Page 23 of His Secret Betrayal (Cedarwood Valley Duology #2)

Alek

“ C an I help you?” the haggard, sleepy-eyed woman asks the next morning.

She leans against the doorway of a run-down apartment building, stringy blonde hair framing her face as she crosses her arms. All the signs point to me waking her from a peaceful slumber.

Her hair is mussed, she’s wearing a white-tank top with no bra, and a flimsy pair of black sleep shorts.

I would like to say I’m sorry for waking her, but that would be a lie.

“Are you Evelyn?” I ask.

She frowns. “Who wants to know?”

Holding up the two empty duffle bags dangling from my fingers, I give her an unimpressed look. “I’m here for Luke’s things.”

Does he know I’m here on his behalf?

No.

But better to ask for forgiveness than permission and all that jazz, right? Besides, finding his home address stored in the employee files at work was too easy.

One could argue I’m being heavy handed, controlling, and presumptuous right now.

I wouldn’t disagree, but I couldn’t get the image of Luke sobbing out of my head this morning.

Or waking up to the sound of him screaming my name in the middle of the night.

Even recalling it now makes me shudder. I haven’t felt true fear like that in a long time, but the thought of him being hurt had panic crawling up my throat.

Then he pushed his ass back against me, handed me control of his body, and trusted me to take care of his needs.

It did something to me. Something I can’t quite put into words yet.

Because somehow, in the past twenty-four hours, he’s managed to crack the wall I’ve built around my heart.

A slither of light exists in me now that didn’t before.

I let so few people in, and yet, it feels like he’s been pounding on the walls demanding entrance.

And maybe I don’t want to let him all the way in yet. In my experience, love hurts. Sometimes literally. And yet, I can’t deny the urge to tuck him away somewhere safe.

Based on what he told me yesterday—and the bruise he’s still sporting on his cheek—living here is the exact opposite of safe.

Evelyn scoffs. “Excuse me, who are you?”

I’m the man who’s going to save your son from your vitriol.

“I’m afraid that’s on a need-to-know-basis,” I drawl .

She huffs, rolling her eyes but moving away from the door frame.

I slip in behind her, following her through a small entryway with a brown, stained carpet.

The sight of the apartment, knowing this has been Luke’s living space, stops me short.

It’s an open floor plan with the kitchen to the left and the living room on the right.

The window in the living room is boarded up, and across from it is a brown, lumpy sofa that looks like it belongs in a dump.

There are ashtrays full of cigarette butts, which explains the lingering stench of smoke.

There’s also a hole in the wall about the size of a human fist.

“Down the hallway, first door on the left,” Evelyn murmurs. I give her back an incredulous look as she ambles over to the kitchen, sitting at the counter and lighting a cigarette.

“You don’t want to question why a strange man you’ve never met is here to collect your son’s things?” I ask.

She shrugs. “He’s a grown man. None of my business what he does, or who he fucks.” She gives me a knowing smirk when I clench my jaw. I bite my tongue for now, moving down the hallway.

As I enter his room, I breathe in the scent of him that still lingers within the tidy space.

It’s the sage and cedarwood scent he occasionally spritzes on.

Never so much as to be overwhelming, but just enough you crave a little more.

The room is relatively simple: a queen-sized bed in the middle with navy-blue sheets and a small desk sitting underneath a window.

There are sketchbooks and pencils scattered about the wooden surface.

I stuff the first duffel bag full of clothes, grabbing a little bit of everything.

Just as I think it’s stuffed as full as it’ll go, I manage to add in a handful of hair ties and a bottle of black nail polish.

In the second bag, I pile in his sketchbooks and pencil cases.

When I notice an eReader, I add that, too .

Hefting both bags over my shoulders, I make my way back into the main living area. As Evelyn continues puffing on her cigarette, I stroll past her without another word.

“Tell Luke when he gets back, I need another twenty,” she calls after me.

I pause in the doorway, my lips flattening as I cut my cold gaze to her. My tone is hard as I speak, not even attempting to disguise my disgust. “Do you only beg Luke for money, or will you take mine, too?”

Her eyes light up, her lips curling into a sly grin as her gaze trails down my torso. “What do you want for it?”

“I want you to go to rehab.”

Her smile falls. “Are you serious?”

I shrug. “I’ll pay every cent. All you have to do is show up and do the work. And then, after you get out, act like you give a shit about your son.”

Her nostrils flare, splotches of red appearing on her cheeks and spreading down her neck. Anger flashes in her eyes, and it makes me grin to know I’ve struck a nerve.

“Aren’t you just so precious? Coming in here on your high horse in your fancy clothes. I’ll bet you’ll walk out of here and pat yourself on the back for doing a good deed, and then you’ll go back to your boring life and wonder when you became so pathetic.”

I cock my head, narrowing my eyes as I study the now irate woman.

This is the version of Evelyn Luke is most familiar with, the one that gets in his head and tells him he isn’t good enough.

The thought of her talking to him like this makes me see red .

I clench my hands at my side, hoping she doesn’t notice the way they shake .

He deserves to have sweet praises whispered in his ear, not whatever this is. I silently resolve to tell him all the ways in which I find him perfect, and I’ll keep repeating it until I push her voice out of his head.

She sneers at me. “If you’re trying to fix me on Luke’s behalf, don’t bother. I like my life just the way it is. Now kindly get the fuck out of my apartment.”

I draw in a slow, steady breath and remind myself that if I tear apart everything around me with my bare hands, I’ll go to jail.

Turning around, I intend to walk out without another word.

But I stop short when something occurs to me.

Glancing over my shoulder, I give her a withering look.

“Far be it from me to tell you how to parent, but your other son might like to know you’re alive. ”

“Get. Out.”

I ignore her and muse aloud, “I can’t help but find it curious. It makes me wonder what angle you’re playing here. The sob story about wanting to get sober first is obviously bullshit, so it must benefit you somehow. Maybe Jax knows something you don’t want Luke to find out, huh?”

“Get out!” she screams. I barely duck in time when she sends a glass ashtray flying across the room. It lands against the wall just inches shy of my head with a thud . I laugh humorlessly as I slip out the door, slam it shut behind me, and stalk down the sidewalk until I reach my car.

“If I never see that witch again, it’ll still be too soon,” I murmur, tossing the two duffle bags into the passenger seat with a little more force than necessary.

My fingers are shaking as I start the ignition.

As I pull onto the road, I roll the window down and let the winter breeze cool my anger.

When the near-freezing air gets to be too much, my cheeks going numb, I roll the windows back up.

After several deep breaths, the shaking subsides, and my heart rate settles back into its normal rhythm .

That woman isn’t a mother. She’s a monster, and I should know. I was raised by two of them, after all. Right now, I don’t want to think about the two people who were meant to love me unconditionally but preferred alcohol over the company of their only son.

Instead, I would rather think about Luke.

The thought of getting my hands back on him has arousal buzzing in my blood, my mouth going dry.

He had been so hungry and desperate for it, needy even.

His curiosity and eagerness had been hot as hell.

It makes me wonder if that curiosity would extend to topping as well as bottoming.

But in the light of day, I have no clue what happens next.

We didn’t talk about it before…well, before .

Questions, fears, and what-ifs plague my mind as I drive home on autopilot.

Does he want more, or did he mean for last night to be a one-time thing?

Was it just a way to forget his problems or was it an experiment?

If I let him see my scars, will he be disgusted?

There’s a pull between us I can’t ignore anymore.

But I’m not going to pressure him for something he isn’t ready for.

I have to let him come to me first. The power balance between us is already skewed a little too highly on my end, and I don’t want to take advantage of him.

I meant what I said last week—I don’t give a fuck what society thinks about us being together, but I do care what Luke thinks.

And okay, I would prefer it if my son were cool with it.

But, quite frankly, the rest of society can get fucked.

Sure, people might disapprove of our relationship for many reasons.

There’s our age difference, he’s my employee, my son’s best friend, and there’s also the fact we’re both men.

And unfortunately, homophobia is somehow still a thing in the twenty-first century .

The same people who would judge me for being with Luke are the same people who turned a blind eye when I was nothing more than a homeless kid on the street.

But before I can ponder the next steps, I have to get back to the house and face the repercussions of my actions.

Peering over at the duffle bags next to me, my palms begin to sweat.

I wouldn’t blame him if he took one look at these bags, saw what a red flag I am, and ran for the hills.

It would be a reasonable reaction after realizing I snuck out of bed this morning, showed up unannounced and without permission at his apartment, and tried to make the decision for him to move out by going through his personal things and packing his bags.

Whipping my car into my driveway, I sigh. Maybe it’s better for him to discover my control issues early on, before we become too intertwined with each other.

Although, it might be too late for me.