Cash nods, clearing his throat. “It isn’t something I talk about often. I was luckier than most kids, though. I had Bill and Pam.”
“I feel the same way about having my brother after my parents died.” I notice the slightest twitch of disbelief in his expression and feel the need to justify myself, to defend Eli. “Eli wasn’t always an addict. He was a genius, on track to do great things at college, but he dropped out, gave it all up, to come home and take care of me. He didn’t want me to go into care. For a while, we got along fine, just the two of us; he helped me through a really rough time.” Unconsciously, I touch the fine scars on my arms, pulling down the sleeves of my top to hide them, even though I covered them with tattoos long ago. I suspect Cash notices, but he doesn’t ask. “It was only after his bike accident that things got bad, and by then I was almost an adult, able to take care of myself and him.”
Cash nods, though I can tell there are things he isn’t saying, opinions he’s keeping to himself. I’ve heard them before—that seventeen is still a kid, that plenty of people take pain meds without becoming addicted. Sometimes it seems like people see my brother’s addiction as a failure on his part, a weakness of character. “It’s not his fault, he’s a good brother,” I insist, parroting the exact words I’ve been telling myself for years.
“I know,” Cash replies gently. “I always wanted a sibling. It’s why I treasure what I have with Ace and Gage.”
“Your mom never had more kids?” I ask.
Cash’s voice is slow and measured as he replies. “She did. One didn’t make it out of the NICU. I had a sister, for a little while, I was so proud. I looked after her, changed her diaper, and gave her a bottle. She was six months old when the state took her away. I didn’t believe it at the time, but they tried to explain to me that a ten-year-old couldn’t raise a baby. Despite my protests, Mom put her up for adoption, signed away any rightsto find out her new name or family. I asked them to take me too, but of course, they wouldn’t. After that, I started acting out really badly. Mom only tried to get me back once, and she was the one who called CPS and said she couldn’t cope with me.” Cash shrugs as if his story is normal, no big deal, and my heart breaks for him. I imagine him as a young boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders, trying to be brave and raise a baby when he was still a child himself.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion that I try to push down. Somehow, I suspect it would hurt Cash if he thought I was pitying him. “What was her name? Before they took her away,” I clarify.
Cash smiles softly, a flicker of surprise skittering over his face, as if he isn’t used to being asked that question. “I named her Bambi.” He chuckles softly. “In hindsight, that was an interesting choice of name, but to me it was perfect. Bambi had lost her mother, and our mom was gone, just in a different way, and I would be like Thumper, her best friend, there for everything. Kids are stupid, huh?” he says, brushing it off.
“Not at all, I think that’s a great name, and you’d have been a wonderful big brother. Bambi would have been lucky to have you.”
Cash sighs. “Now I’m an adult, I understand there was no way I could have raised a baby alone, and I’m glad that Bambi got adopted, that she didn’t have the childhood I had. I just hope that wherever she went, she was loved and happy.”
“I’m sure she was,” I say, squeezing his hand. This time, I don’t pull away, and neither does he. His hand feels warm and soft; he has the long fingers of a musician. “Did you ever try to find her again?”
“A couple of times, but it’s impossible, unless she comes looking for our mom or me. I can’t contact her; only she can get my details. She might not even know she’s adopted. I’ve come to terms with it.” He stares down at the floor, lost in thought, absentmindedly stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. The sensation is welcome, and I feel a ripple of something akin to butterflies stir within me.
“Thank you for sharing your story with me,” I breathe. “For confiding in me.”
I wonder if part of the reason Cash helped save me, why he’s sharing his story with me, is that his sister would be around my age now, only a couple of years older, probably. The thought of Cash seeing me as a sister doesn’t sit quite right, and I realize it’s because I find him attractive. I don’t want him seeing me in that way, like a kid sister; I want him to see me as a woman. I edge closer to him, drawn like a magnet. He smells good, a heady mix of woodsmoke and peppermint. I study the tattoo on his arm, turning his hand over and tracing the intricate lines of the pattern, a clockwork gearwork. The hair on the back of his arm stands on end, responding to my touch. Suddenly, the air is thick with tension. Some small subtle shift has occurred, and I’m acutely aware of his presence, of the intimacy of our conversation.
Cash turns to look at me, a curious expression on his face. I meet his gaze, feeling as if I’m about to dive overboard into a cold ocean. His lips part, and I find myself wondering how they’d feel to kiss. “Naomi,” he says. The one word holding all of his emotions, longing, sadness, shame, discomfort, and pity.
I assume he’s trying to find the words to reject me, to let me down easily, and tell me that he doesn’t see me in that way, that we can just be friends or some other hollow platitude.I don’t want him to get that far. I can’t admit what I was just thinking, what was evident to us both. Embarrassed and ashamed, I pull my hand away as if scalded.
“I should…” I mumble, muttering some incoherent excuse as to why I have to leave, jumping up from the couch.
What am I doing? How can I be thinking of him like this?
Shame floods me that I’d even think of him that way when only last night I gave my virginity to his best friend.
Cash awkwardly shuffles to the furthest edge of the couch, picking up his laptop. “Right, yes, work to do,” he says in a rush. He’s as keen to get rid of me as I am to leave.
Cash was my ally in this place, and I’ve blown it by acting like some horny teen. God, he must think I’m cringey as hell. My cheeks flush scarlet at the thought. What if he tells Gage? I wonder. Will they kick me out?
Chapter 10
Cash
I’m ashamed to admit I’ve been avoiding Naomi in the five days since we had our deep conversation. It’s not because I’m embarrassed about opening up to her, though I was surprised that I did. I’m not exactly a share your innermost secrets kinda guy. I’m ashamed because during that conversation, I realized I was looking at her differently. I was starting to develop feelings toward her, feelings I have no place having. Ace made it clear that Naomi’s off limits. We gave Gage shit for it, and there I was, mooning over her and contemplating kissing her. I pride myself on my self-control, and I almost lost it.
Since then, I’ve been exercising my control by avoiding Naomi, a childish but effective method. Thankfully, it’s not been too difficult as we’ve been busy fending off attacks from the Rusted Scythes, who immediately declared war the moment we didn’t hand Naomi over. Thankfully, with Eli out of action and no longer working for them, we haven’t had to deal with any cyberattacks. As soon as Eli was discharged from the hospital, we arranged for him to go into rehab. He’s now in a secure facility, somewhere the Rusted Scythes won’t find him. But that doesn’t stop them from looking. I suspect that Eli is the asset they most want back, Naomi is just the front, and a way of forcing Eli to comply. The more frustrated the Rusted Scythes become, the more the violence between our men escalates.
Meanwhile, at home, the atmosphere is tense. Naomi and Gage continue to get along well, and the sexual tensionbetween them is palpable. Sometimes I wonder why Ace insists on keeping them apart. So far, Gage has kept his promise to keep his hands to himself, but it’s only a matter of time before he cracks. As for me, every time I’m close to Naomi, I find myself studying her like an anthropologist. I’m drunk on her, filled with longing and unrequited lust. I suspect Ace holds similar feelings. I’ve never seen him this rattled by a woman before, and I know him well enough to know that his anger and frustration toward her, the petty arguments, are just a manifestation of him trying to resist his attraction.
He doesn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he wants Naomi.
In the past, when all three of us wanted the same woman, we’ve been more than happy to share if she is—and she usually is. But I can’t see Naomi being into something like that. She’d probably think we’re creepy old men, that we’re precisely the kind of guys she first feared we would be. She’s under our protection, our control, practically a prisoner in our home. God forbid she might think she has no choice, that she would have to sleep with us as payment in return for our protection. The thought makes me feel sick, and I resolve even more firmly that I have to resist my attraction to her.
I sigh, leaning back in my chair and stretching my arms out in front of me. My back feels sore from sitting for so long. I’ve been working all day at the desk set up in my room, crunching numbers and working in spreadsheets for so long that my eyes even ache. It’s Friday night. Usually, the guys and I would go to the club for drinks, but with Naomi here, we’ve probably got another night in ahead of us. I shut down my laptop and take a long, hot shower. Without work to distract me, thoughts of Naomi inevitably enter my mind.
I picture her as she was this morning, her long legs and firm ass in the short shorts she sleeps in. She was stretching, trying to reach something in a top cupboard, her top riding up to reveal a strip of skin, one of the few parts of her body, as yet, uncovered by tattoos. I could see the small dimples in her back, and I wanted to lick them. I helped her reach the box of cereal, breathing her in, my cock stirring in my pants at her proximity. Her hair still mussed from sleep, I imagined it’s how she’d look right after sex, too.
