7. Aiden

Chapter Seven

AIDEN

No matter how lightly Aiden took each step, the old farmhouse stairs creaked beneath his weight. He climbed slowly, dragging his hand along the aging plaster wall as if he could absorb memories through his fingertips. It had been years since he'd set foot inside this house, but it smelled exactly how he remembered: wood smoke, old pine, and a trace of vanilla that he'd never managed to trace to anything specific. It all mingled with the scent of fresh coffee from the pot Tessa was brewing downstairs.

She'd greeted him at the door, puffy-faced and wrapped in a terrycloth robe dotted with a pattern of strawberries. It was barely past dawn. The sky was more white than blue, and the lacy peach hues of sunrise were just beginning to creep over the horizon, but she didn't ask questions. She only clutched her forehead in one hand, pointed mutely toward the stairs, and then stumbled toward the kitchen.

Aiden was shocked that Seth wasn't out in the barn already. Cowboys rarely slept past dawn. It just wasn't done—not at the Triple M, and certainly not here when there was so much work to do. Back when they were kids, Aiden used to bed down in the barn during calving season, and it was always Seth who woke him, fully dressed, sharp-eyed, and brimming with vitality. If Aiden ignored him and rolled onto his stomach, Seth would grab him by the sock feet and drag him, howling, from under the blankets.

Maybe Seth was sick—or maybe, like Aiden, he'd been up all night sorting through a tangled mess of confused emotions. Regret, mostly. The McCall family were a Sweetwater legacy, and they'd been destroyed by a single drunken night. No one ever blamed Aiden; Seth had made sure everyone thought it was his idea, but Aiden couldn't help but feel partially responsible. Sometimes, he wondered if that was the true reason Seth cut him loose. Seth would never admit it, but maybe somewhere deep in his subconscious, he blamed Aiden for what happened. Aiden had tried apologizing, but Seth didn't want to hear it. Whenever Aiden attempted to broach the topic, Seth had only said, "It's not the time." His sole directive became avoiding the topic and then eventually avoiding Aiden entirely.

The biggest mistake of Aiden's life was not fighting back when Seth pushed him away. Aiden had retreated to lick his wounds privately, but he'd never planned to stay away. When he thought about it, he wasn't sure how the distance between them had gotten so bad. While Seth crashed and burned, Aiden's star only continued to rise. He'd gone from a goofy kid to a well-respected, hard-working cowboy, the kind of man the neighboring ranches scrambled to hire during calving season.

The biggest lie ever told was that time healed all wounds. It hadn't healed jack shit, only made the blood gushing from their wounds easy to ignore until it slowed to a trickle. Not because they were healed—they were just bled out.

Aiden's heart twisted when he remembered Seth's distant, guarded expression when he walked into the tack shop. As if he was unsure of his welcome. His Seth had always been so strong and confident. Unashamed. Aiden missed the memory of his easy laughter, the way his eyes used to light up whenever Aiden said something outrageous. He barely recognized the wary, closed-off man Seth had become, but he had to believe that beneath his thorny exterior, the same gentle, self-assured man still existed. The one who had encouraged Aiden and stood by him through thick and thin. The man who, even now, cared enough to risk his own life pulling Aiden out of that frozen lake.

Friendship with a man like that was worth fighting for.

Cold morning air clung to Aiden's jacket. The last thing he wanted was to head outside on his only day off, but the quickest way to earn Seth's approval had always been hard work, and the Double Jay obviously needed help. Aiden had clocked at least a dozen necessary repairs in his first five minutes. So, last night, while he tossed and turned, he'd decided on a strategy—sneak attack.

The hallway stretched before him at the top of the stairs, exactly as it had been when they were kids. Nothing had changed. It felt like stepping back in time. The same jumbled collage of family photos hung on the walls, frozen moments of happier times. Aiden's throat tightened at the sight of David McCall holding up a largemouth bass and grinning broadly, arm slung around a younger, happier-looking Seth. Aiden leaned so close to the photo that his breath fogged the glass frame.

Unless they'd shifted things around, Seth's bedroom was at the end of the hall beneath the cupola. The last time Aiden had walked in unannounced, they were teenagers sneaking out for a morning ride. Things felt different now.

Aiden hesitated, hand hovering over the brass knob, and took a deep breath. Then he threw the door open and bellowed with gusto, "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!"

Seth was sprawled on his stomach in bed, arms akimbo, with a patchwork quilt barely covering him from the waist down. He'd always bucked convention with his long hair, and right now, it was tangled around his shoulders as if he'd had an even rougher night than Aiden. The deep worry grooves on his face had smoothed away, and he looked somehow younger with his eyes closed. He'd always had old eyes. While Aiden watched, they blinked open, and the years came pouring back.

"What're you doing here?" Seth asked, burying his face in his pillow. His voice was rough with sleep.

"Is that any way to greet a pretty face?" Aiden joked, swallowing quick to bring some spit back to his dry mouth. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pry his eyes from the puckered scars running along the curve of Seth’s ribs.

"Go away," Seth groaned.

"You're the one who invited me," Aiden said blithely. "What're you still doing in bed? Did your animals learn to feed themselves?"

He crossed the room in a couple strides—it wasn't big—and stripped the quilt away with the flourish of a magician's cape. It was instinct, falling back into old habits, their old way of being around each other. But they weren't kids anymore, and the taut, tanned ass on display was a far cry from the Batman boxer shorts Seth used to sleep in.

"Jesus!" Seth exclaimed, rolling fully onto his stomach. "Get out of here!"

"Oh, come on. It's not like I haven't seen it before," Aiden said—lightly, he thought. Maybe too lightly. Maybe breathless.

Seth glanced over the cradle of his arms and glared at him with one baleful eye. "You've never seen my dick," he said flatly.

"Sure, I have." All that naked flesh was making his groin tighten, so Aiden got busy gathering up the pair of worn boots by the door and snatching a fresh pair of jeans from the pile of denim stacked neatly on the bureau. "Skinny dipping with Marla Hatch. Sophomore year. Remember?"

Seth sounded like he was choking. Aiden glanced over his shoulder, amused to see Seth scrubbing his hands over his face like he was trying to wake himself from a nightmare.

"I didn't forget," Seth said thickly. "You were too busy staring at Marla's tits to even notice the rattlesnake in our path 'til you almost stepped on it."

"I notice snakes of all shapes and sizes," Aiden said with a comical leer. "No need to be shy. Yours wasn't bad."

He dropped the jeans and boots on the bed and then stuck his head in the closet to fish around for a flannel. Green, preferably. Seth always looked good in green. From inside the closet, he heard the soft whisper of sheets, and then Seth's voice asked, "Is it true you gave West Owens a hand job in the school library during your senior year?"

Aiden bolted upright so fast that he slammed his head on an overhead shelf. He whirled around, expecting to catch Seth tugging on his jeans, and instead came face-to-face with a grown man standing in the middle of the room in all his full, naked glory.

Aiden mostly rolled around with women, but he was no stranger to the rare man when it struck his fancy. Besides, he'd been in and out of bunkhouses since leaving the Double Jay. He knew men; he appreciated the shape of them. But no one in his long, vivid memory could compare to the beauty of a gloriously naked Seth McCall.

His frame was long, lean, and solid from a lifetime of hard work. A spray of fine, dark hair covered his sculpted chest, trailing in an elegant line down his flat belly and then flaring out above the thick, heavy cock hanging between his muscular thighs.

Look away! Aiden's mind screamed. Look anywhere else.

It took far too long for him to raise his eyes to Seth's impassive face and even longer to remember the question.

"He didn't look nothin' like you," he said blankly.

Seth's expression didn't change, but he gave a slow blink.

Aiden coughed into his fist and looked away. His eyes couldn't decide where to land. Seth's bedroom was a strange mix of man and boy—practical, masculine, but cluttered with random objects he never found time to throw away. The space was dominated by a sturdy brass bed. The mattress was only a double; it'd be a tight fight for more than one person, but it looked like an oasis compared to the tiny RV bunk where Aiden slept. A plaid curtain covered the single window, its once cheerful colors long faded. A cold draft seeped in around the edges of the cloth. The house probably needed new insulation and a come-to-Jesus moment with a sealant tube.

He studied the room enthusiastically, refusing to look toward Seth until he heard the rustle of denim and the clink of a metal buckle. He tossed him a shirt without looking.

"I always figured that was a rumor," Seth said casually. "You and West, I mean."

Aiden rubbed the back of his neck, feeling sweaty despite the chilly farmhouse. "It basically was, more or less. I mean, it wasn't a big thing like people said. Just one time. I was bored; he was desperate. It was something to do, you know?"

Something that felt like affection, even if only briefly, but he didn't say that.

Seth grunted wordlessly and shoved past him, practically knocking Aiden off his feet on his way to the bathroom. The tap turned on a moment later. Aiden stared at the closed door, flustered and bemused for reasons he didn't want to explore. He felt like an idiot standing there, so he decided to head to the kitchen and scrounge something to eat.

Tessa caught him with his head in the fridge, poking at a tinfoil-wrapped lump.

"Make yourself at home," she said wryly.

Aiden guiltily withdrew his finger and blasted her with his dimple-popping grin. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he drawled, draping one arm on the open fridge door. "You didn't get all dolled up just for me, did you?"

Tessa rolled her eyes. She'd shed the jammies she'd been wearing and donned a pair of baggy jeans and an oversized sweatshirt with a university logo on the front. Her hair was pulled up in a sloppy bun on top of her head, and her face was strangely shiny. Maybe she'd slathered it in something beautifying like his mother always used.

Aiden couldn't help but compare this woman with the little girl who used to follow him around like a puppy, nipping at his heels until he tossed her whatever scraps of attention he could spare. She'd been a cutie, bright, chatty, and smart as a whip. Now, she was a grown woman—with bosoms and everything. The two discordant pictures refused to match in his head. Women were for flirting...but not Tessa. In his mind, she'd stopped aging sometime in elementary school, so he felt vaguely surprised every time he looked at her.

"That's not the question," Tessa said, ticking her finger at him like a schoolteacher. "The question is: where have you been? When you pulled up, I saw those fencing rolls in the back of your truck. They're late by a few years."

"I've been around." Aiden clucked his tongue and pretended he didn't feel a wash of guilt at her pointed words. "You and your brother need to get out more, sweetheart."

Tessa gave him a hefty dose of side-eye and then elbowed him out of the way, carefully stacking some bacon and cartons of milk and eggs in her arms before nudging the fridge closed with her hip. "You can't sweet talk me anymore, you know," she said, but Aiden knew he was lying because her tone had softened. "How is Seth supposed to get out? He hasn't had a day off in years."

"He knew where I was," Aiden said defensively. "If he needed help, all he had to do was ask."

She pointed toward the breadbox, and Aiden attempted to follow her wordless directions. He lifted a wooden lid painted with a colorful fruit display that vaguely reminded him of the underwear label and sifted through packages of bagels and muffins until he found a half-eaten loaf of cheap white bread. He lifted his brows and held up the package.

Tessa nodded and waggled her fingers in a 'hand it over' gesture, continuing their conversation without interruption. "I don't have a lot of friends, but I've never had to ask them for help when I was struggling," she said. "They just show up whether I like it or not."

Tension was starting to creep up Aiden's neck. She was only repeating the same sentiment he'd flogged himself with all night, but he couldn't resist trying to defend himself. He cracked his jaw and said stubbornly, "Look, I tried to help. Your brother wouldn't let me. Hell, he wouldn't allow me anywhere near this place after the accident. Cattle were dying left and right, and your dad was furious. I guess Seth felt like it was something he should handle on his own."

"What about after Dad died?" Tessa wasn't looking at him as she cooked. She expertly cracked eggs one-handed into a glass bowl, then added a milk splash and a slice of bread into the mixture. Aiden couldn't help but be fascinated by the dainty way she plucked the soggy bread from the bowl with two fingers to avoid making a mess of her painted nails.

"It's complicated," Aiden said lamely. "After the funeral, your brother wanted nothing to do with me—hell, with anyone. What was I supposed to do?"

He didn't like to think of it much, but Seth's cool dismissal had eviscerated him in ways his mother's sharp tongue never had. Even now, he felt a rush of helpless anguish whenever he thought of it.

"You should've kept coming back anyway."

She said it like it was simple. If they'd been normal, casual buddies, maybe it would have been. But they weren't. Their friendship had always felt strangely intense.

"I don't go where I'm not wanted," Aiden retorted stiffly. He'd learned that lesson early—and often. His mother could never resist regaling him with everything she'd given up raising him as a single parent. Groveling only made it worse. Better to pretend he didn't crave affection at all. "I don't force anyone to let me hang around."

"Oh, really? Then what are you doing here now?" Tessa asked.

Aiden scowled. "That's different."

"How?"

"He thinks he owes me." Seth's deep rumble interrupted them from the kitchen entrance.

They both jumped and turned in unison with identical guilty expressions.

Seth watched from the door, gripping the overhead frame like he wished it was their necks. His mouth was tight, and faint blue shadows smudged his eyes. It looked like he hadn't slept a wink.

"I do owe you," Aiden protested.

Seth's eyes were fierce and dark when they settled on him. "You don't owe me anything. Never did."

"Well, then, maybe you can do me a favor and take some junk off my hands." Aiden jerked a thumb vaguely in the direction where his truck was parked. "I'm responsible for disposing of the extra supplies cluttering the Triple M's supply shed, but I'm too lazy to drop them by the salvage yard. I thought maybe you could take them off my hands."

The look Seth shot him was so sour it could have curdled milk.

Aiden mustered up his biggest shit-eating grin and clapped him on the shoulder, trying to forget how naked he was under his clothes. "That's what friends do," he said brightly. "Right, Tess?"

"So I've heard." Her tone was rich with irony as she flipped a piece of newly crisped bacon into his waiting hand. "Eat up and get out of my kitchen, will you? I've got a Zoom class in twenty minutes."