Текст книги "Heartbreaker"

Автор книги: Cole Saint Jaimes

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Contents

Copyright

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Want to Read Part 2?

About Cole

HEART BREAKER

Copyright: Cole Saint Jaimes

Published: AUGUST 2015

The right of Cole Saint Jaimes to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

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Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at www.colesaintjaimes.com

PROLOGUE

AIDAN

“No one can fuck you like I can. No one can make you scream like me. Once you’ve accepted this simple truth, I’ll reward you with my tongue.”

Essie Floyd rolls onto her back, her perfect, round ass hiked up in the air, just begging for me to spank it.

She hates me.

She doesn’t want to want me this badly, but she can’t help herself. She leans back even further, lifting her ass higher. I can hear the labored in-and-out of her breathing, the gentle groans of frustration in the back of her throat. I haven’t touched her pussy yet, but I don’t need to. She’s wet for me. I can literally smell how badly she wants me, and nothing has ever smelled so fucking perfect. My dick’s rock hard, aching fiercely, demanding that I sink myself deep inside her, but I don’t. Not yet. There are certain things that need to be said first.

Essie glances over her shoulder at me, her dark, curled hair wild and untamed by the foreplay we’ve already wrestled out of one another. “Just do it, Aidan. Don’t fucking torture me like this. Isn’t it…isn’t already bad enough that…”

“That what?” I won’t touch her again until I’ve heard her say it. I won’t make her come until she’s admitted that she’s letting this go. This awful, dark, evil pain that’s been fuelling her for so many years now has no place within her, and yet she refuses to part with it. Her hands and her heart have been wrapped about the anger for so long that it physically hurts her to let it go now. She doesn’t think she’s capable of it. But she is.

Taking hold of my cock in one hand, I trace the tip of it lightly over the folds of her beautiful pussy. Her whole body shudders, shivering from head to toe with pleasure.

“Aidan!” she gasps.

“Essie,” I reply. We’ve been doing this for weeks. Doing it forever, it feels like. And now, it’s time for it to be over. Time for us both to cut our losses and run, or finally face up to the nasty shit from our past. We will never be happy if this is how we continue to live. Neither one of us will be able to maintain this insane balance. And after what she did, after everything that’s happened between us, who knows if there even is any fixing us. I really hope there is, because like this we are perfect together. Her body responds to mine like no one else’s. When we fuck, it’s like the entire world’s on fire, and we’re just letting it burn, oblivious of the fact that the fire’s consuming us, turning us to ash.

Essie makes a pleading sound in the back of her throat, her back arching, her toes curling. In this position, her pussy is right there for the taking, and I’m desperate to take it. Desperate to lick it, to use my tongue on her. To lick and suck at her clit until she comes. She tastes so goddamn amazing, like candy. Like nothing else I’ve ever tasted before. I’m addicted to her pussy. So much so that I’m a fucking saint to be holding back right now. There was a time not so long ago that I wouldn’t have been able to do it, but I now have no fucking choice.

 She’s beautiful. She’s messed up. She’s broken, and the sad, shitty thing is that I’m not whole enough to fix her. But I digress. Maybe it would be better to start from the beginning, instead of what might be our bitter end.

Here.

Let me tell you how this all began.

ONE

ESSIE

Five Years Earlier

I’m a terrible fucking cook.

The kitchen windows are completely fogged over and I’m in serious danger of burning down the kitchen, but the smell that permeates the tiny apartment we’ve just moved into isn’t so bad. I’m almost unable to believe I’m well on my way to constructing an edible meal for the first time.

I keep an eye on the clock. It’s a little past eight, which means Vaughn should be home soon. He was up before sunrise today, delivering baked goods to various grocery stores and markets in the city, and then, around ten o’clock he headed to the bike shop where he works as a mechanic’s apprentice. His days are long as all hell. He’ll be hungry when he gets home. Usually, I’ll bring us leftovers from Blossom, the restaurant I wait tables at, but tonight I wanted to do something a little special. Given my gross lack of experience as a chef, my brother may get home and wish I’d stuck to restaurant leftovers, but I think he’ll be happy with the spaghetti and salad I’ve cobbled together.

The sound of the boiling water is rhythmic. Soothing. Outside, the wind howls, rattling the glass in the panes. It’s dark and cold, but the kitchen is sweltering, standing under the gentle yellow glow of the oven light. It wasn’t always like this.

Vaughn and I have been living in this little apartment—“cozy” is how the Craigslist ad termed it; “cramped” is probably more accurate—for a few weeks now. You’d think after a while I’d be used to the idea of “coming home” but I still get a little thrill each time I put my key in the lock and the door magically opens. Before this, we stayed with friends or at various shelters, trying to scrape together enough funds to secure our own place, always seeming to run into some sort of obstacle. No rental history. No credit history. No previous landlord references.

Eventually the stars aligned and we scored ourselves a place, though. I always knew we would. Vaughn and I have had to overcome a lot of shit, and somehow here we now are, finally in our own apartment. If our mother could see us, she’d be proud. She’d be glad that we never gave up, that we were determined to make things better for ourselves.

When I hear Vaughn’s key in the door, I’m just serving the food up. Looks like it could be a picture from a magazine, the pasta and the salad, the perfectly golden garlic bread, the tendrils of steam. Fuck yeah.

“Wow, what smells so good?” Vaughn brushes snowflakes from his hair. His cheeks are flushed, eyes bright.

“Surprise,” I say. “I wanted to try making something from scratch.”

“God. Should I have left my coat on? If I get food poisoning and need to go to hospital, I don’t wanna be catching hyperthermia, too.”

Despite his smart mouth, he peels off several layers and hangs his jacket on the coat rack that we got at the Salvation Army thrift store for fifty cents. Slowly I’ve been purchasing things that will help make this place feel more like home. We don’t have a ton of extra money to spend on things like that, but if you know where to look, you can find all sorts of things that hardly cost anything at all.

“Ha ha, asshole.” I stab a fork in his general direction, fake-scowling. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Then sit your ass down, and shut your mouth. It’s ready.”

“Nothing like coming home to a nicely-cooked meal.” Vaughn’s brow furrows. “I think this is actually the first time that’s ever happened.”

I know he means this as a compliment, and part of me does feel happy, part of me is overjoyed that I can do something for him after everything he’s done for me. Yet at the same time, it makes me sad to think that my brother, at twenty-eight years old, has never had a meal cooked for him. He’s always said that he’s been too busy for a girlfriend. That’s probably true, but I know his single status is partly because of me. Our mother died when I was born—the placenta detached and she hemorrhaged—and for a long time after that my dad couldn’t even look at me. For the first three years of my life, I was cared for by our elderly neighbor, a woman named Janice, and my six-year-old brother. I knew, deep down my father didn’t blame me for my mother’s death, but I also knew that it was hard for him to be around me. Even back then I looked so much like my mother, this woman I’d never even met. From the pictures Vaughn’s shown me, we’ve got the same thick brown hair, the same pale green eyes that sometimes look blue depending on the light. I wonder what she was like, this woman who vanished from the world only seconds after I entered it. I often find myself wondering what her laughter would have sounded like.

Vaughn sits down and I slide a plate of food in front of him.

“Thanks, lil sis,” he says, smiling at me before picking up his fork.

We eat together at our little kitchen table. The food’s hot and good, nothing elaborate. Just the fact that we’re enjoying it together in our own apartment makes it one of the best meals we’ve ever had.

“You’re welcome. How was your day?” I ask him this every time he returns home as part of a ritual. His answer is always the same—even if he had a shitty day, he’d never tell me.

“Good. Busy. Be nice to have a few days off pretty soon. Oh, and I talked to Max on the way home.”

“Oh, yeah? How’s he doing?”

“Not too bad. I told him maybe we could all get together on Christmas.”

“Sure. That’d be great. He can help us eat all the cookies I’m planning to make.”

Max Conner is one of Vaughn’s oldest friends. In high school, they did everything together including playing varsity baseball, but their paths eventually diverged. Vaughn started smoking pot and hanging out with a rougher crowd. Max buckled down, went to college, and became a police officer. Despite the different directions their lives took, they’ve always been close. When Vaughn was in jail for possession, Max bailed him out. A few times when things were really tough, Max was the one to bring us food and give us a roof over our heads. Those days are long gone now, though. My brother took a second for himself to rebel against the restrictions of his life, but that rebellion lasted no more than five minutes. Our belts might be tight, but he doesn’t do drugs anymore, and there’s always something in the cupboards to eat.

Vaughn starts shoveling his meal into his face like only a guy who’s worked a sixteen-hour shift can. “That’s what I told him,” he says. “Guy shouldn’t be spending Christmas alone.”

I shake my head. “No, he shouldn’t.”

“Bastard thought he was going to marry Emily for sure, but I really think he’s better off without her.” Vaughn laughs. “Though I’m probably not the best person to be giving dating advice.” He has a smile on his face as he says this, but I can see a hint of sadness in his eyes. I know he’s wondered if there’s a woman out there for him, if he’ll ever meet that person he’ll totally fall head over heels in love with. I wonder if part of him is worried about me, worried about what it will mean for me if he meets someone. Even though I’m not a little kid anymore, Vaughn will always feel responsible for me, always feel like he needs to look out for me.

“Vaughn?” I put my fork down.

He raises his eyebrows. Waggles them in that ridiculous way he has. “Uh-oh. This sounds serious.”

“It’s not. Well, maybe a little. I just…I don’t know. I just want you to know how grateful I am for you, for everything that you’ve done. Things haven’t been easy. You’ve sacrificed so much for me. I could’ve ended up a ward of the state or something.”

My brother shakes his head, already rejecting the direction our conversation is headed. “No way in hell I’d let that happen.”

“But a lot of guys would have. A lot of guys would have decided it was just too much to take care of a little sister when they were still just a kid themselves. And…and I want you to know how much I appreciate what you did for me. But you should know, I’m old enough now that I can take care of myself now. If there’s something…anything that you want to be doing—”

“What are you saying? Are you moving out?” Vaughn grins as he says this.

“No, of course not, jackass. I guess I’m just trying to say . . . if you ever met a girl that you wanted to date, I would want you to do that. And if you ended up living with her instead of me, I wouldn’t try to get in your way. I just don’t want you to feel like you’ve got to take care of me for the rest of your life, because you don’t.”

“Whoa. Well, the dinner conversation’s definitely taking an unexpected turn tonight.” Vaughn hums at the back of his throat, a sound he makes when he feels awkward. He likes to have me think he never gets awkward, or worried about the future for that matter, but I know him too well. “Thanks, Essie. You know I’d never leave you stranded. And I haven’t not been dating because of you. I just don’t really have much time for it. A girlfriend’s a big time commitment. Maybe once we get some more money saved and I can cut back on my hours a little, but, right now I’ve got a pretty full plate.” He glances down. “Well, this plate isn’t.” He picks up his fork and twirls the last of his spaghetti onto it, then puts it into his mouth. He stretches. “Listen, lil’ sis’. I promise, if I ever meet a woman I’d like to date, I’ll work up the nerve and ask her, okay? And I want you to promise me the same thing. If you ever come across a guy you’d like to date, go for it. I won’t get all weird about it. I won’t grill him. I won’t come to the door with a shotgun the first time he comes over to pick you up.”

I laugh, because he’s lying through his teeth right now, even though he doesn’t realize it. “Okay. Deal. But I’m gonna remind you of his conversation when the time comes, and you are going to be eating your words.”

Vaughn holds up three fingers and winks at me. “Scout’s honor, I won’t. Thanks for dinner, by the way. Nice surprise. Funny, ‘cause I’ve got a surprise for you, too.”

“You do?” I study him intently, unable to tamp down my immediate curiosity. We don’t get to buy each other gifts very often. Well, actually we don’t get to buy each other gifts, period.

“Yep. But it’s going to require that you follow me, I’m afraid. Once we’re in the lobby, you gotta tie this ugly ass scarf over your eyes before we go outside.”

I do exactly as he says, accepting the scarf he was wearing when he came in. The scarf I made him. I pretend to strangle him with it as we head down to the lobby. There, he secures the black wool over my eyes before taking my hand and leading me outside. We only walk a few paces before we stop. The wool is scratchy against the bridge of my nose, and the air is cold and biting. I start to shiver.

“Don’t worry, this’ll be quick. I’m going to go over here for a just a second,” he says. “Don’t take the scarf off until I say so.” He lets go of my hand and I hear rustling, the sound of something being moved across the bed of a truck. I try to picture what he’s doing. I try to imagine what on earth this surprise could be.

Finally, he says, “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

I reach up and untie the scarf. Vaughn is there, standing in front of his beat up truck, a Christmas tree propped up haphazardly beside him; the tree’s massive, at least a clear foot taller than he is, lush and full, the kind of tree you see in department stores. Except this tree is real, and it’s ours.

“Surprise,” he says. “I picked up some Christmas lights, too. They’re in the bag on the passenger seat.”

“Oh my god!” Tears spring into my eyes. I can’t remember the last time we had a Christmas tree. Some time with Dad, probably, but Dad was never that interested in the holidays, never that interested in celebrating anything. “What’s the point?” he’d always say. “You’re just going to end up losing everything anyway.”

“I know it’s not the most beautiful Christmas tree out there—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“Are you fucking kidding me? This is the most amazing Christmas tree ever. I love it.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do! It’s going to look so good in the apartment. It’s perfect.” And it is perfect, and so is this moment. I don’t think I could picture a more perfect moment if I tried—my handsome brother leaning against the truck, grin on his face, our very own Christmas tree leaning against him, the soft, pristine, silent snow falling around us. This is everything that I’ve always wanted, but have been too afraid to hope for.

Vaughn grins like a Cheshire cat; he knows he’s done good. “Well, I’m very happy to hear that you feel that way. Now help me get this monstrosity inside. It weighs a ton.”

I hold the door open so Vaughn can get the tree inside and we ride up the elevator, the tree filling the small space that usually stinks of urine instead with the smell of evergreen. I can’t keep the smile from my face, or the warmth of my happiness from spreading through my chest.

“I’ll make us some hot chocolate,” I say. “Maybe some popcorn. We can string it for the tree. I’ll try to MacGyver some ornaments from somewhere.” My face hurts from grinning so hard as we ride up to our floor. We have our own place. We have a tree. We have each other. A couple of years ago, I wouldn’t have allowed myself to be this content. Shit always went wrong for us the very second it looked like things were improving. Not this time, though. I know deep in my bones that we’ve hit a turning point in the road. And why the hell shouldn’t I be happy? No sense in living in a constant state of fear. It’s not the kind of existence I want for myself, and it’s especially not the kind of existence I want for my brother. I’m going to make sure this is the best Christmas ever. I throw an arm up over Vaughn’s shoulder and give him a small squeeze. “Thanks, asshole,” I tell him, winking. “You’re the best.”

TWO

AIDAN

I fucking hate my brother.

This is not a hyperbolic statement.

This is not a statement made out of unbridled anger, something that I’m going to later retract, apologize for. This is a statement of fact, and it is taking everything in my power not to fling my iPhone across this beautiful expanse of sand and straight into the crystalline waters of the Pacific Ocean.

I toss the phone on the passenger side of my Jeep Wrangler instead, ignoring the vibrating sound it makes as I haul my surfboard off the Jeep’s rack and head toward the beach. I know why that fucker’s calling. Christmas is fast approaching, only three days away—when it’s eighty degrees out and perfectly sunny, who gives a shit about Christmas?—and Alex is going to try to convince me to come home for the holiday.

Yeah, no thanks. 

Why would any rational, reasonable person with half, no, make that quarter of a brain do something like that? Reasons for staying here are SO much more compelling.

Exhibit A: white sand, blue seas, hot sun.

Exhibit B: women with tits as big as their bikinis are small.

Exhibit C: there is no Exhibit C. I’m a hot blooded twenty-five-year old guy and exhibits A and B are more than enough for me, fuck you very much.

This time of year, you can barely tell the women of Chicago are actually women. People look like androgynous blimps, swaddled up in parkas, cowls, scarves and fur-lined mittens. You’d have to be out of your fucking mind to want to be anywhere near Chicago at Christmas.

Seeing as I’m not out of my fucking mind, I plan on spending the better part of the morning surfing. If you’ve never surfed before, it’s hard to find the words to describe what it feels like. Most of my friends here, all avid surfers, also skateboard or go snowboarding in Vail or Europe. To them, so long as there’s a board to stand on and momentum to be harnessed and tamed, that’s all they need. I’m a little different. I’m not knocking skating or snowboarding, but there’s only one thing that can get my heart racing and that’s surfing. Perhaps it’s because the ocean is a living, breathing entity. Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is a liar, or just plain dumb. It has a life force to it. It sustains us. Back in the day, we crawled out of the ocean as a weird-looking fish with legs and since then we’ve evolved dramatically—Bipedal. Opposable thumbs. Epic hipster moustaches—but we’re still dependent on the sea. When I’m out there on the water, no matter how wild the waves are, everything just feels…quiet. It’s not pavement or hard packed snow. It is not smooth, and it can be unpredictable. The ocean is ruled by the pull of the moon, by a force mankind couldn’t even contemplate conquering. When you catch a wave and nail it, it’s so much better than attempting to harness or own something. It’s like you’re working in harmony with the planet, existing alongside it, like Mother Nature’s giving you the biggest fucking high five. Seriously, it’s the most intense high. I should know. I’ve experienced a lot of those, synthetic and otherwise.

Some people attain this kind of blissed out happiness in god, singing their hearts out with their asses parked in a pew every Sunday, but not me. The four-mile stretch of beach in front of my apartment is my church, the early morning weather forecast my gospel. When I’m on my board, underneath a swell, cruising, the crest of the wave arcing around me, I’m truly in my own personal heaven.

This morning, I paddle out for a good ten minutes before trying to catch a wave. Once I’m past the break and the other early morning surfers, I lay on my back on my board, staring up at the washed out of the blue sky, my arms and legs hanging over into the water, trying to find some inner calm. Alex has this effect on me. He turns everything upside down, flips my shit around, makes me feel less somehow. He’s always had such a skill for fucking with my head. It takes a solid thirty minutes, staring up at the nothingness overhead before I manage to calm down.

I’m at peace when I finally go hunting for waves. The ocean’s a fiery bitch this morning. I get dumped and rolled over and over again, but I also ride out some of the most incredible tubes of the summer. My body is humming with pain when I’ve had enough.

I shouldn’t be surprised when I make it back to the Jeep, puffing and blowing, my lungs burning in my chest, to find that my phone is still goddamn ringing. The thing’s probably been going off the entire time I was out there. I’ve got such a good buzz going on from being out surfing, though, that I actually think, fuck it. I pick up.

“What’s up, Alex?”

“Well, you sound happy,” my brother says.

“Why shouldn’t I be? I’ve just come in off the beach.”

“Yeah. Dad says you’ve got salt water running in your veins instead of Callahan blood these days.” Alex’s voice drips with condescension. And so it begins. My euphoria begins to plummet. That has to be a new goddamn record.

“You sure are hard to get a hold of,” Alex continues. “How are you, little brother?”

“I’d be fine if I wasn’t on the phone with you. What do you want?”

“Now, now, that’s not a very warm reception, is it? When was the last time we talked? I can’t even remember it’s been so long. Is it so difficult for you to believe that I’d be calling just to check in?”

“Aaaalex,” I groan. “You forget that I’ve actually met you. You’ve never just called for a chat. Why would you start now? Just say what you wanna say so we can both be done here.”

“Fair enough. You don’t have time for pleasantries. I can respect that, though god knows how you’re so busy. For all intents and purposes, it seems like you’re sunbathing at the beach all day long.”

My patience is wearing impossibly thin already. “Alex—”

“Time’s come, Aidan,” Alex cuts in. “The old man’s retiring. You know what that means?”

Here we go. Somehow, my brother seems to think this stuff matters to me. “Yeah, I know exactly what it means.” And I couldn’t care fucking less.

“You are now speaking to the new president and CEO of the Callahan Corporation. The family business is about to enter a new phase of existence. Which means you have to come home.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Alex, congrats on the promotion. Really, I mean it. But whether the plaque on your office door reads president or chief-executive asshole licker means very little to me. And I sure as hell don’t see how Dad’s retirement requires my presence in any way.”

“Chief executive asshole licker. Nice.” He sounds pissed. Good. He carries on talking while I secure my board to the roof of the Jeep. “You’re required because every member of the Callahan family should be present during this time of transition, of course. We have to be seen to be showing a united front. It’s not just about that, though. I’ve decided that you’re coming to work for me. Or not for me, but together. Can’t trust anyone more than family, right? You’ve been wasting your life in paradise for long enough, living your bohemian, rootless existence. I’m glad you’ve been able to sew your wild oats, Aid, but it’s time to grow the fuck up. Time to be a man. Be responsible. You need to get your ass on a plane. Preferably in time for this Christmas Eve charity event that we’re all going to.”

Out of the two of us, I’ve always been the one to experiment with drugs. It would seem as though Alex has been hitting the crack pipe pretty hard of late, though. “Yeah. Like I said, man. I don’t think so.”

Alex sighs. “Listen, Aidan. Truth is, I’m not really asking. You have to do this.”

I laugh, and the sound is harsh, even in my own ears. “Are you serious? We’re not kids, anymore, Alex. You can’t tell me what to do. You can make suggestions, requests, pleas… Depending on what you’re wanting, I may or may not oblige you. In this case, no fucking way.”

“Yeah, you’re right, we’re not kids. We’re Callahans. That’s all that matters. You are a Callahan. Do you hear me? And that means you have to come home. Enough is enough. You’ll be getting an email confirmation for a plane ticket shortly. Be on that fucking plane, man. If not, I’ll take the time out of my busy schedule and come down there and get you myself, and I will not be fucking happy about it. Seeing as we’re going to be working together, I’d think that we’d want to keep things as amicable as possible between us, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Don’t waste your fucking time.” My calm from lying on my board is totally gone, shot down, completely vanished, like it was never even there to begin with. Motherfucker. “Maybe everyone else is okay taking orders from you, doing whatever you say, but I’m not your fucking bitch, Alex. You and I will never work together. You decide to come all the way down here, that’s on you, but I’m not coming back to Chicago with you. Though a vacation would probably do you some good, seeing as you’re such an uptight pretentious asshole.”

“Fuck, Aidan, I am so sick of your bullshit! You’ve been reckless for years, done whatever the hell you’ve wanted, and you think that sort of shit is just going to fly. Well, it’s not. If you’re going to call yourself a Callahan, you need to be around and put in some damn work.”

“Oh? You’re rescinding my membership to the club, huh? I’ll make sure to turn in my blazer and tie.”

He ignores me. “You think I’ve been sitting on my ass the past five years, doing jack shit? Working on my tan? Drinking pina coladas? You don’t just get to be on a perma-vacation and reap all the benefits.”

“Excuse me? What benefits have I been reaping? Have I asked you for money? Have I asked Mom and Dad for money?”

“You’re a punk if you think I don’t know about the checks Mom sends you every month.”

“Yeah, and I rip them up. I haven’t cashed a single one of them. I have a job. I make my own money. You might not think it’s the most glamorous work and it might not make me millions of dollars every year, but guess what? I’m happy. I. Enjoy. My. Life. I’m sure that’s probably a difficult concept for you to grasp, but not everything is about money or what your last goddamn name can get you out of life.”

“You want to be disinherited?” Alex asks softly. “If you don’t give a shit about the family name, perhaps you shouldn’t have it anymore. You joke about it, but how would you like that?”

“You know what I’d like?” I try my best to keep calm, but it’s almost impossible at this point. “I’d like it if you’d fuck off and die and never call me again, Alex.”

He starts saying something else but I hang up the phone.

Asshole.