Page 11 of Matthias’s Protective Embrace (Cardinal Falls #3)

Chapter Seven

MATTHIAS

Am I being overprotective?

That’s the question I lie in bed pondering this morning at six AM. Even for me, that’s too fucking early on a Saturday.

I can’t help it. The whole thing with Frank has thrown me for a loop. There’s something about him that calls to me. It’s why I provide him with water. And food. And coffee.

I managed to convince myself that those meant nothing, that it was all in the name of making sure the people working on my property are safe and comfortable.

I can’t have people in my yard passing out from dehydration or starvation.

Except, there are three other people working there and not a single one of them gets a specially made coffee every morning.

Maybe most people would have called an ambulance or his family instead.

I did offer to call someone, but I didn’t feel particularly bad when he declined.

I’m not sure if that made me feel better because I got to keep him for the night, or worse, because he doesn’t have anyone out there worried about him.

It makes me sick to think no one would’ve noticed if he didn’t make it home last night.

That’s probably why I insisted he sleep in a guest room. He was still fucking exhausted. He tried to hide it, but that level of tiredness is impossible to hide. That’s the whole reason.

Not because I’m planning to claim him as mine.

The thought has crossed my mind a few times, like when he came downstairs wearing my clothes.

The way the too-big items hung off his body made him look like a child playing dress up.

It also did something to me and made me feel like I had some sort of claim to him.

Fuck . Stupid Frank.

There’s no chance I’m going to fall back asleep, so I get up and take care of my business before heading down to the kitchen.

I’m as quiet as possible to make sure not to wake Frank.

He needs all the sleep he can get. Damn .

I wish I knew why he wasn’t getting the sleep he needed at home.

I can’t fix things if I don’t know what the problem is.

And this is why my former partners found me too controlling. Their words, not mine. My need to understand and tackle problems works well in the office, but at home, they make me… a bit of a dick.

Coffee brewing, I grab my laptop and set it up on the counter. I prefer to work from my desk, but I want to be around when Frank wakes up. No way I’m letting him slip out without breakfast. And a discussion.

As usual, I lose track of time. Somewhere between my second and third cup of coffee, my stomach starts growling insistently. Nine-thirty. Guess it’s time for something other than caffeine.

I’m about to stand when I hear the guestroom door creak open. Great timing. I grab the eggs from the fridge, as well as a few other things I saw earlier.

The toilet flushes, and a few seconds later, Frank appears, still wearing my sweats. He’s rolled the legs a few times to shorten them up, but he still might trip over the ankles.

The sweatshirt hangs down to his knees, so I’m not getting the benefit of watching him walk around commando in my grey sweats. He’s not on the brink of death anymore, so a little looking won’t hurt anything.

“So, thanks a lot for last night. Can I take these and bring them back Monday? Washed, obviously.”

“Why don’t you sit down and have some breakfast before you go.” It might sound like a question, but my tone is clear that I’m not negotiating.

“You don’t have to do that. Really, I can eat at home.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.” He looks hesitant, so I add, “Sit.” He swallows hard but follows my orders.

I finish pulling together some of the food, nothing fancy, but enough to make a nice spread.

“What can you eat from this?” Probably should’ve led with that question, but I’m still learning.

He rises up on his tiptoes to see everything. “All of it, as long as you didn’t put milk in the eggs.”

“No milk,” I promise him. “Eggs are okay, though?” I’m still working through the specifics of what he means by animal products. I did some research to get a better understanding and make some guesses as to why, but it’s still a bit of a mystery.

Scooping up a bit of everything, I pile his plate high before setting it at one of the counter spots.

If he’s anything like me at that age, he can pack away a lot of food.

Especially since he does so much manual labor.

He’s not overly thin, but I suspect he could use a few more calories to manage all the exertion.

I let him get through a few bites before I start in on questions. “So, are you going to tell me why you haven’t been sleeping?”

“Um, there’s not really a lot to tell. It’s more of a series of poor decisions.”

“What kind of poor decisions?” My mind jumps to worst-case scenarios.

“Not anything bad, just a lot of staying out late when I should be going to bed.”

“Partying?” I’m starting to get an image in my mind. One I’m not a fan of. He doesn’t strike me as the kind to be out all night, drinking or doing drugs. But there’s a lot of people who hide it well. At least until they don’t.

“Not exactly.”

“Okay, so tell me what exactly it is.”

He sighs and puts his utensils down. “I haven’t really wanted to go home, so I’ve been going to this twenty-four-hour diner to study until my parents go to bed.” He slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide, like he’s given away some sort of state secret.

I open my mouth a few times but can’t figure out what to say. That’s not where I thought this conversation was going. “Are they… is someone… hurting you?”

“Oh, God, no. Nothing like that. We’re fighting right now, mostly about my future and life choices. They go on and on about how incredible my older brother is. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“So you finish up here and head to the diner until when?”

“Um, sort of. Midnight usually. To be safe.” Yeah, I could do the math on that one. If he’s not getting to bed until after midnight and up in time to be here by six-thirty, that doesn’t leave a lot of time for sleep. “Are you going to tell Sam?” Frank looks genuinely concerned.

“No, I’m not going to tell Sam. As far as I’m concerned, what happened last night stays between the two of us.”

“Thanks.” Frank’s shoulders drop as he stares into the cup of coffee in front of him. “I’m gonna get going. I need to st… get home.”

I raise my eyebrow.

“It’s not bad.” Why does that statement not reassure me? I wait, but that’s all I’m getting out of him. He slides off the stool and looks around.

“What do you need?”

“My clothes? They have my car keys in them.”

“On the couch. Keys and wallet are on top.” He swipes them, bunching the folded clothes up under his arm.

“Thanks again. You know for this”—he waves his hand around in a circle—“and for not telling Sam.”

Every cell in my body screams at me to make him stay.

He needs more sleep and a good meal. And a spanking.

None of which are for me to give him. What I can offer him is a safe place.

“What if you came here?” He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Instead of the diner. You could come here. I have space for you to study and even nap before you go home.”

I can see the wheels turning in his head.

“Really. It’s not a problem. I’ll be in my office working anyway, so you won’t see me.” That last part stings a little. I want nothing more than to spend my evenings getting to know him better. Him being in my space is not going to help that feeling go away.

“Are you sure?”

It’s not a no, which is more than I expect.

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.” I reach for his phone. “Let me give you my number. I can text you with a door code so you can get in and out.” Obviously, my self-control is broken this morning. As hesitant as Frank is, he hands over his phone and watches as I text myself.

“Um, thanks. For… all of it. I’m gonna go.

” I want to hold him hostage here a little longer to feed him and make sure he rests.

Instead, I listen as he collects his stuff and stomps toward the back door.

Within seconds, he’s let himself out. I wait in the kitchen, staring at his still-full cup of coffee until I hear his car start and drive away.

FRANK

It’s a toss-up on what’s more awkward. Hanging out in the kitchen of the guy who nursed you back to health after finding you half dead in his backyard or facing my parents after staying out all night.

I’m twenty-fucking-four. If I want to spend Friday night fucking every man and woman I can find at a club, then so be it.

Not at home, though, because, eww. I do not need my parents to hear any of that.

At someone else’s place, though? I could.

I have. Not recently. Largely because I’m drained at the end of the day.

But I’m also tired of hook-up culture. I need more.

I want an actual connection with a person, something that goes beyond a quick fuck.

Someone who wants me around… wants to take care of me.

I pull my cell phone from my pocket. Fully charged because Matthias plugged it in.

That shouldn’t be the kind of sweet shit that gets the butterflies in my stomach going, but it is.

The fact that he had a charger for it is a miracle.

My phone is old and doesn’t use the same charger as everyone else’s.

Annoying, but the phone is paid for and works fine.

As long as you don’t ask it to stay charged for more than four hours, reliably use any app created in the last five years, or any of the fancy messaging systems.

“Where were you? Your mother was worried.”

Yeah, real worried. So worried that no one called or texted.

I know because I checked on the way home.

The only messages were in the group chat for my study group.

It seems like they had a better Friday night than I did.

Everyone’s hungover and wants to move our Saturday session back to Sunday.

Apparently, the cold weather means soccer’s off the table.

If only there was an app that would tell them the weather in advance to help with those kinds of decisions.

A comment I keep to myself when I agree to the change.

“I stayed with a friend.” Mostly not a lie.

“That’s the problem, you know. You’re spending your nights gallivanting around, doing God knows what with God knows who. You wouldn’t be like this if you had a real job with real responsibilities.”

I’m too tired to argue with him. “I know, Dad.” I trudge toward the stairs and make my way to my apartment. I’d give my left nut for my own entrance instead of having to go through the living room.

I kick off my shoes and crawl into bed, forgoing the effort of removing my clothes.

Matthias’s sweats are so soft and comfortable.

As a bonus, they smell like his laundry detergent.

Both are strong arguments for why I’m never taking them off.

I lie on top of the comforter and pull the fleece blanket from the foot over my body.

With no time pressure to get to the study group, I wish I’d stayed at Matthias’s. Maybe he would’ve made me hot chocolate and let me nap on his couch. Ideally, with him there. I bet he’d make a great big spoon.

I settle for the next best thing, falling asleep imagining his arms wrapped around me.