Page 8 of Wreck Me

Prick.

He gives me the same disappointed look he’s given me nearly every day of my life as he climbs into the back of the SUV. I watch as their driver pulls out before taking my keys from the valet and tipping and thanking him for his time. I’m in desperate need of a drink, and I make the drive home feeling drained. After ten minutes, the roads open up, and it’s only me, the pavement, and the stars above. I roll all the windows down and just breathe, letting the tension release from my body the best I can right now.

My mind flicks back to Carter, the blissed-out look on hisface as I made him blow his load all over us. Fuck, I want that again. I want his firm body under mine. He was perfect. The way he gave in to me, the innocent, confused, lust-filled expression written on his face as he stared up at me. I’ve never felt such a strong pull to anyone before, and it’s only getting stronger.

I know it won’t take long before Carter figures out who I am. Having Trey ignore his email will hopefully push Carter to dig deeper. If he’s smart and I left any impression on him, he’s already figured out that the person at the magazine screwing with him is the same person who stroked him until he came last night at Temptations.

So, instead of heading to the sex club after my nightmare dinner, I loosen the tie around my neck, stripping myself of my suit, to spend the rest of the evening at my rental house about thirty minutes from Aspen Ridge.

It’s a three-bedroom, contemporary Northwest-style home, with two bedrooms on the bottom floor and a loft that covers half of the house on the second floor. Tall, vaulted ceilings over the living area make the space obnoxiously open. The moon illuminates the room through skylights that rest above thick, exposed beams. Floor-to-ceiling windows line an entire wall, with two French doors that lead to a massive deck overlooking a lake. It’s extravagant and too much for one person, but my father likes to make sure I’m living to a certain standard.

God forbid I live in a modest house that is more than suitable for a single bachelor living on his own. According to him, the fact that I’m a gay man is bad enough; living in less than superior housing would somehow make people frown uponhim. The place is sterile, stuffy, and clinical. I hate it. With white walls, plain art, and stiff furniture, it lacks vibrancy, depth, and warmth. It embodies the opposite of everything you’d want to come home to at the end of a long day to relax.As if living on my own wasn’t hard enough, my living arrangements remind me that I’m a prisoner in my own life.

After a quick shower in one of the smaller downstairs bathrooms, I dress in a pair of sweats, pad barefoot over the hardwood floors to the bar, and grab the neck of my new favorite bottle—a twenty-year-old signature bourbon from Aspen Ridge Distillery. I chuckle as I pour two fingers over ice into my glass. If my dad only knew, he’d disown me . . . just for drinking the damn brand. I can’t imagine his reaction if he knew his beloved only child fooled around with a Hayes. He already thinks I’m perverse for being a gay man, and now that he has forbidden me from contacting that family, it would solidify my place as the disappointment of a lifetime.

The fact that I can’t do anything right in that man’s eyes is a well-digested feeling that is an old friend of mine, one I’ve known the entirety of my life. It’s turned me into a man who is constantly chasing the praise of someone who will never give it freely—or at all. And why I’m struggling so much with my new obsession with Carter. It was innocent at first, just wanting to see what could possibly have my father so strung out over them and their town, but after meeting Carter last night, after touching him so intimately, the way he gave me permission to get him off, I won’t be able to drop it. Even if I find myself at the receiving end of his vitriol because of it.

If he doesn’t want me to write a feature on an incredibly unique, enchanting town, then that’s fine. But to forbid me from reaching out to a family altogether? It’s just another control tactic and I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this, fighting myself every damn day to keep pushing forward, and for what? My dad will never see me as anything more than a disappointment. For as long as I can remember, I wanted to work for my family’s business. Writing is an escape for me. Sharing people’s stories, traveling, and discovering newplaces lights my soul on fire. Not everyone is as lucky as I am to find their passion so early. Every step I’ve taken has gotten me to this point, but there are plenty of days I have to ask myself: at what cost?

My father’s expectations are unattainable and unrealistic. A game he’s played since I was born. Time and time again, I’m set up for failure, and I want nothing more than to prove to him that he’s wrong about me. That I can take over this company once he’s gone and make it better than he had ever dreamed it could be. Because that’s what I want, right?

It’s hard not to wonder if we’re both stuck in a similar cycle. My dad only cares about his precious empire and will use me however he sees fit to get what he wants when he wants it. I only care about proving to him that I’m worthy. When did my focus shift from telling stories to proving my dad wrong? Can I do both?

There’s a huge part of me—a part I’m not ready to dissect—that would do anything to break free from it all, to stop feeling like I’m choking on his relentless demands, his vicious reminders of what a failure I am and always will be. I’m drowning in power, money, and privilege, and yet, none of it feels good. This can’t be what life is about. I somehow want so much less than what I have, but so much more at the same time.

I pour another whiskey and head out onto the large deck. The Washington summer air is warm but not overly oppressive. It’s something I love about this little part of the state. The seasons are favorably mild. A few overly hot, miserable days in the summer, and a few heavy snowstorms in the winter. I love everything in between.

The house sits on a large lake that stretches out in front of me; the mirror-like reflection of the stars above shines and sparkles on the surface. I take a deep breath of the pine-scented air, an attempt at calming my nervous system. I should havegone for a run today to clear my mind, but this will have to do. My bare feet pad across the cool wood surface of the deck, taking a seat in one of the many chairs that decorate the space.

I’ve always gravitated toward the outdoors. When the pressure gets to be too much, I would escape outside, regardless of the weather, and it would help calm the voices in my head telling me that I’ll never amount to anything, that I’ll never be good enough for anyone.

The solitude wraps around me in a comforting caress as I think about Carter. He’s so different from everything I expected. In one night, one interaction, everything flipped upside down. I wish I could see the look on his face when he figures out that the writer who has been deliberately fucking with him the last few months is the same man who made him come so damn hard last night.

I didn’t go there with the intention of hooking up with him. I went to watch. To see his routine, see what kind of things he was into. It sounds sick as fuck, but once I learned he was a member of a sex club, there was a dark part of me that needed toseeit for myself. Getting vetted for a membership was easy enough, considering my last name.

He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, and I couldn’t have stayed hidden in the shadows if I was chained to them. Everything about Carter Hayes called to me. His dark hair that fell into his face, his athletic body, chiseled abs, the blue of his eyes and how they reflected the dim, overhead lights of the club, making them almost iridescent. I wanted him. I want him again now.

I convinced myself I could go in there and just get a glimpse of him in person. But then I touched him, and the entire world shifted.

Every decision I make feels like a weight on my chest, but out here in the quiet, I can almost see my way through thismess. The mess that just got much more complicated. The weight of my problems isn’t going to disappear, but for the first time in a long time, I feel hopeful. There was something between Carter and me, and I know without a shadow of a doubt, he felt it. My heart races at the thought. I just need to navigate this mess. There’s a way for me to keep my job and to see Carter again, see if he felt the same way I did. I just have to find it.

CHAPTER 3

carter

The musicsoftly vibrates through the club, but I only vaguely register it. For the sixth night in a row, I find myself sitting in the same spot, a whiskey on the rocks cradled in my hand, my fingers strumming against the cool surface of the smooth wood grain of the bar top, the same questions on repeat in my head. What the fuck happened that night that obliterated every other sexual experience I’ve ever had? Why the anonymity? The secrecy around taking a meeting with me thatheinitiated? Why ghost the damn meeting, follow me here, and fuck around with me? I hardly recognize myself anymore. I’ve never chased anyone, and now I’ve become obsessed with the one person who seems to have no interest in me.

Despite my best attempts, he’s always in my headspace, filling it, consuming me. I’ve started to crave that feeling he brought out in me. None of it makes any sense. As if I’ve spent the last twenty-five years asleep, Griffin brought me to life. And now he’s nowhere to be found. Where the hell is he? I’ve had his personal contact information for almost a week now,burning a hole in my pocket, and every time I unlock my phone to reach out, something stops me.

I’m barely surviving in this in-between dimension of what’s right and wrong. I’m not sleeping, this asshole on replay like a sick montage. Did he know who I was? He’s been dodging my emails for months; could there have been some nefarious reason he wanted to catch me at Temptations? Oh god, what if he writes a story aboutme?

My sexual appetite is an ongoing joke in town, and it’s actually a surprise no one has come along to try to exploit that yet. It’s no secret that I’m a bit of a notorious playboy, and while knowledge that I’m a member of a sex club probably wouldn’t be surprising, I can still imagine the look on my poor mom’s sweet face, the questions about how I didn’t even know the name of the person I let suck on my cock. Could I be any more of a fuckup right now?

I check my phone for the millionth time in the last twenty minutes, waiting for the shoe to drop. An article, a blog post—anything—that will taint my family because of my selfish actions. I’m spiraling, and there’s no pulling me back. I have no anchor, no safe harbor. I’m a ship drifting at sea with no security to blanket it from the inevitable storm.

There’s no other reason why he would have found me at Temptations and hooked up with me. This place is full on a slow night. Which means Griffin had to know who I was ahead of time. Things like this don’t just happen. I don’t believe in fate, coincidence, or that some other magical bullshit was at play. That asshole knew who I was, point blank. He got what he wanted and is going to hold it over my head—if he doesn’t just release it. Something is seriously fucked up about the entire situation, and I need to get to the bottom of it. I just want his weasel ass to come out of hiding on his own and face me like a man.

I need him to come to me so that I can turn the tables back in my favor. If he’s into me, I can use that to my advantage. If his plans are nefarious, I can get closer to him, maybe he’ll hold off on whatever he’s up to. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself to justify why I can’t control the pull to Temptations—to him.

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