasn’t your fault—but the last thing he wanted was Shannon’s pity.

  Quiet surfaced between them. Shannon’s hands gripped Aiden’s face; his thumb tugged gently on Aiden’s bottom lip.

  “I always wanted to be like my dad. He was a good cop and he’s a good man,” Shannon whispered.

  Aiden wanted to snatch his thumb between his teeth, but he refrained.

  “But he got hurt when he was on duty. He’ll walk with a limp for the rest of his life because of it. That’s what made me take the exam as early as I did.”

  Relief surfaced in a sigh. There, they’d said it; what they’d refused to say in the beginning was being said now, and it was enough.

  “I steal shit because I like to,” Aiden teased and snapped his teeth down on Shannon’s thumb. He smiled around the digit, arching an eyebrow. Shannon glowered up at him. “Only art though.” He let Shannon’s thumb go. “Sometimes jewelry depending on how it’s made. I hadn’t stolen anything in a while before I met you, since San Francisco, actually.”

  “Oh?” Shannon narrowed his eyes. “And why’s that?”

  “The last piece I sold made me ten grand,” Aiden whispered smugly. “That’s how I bought my bike.”

  Shannon squirmed. “These are the type of things we shouldn’t talk about.”

  “Then don’t talk.”

  Aiden wanted to kiss him, but he didn’t know how. The culprit of prior kisses was long gone. In his place was this Aiden, this thief, this man, and this Aiden didn’t know how to kiss.

  Aiden gripped harder. His short nails dug into flesh and pillow. Half-lidded blue eyes stared at Aiden from under dark lashes. Shannon’s waist arched up to meet the slow grind of hips between legs, legs around hips. There was entirely too much clothing between them—his jeans, Shannon’s briefs—but Aiden wasn’t brave enough to do a damn thing about it. His lips caressed the high point of Shannon’s cheek. Shannon’s breathing changed, and Aiden inhaled what Shannon exhaled as his mouth hovered above Shannon’s mouth.

  Shannon’s hands, one on the back of his head, the other resting on his shoulder, buckled down and held Aiden. His lips parted and all at once it was teeth nipping lips, tongues sliding together, and the awkward dance of learning when to breathe and when not to.

  He couldn’t open his eyes, his chest ached, and his hands wandered on their own accord. They dipped between Shannon’s hipbones, and climbed the stairs of his spine. Shoulder blades shifted—tectonic plates beneath his skin. Shannon’s hands gripped Aiden’s thighs, played in the dip of his lower back, dug into ribs until pain whispered under skin. Aiden pressed into them, hands meant for guns and cuffs and gloves. Aiden related to pain; it reminded him that Shannon was more than someone to kiss.

  Shannon steered away and buried the side of his face in the pillow. The tendon in his throat flexed, and Aiden latched his teeth around it, tasting the tremble that coursed through Shannon’s body.

  Fate had never taken mercy on him; nevertheless, Aiden silently begged, don’t let me destroy this.

  “That night you were in my car, I kissed you back because I wanted to,” Shannon blurted. The words skidded off his tongue. “Because you were right there, and I couldn’t help myself, and I didn’t want to help myself. I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want you to go.”

  Aiden stared at him, worrying his lip with his teeth. Caution flashed from Shannon’s eyes. He searched Aiden for an answer to a question he hadn’t asked.

  Is it the same for you? Do you feel this, too?

  Shannon shook his head and something caught in his throat, stuttering out before he brought the words to fruition. “I’ve never wanted anything like I want you.”

  Shannon pulled, and Aiden fell. They kissed, and if they stopped the sun wouldn’t rise, or the stars would blink out, or the ocean swells would cease to roll in. If they stopped, the world would stop, Aiden was sure of it.

  He felt Shannon’s heart drum, heard the low hum of a moan, the whisper of a curse in the air between them. He opened his eyes and caught deep-seated hunger on Shannon’s face as he tossed Aiden onto his back.

  When does it end?

  Shannon’s hand gripped his cheek, and their lips fell together.

  Aiden wondered if someday the fire churning in his veins would burn out, if the lack of control tangled in his chest would unwind, and if the wilderness growing within him would ever become civilized again. He wondered if his feelings for Shannon Wurther would become manageable, or if he would always be this, ripped open, clawing at Shannon as if he was something to conquer or something to love.

  Something to love. The notion was as sudden as jolting awake.

  Aiden kissed him harder.

  13

  “Do you have to paint me?” Aiden scrunched his face. He was positive he didn’t make for the best canvas, but Marcus kept painting anyway.

  “You let me paint you for Halloween! Relax,” the older Maar said. “It’ll wash off before you have to go to work. It’s for the kids.”

  Aiden rolled his eyes. “I know,” he muttered, glancing sideways at a little girl who stood by the tall chair where Marcus had forced him to sit. The side of his mouth quirked to mimic the shy smile she swore. “Hi,” he said and arched a brow. “Want my brother to paint your face, too?”

  The girl was a pair of short arms and shorter legs. Wild curls bunched under her ears and flowed around her shoulders. She tilted her head, curious and unafraid. “He promised he would in class,” she teased. Her shy smile turned bright, showcasing a missing front tooth.

  “I have no idea why kids like you.” Marcus dabbed a blob of paint on Aiden’s eyelid.

  He flinched. “I have no idea why anyone likes me. I don’t know why you like me, Marcus.”

  “I don’t.” Marcus sighed. His full lips spread into a smile, and he winked. “I mildly tolerate you.”

  Aiden mocked a frown and said to the little girl, “My brother’s not very nice.” She nodded.

  “I’m kidding,” Marcus groaned and flashed a playful grin at the girl.
“How does he look, Fae? Good, right?”

  “He’s a tiger,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Aiden’s mouth fell open, his eyes rolled, and his head lolled back against the chair. “Am I?” He steered his look from the sky to the girl and from the girl to his brother. “A tiger? Really?”

  Marcus grinned at him, smug and impish. “Look, you’re even brooding.” Marcus couldn’t get the statement out before it was run over by deep, belly shaking laughter.

  Aiden tried to smother the urge to laugh, too, but it was no use. Like a sneeze, Marcus’ laughter brought laughter from everyone around him, and Aiden covered his mouth with his hand to hide it.

  “Do you think he’s a mean tiger?” Marcus asked Fae.

  “No, he looks nice.”

  “Not scary?” Marcus gawked at Aiden. Residual chuckles hiccupped in his throat.

  Aiden pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. Marcus had made his point—he’d actually made his point a week ago at their late dinner—but he was making it again, as he tended to do. Aiden, please. Aiden, don’t. Aiden, again? Aiden, you’re better than that. Aiden, oh my god.

  Once, twice, sometimes three times, Marcus reminded him of his potential. His remark about being a teenaged tiger was being made for the second time. The hundredth remark about his tendency to take things that didn’t belong to him would surface soon, Aiden was sure. Aiden, Mom and Dad raised you better. Aiden, I’m not bailing you out this time. Aiden, you can get a real job. He’d heard it all, and even though he had found a real job, and hadn’t successfully stolen anything substantial in months, it would still be thrown in his face.

  “No,” she said and shook her head, “not scary. Can you make me a butterfly? My mom will be back in a second.”

  “I sure can,” Marcus said. He swatted Aiden’s leg and waved him away. “Let me get this adorable tiger out of here and then—” He blocked the punch Aiden aimed at his arm and grinned through more rich, bubbling laughter. “Oh, be nice, you brute. Don’t be like that in front of my student.”