Chapter 15

When I tooklunch to Wes, it felt a bit strange. Mostly it was due to the stares everyone sent my way. Only after he closed us in his office did he admit that he never took visitors. Not even his ex was allowed to come up to see him.

For some odd reason, that made me feel special. I attributed the notion to the novelty of the job itself. It couldn’t be because I liked being more important to him than she had been. Or maybe I had. Either way, I wouldn’t act on it.

We’d enjoyed lunch together, then I’d returned to the apartment to finish my tasks for the day. I’d put on a batch of stuffed peppers since they took a while to cook, and it would give me time to orient myself to the layout of the place. I’d walked through it before, but I was still curious where every nook and cranny was.

Wes came back during my snooping, though he didn’t call me out on it. He merely complimented the aroma of the food cooking, then went about changing from his work clothes to relax. Dinner became a mirror image of lunch, only in a different setting.

As far as jobs went, I couldn’t complain. And while I let my mind wander here and there over the next few days, it became obvious I’d lucked out when getting this role. Wes wasn’t a hard man to please. So far, he’d enjoyed everything I made him. He was never one to shy away from flavor, nor did he complain about something being too hearty despite his obviously fit form. I didn’t know when he actually worked out, but it was obvious he did.

I’d spent my life around men who worked hard to maintain the land around them. They were all muscular in a way only manual labor could create. Wes was different. His body demonstrated he had a solid gym routine, that he ate a decent amount of protein, and he probably rarely indulged in treats like cake or ice cream.

Days turned into weeks and soon enough, our routine was flawless. We didn’t have to confirm anything because we had synched the calendars on our phones. I knew where he was every second of the day, and he had tabs on me as well.

Mondays were for going to the grocery store. We typically went with takeout for lunch and dinner those days.

Tuesday”s lunch was extras from the night before. I always went with something hearty for dinner — the epitome of a home cooked meal. It was also when I did the heavy cleaning, like scrubbing the bathrooms or the oven, if needed.

Wednesday and Thursday were lighter, since I didn’t want to completely destroy the man’s physique. It also proved to be the busiest days of the week for him at work, so something quick and simple meant he didn’t have to take time away from whatever he was working on.

Fridays were my guilty pleasure days. I’d always get us takeout for lunch, because it made sense to enjoy the last day of the workweek. It was a new concept I’d had to learn. Back on the ranch, every day was a workday. I found novelty in Wes’s shortened schedule. Dinners on Friday were an experiment of some kind. I’d taken to testing new recipes on him, some from Harlan’s collection and others were ones I’d seen on TV or online.

My Pinterest page was nothing but meals by the end of my first month. I’d created a new account to help me organize the house and keep up with everything I needed to do. It also helped me find tips for creating a variety of dishes for Wes to enjoy. It had become somewhat of an obsession since I found his reactions fascinating.

He’d give a deep groan when he loved the smell or taste of something. When he was unsure, his brow would furrow slightly, only just enough to make his nose twitch. Sometimes, we’d disagree about whose meal was better at lunch, and he’d cross his arms while he listened to my side of the discussion. His shirt sleeves would always be folded to his elbows, which meant his forearms would be on display like some dirty Victorian ad for porn.

I hated and loved each moment.

By the end of the first month we had together, I knew Wes’s tastes better than I expected. It’s amazing what you could learn from a person when you spent as many hours with them as we did. Back on the ranch, I was with the guys all the time, but my attention was split. And well, to be fair, I’d been deep in my own world — first with my hidden relationship and then with my addiction. I didn’t have time to focus on one individual like I have with Wes.

I’d argued with myself that it’s only part of the job instead of the fascination I’ve slowly developed for the man. I’m still well within the guiltiness I’d set for myself. So long as I kept the filthier thoughts to myself, then I’d continue to be fine.

Thus far, I hadn’t slipped up. My body and mind were on the same page as far as my day-to-day habits. It was nighttime when I struggled the most to rein in the inappropriate thoughts.

Mornings had become difficult as well. Since my libido had reawakened, I had to deal with morning wood every damn day. Sometimes, I could coach myself down to normal. Other times, I couldn’t move on without conjuring some erotic vision of Wes and me. They were always scenarios in which he was telling me what to do, or I was going above and beyond to serve him.

The illusion was one that mirrored real life far too closely.

I’d become so used to waking up this way that I was rather confused the first time I didn’t. I stared at my soft cock as if it was betraying me. Something was off. I just didn’t know what.

I went through my normal routine of getting ready before it hit me. My heart stopped, the organ stilling as if it only took remembering for all function to fail. I sank to the carpet as I fought to breathe. The weight on my chest was a vise, held tight by memory and time. One of my own making it seemed.

Whiskey.

I needed whiskey stat.

It was the only thing that could blur it all, the only aid I had in a world I thought would help me forget. I just needed one drink. Or maybe two. Anything to get rid of this feeling.

My vision swam. I could taste the phantom sensation of liquor moving down my throat. It was like I was already half a bottle in, the burn long gone thanks to my tolerance build up.

I ripped off the clothes I’d managed to put on my body as I crawled toward the bedroom. Mentally, I sorted through my self-soothing techniques from the plan Sunny Shades guided me through.

Walking? Impossible at the moment.

Meditating? Again, a no. I had no patience for it.

Journaling? What were words? I couldn’t imagine finding them for this feeling.

Breathing exercises? I had no hope of making it through an eight count of those.

That left calling someone I trusted. While my phone had a few numbers I could call for help, there was one I longed to call more than anything. One voice I ached to hear, even if I knew it would send me spiraling.

I was in the bedroom and clutching my phone to my ear before I thought better of it. The numbers were ones I knew by heart. Ones I’d sworn never to dial again.

Pressing each one felt like the strongest shot of whiskey. The dial tone was the burn I longed for. It rang endlessly. No one was on the other end. There hadn’t been for a long fucking time.

“Hello?”

It took me a second to register the gruff voice on the other end of the line. I let out the breath in my lungs in a rush of air so loud I knew there was no pretending I wasn’t on the other end.

“Anyone there? Or are you just a mouth breathing perv?”

“Who is this?” I didn’t stop to think through the implications of such a question. I’d called the number. I knew who it belonged to. Rather, I knew who it used to belong to.

The man scoffed. “Who the fuck is this? You called me, asshole. I’m not sure who you were looking for, but this ain’t how you find them.”

“How long have you had this number?”

I avoided his questions in favor of asking my own. I needed to know. Needed to understand how long it had been.

“A couple months. Why? Were you looking for the last person? Well, shit. That sucks. I don’t know who it was. Sorry, dude.” If I’d been paying close enough attention to him, I’d have fully heard the regret lacing his voice. Instead, I only heard a whooshing noise flood my ears.

I dropped the phone to the floor, then face planted beside it. Carpet greeted me, the softness a blessing given I hadn’t attempted to protect myself. There would probably be a bruise there when I finally found the strength to get up.

If I found the strength.

Distantly, I could hear the man asking if I was ok. He likely heard the clatter of the phone or maybe the thump of my body. It didn’t much matter. It wasn’t like he knew who I was or how he’d just torn my world apart.

My vision blurred as tears filled my eyes. I hated them. I hated crying. I didn’t want to do it anymore. I thought I’d poured enough of myself out to keep them away. How could I possibly have more of them? How was there anything left in me to feel about this man?

Every inch of me felt heavy, like I was weighed down by an invisible force. I couldn’t fight it. I didn’t want to. Let it drag me under. Let the pain tear me apart. I deserved it.

No one would miss me anyway. It wasn’t like I had anyone left. The ranch had likely replaced my role now that I wasn’t around. There was always another hand around. And I didn’t have any family to call upon. The only person who might feel my absence was Weston.

Truly, I wasn’t sure he would notice me much outside of the missed meals.

For some reason, that thought jolted my brain hard enough to move from the prone position I’d taken up on the floor. I reached over to the abandoned phone, then dragged it closer. Tilting it sideways, I went about opening the ordering app I used for his food. I ordered his lunch and dinner, both with instructions to deliver at his normal time.

There was nothing left once my two main tasks were completed. I let the phone fall as I closed my eyes. A sob tore from deep in my soul. The ache was familiar, like an old foe I’d yet to conquer. It wasn’t going to leave until I purged every ounce of energy I had left.

I couldn’t have told you how long I laid on the floor. It had to have been hours given the way the daylight shining through the windows faded away into night. Despite my body begging me to shift, I couldn’t. My muscles absolutely refused to work. There was no point in trying.

At some point, I heard the distinct sound of the front door opening. Then there was the echo of steps moving through the house and the call of my name.

“Gerald? Gerald! Where are you? Fuck!”

My bedroom door was open, but I’d moved to the far side of the bed to grab my phone. It meant my body was on the opposite side of the open door. As much as I knew I should call out for him to let him know my location and that I was fine, I didn’t. Because I wasn’t. Fine, that is.

I was anything but.

His frustration turned to worry as the octave at which he spoke rose. The cool demeanor he wore faded away with each word he rambled.

Eventually, he must have called someone. I heard him on the phone though I couldn’t make sense of his words. Not at first. When he made his way down the hall to my bedroom again, I could tell with crystal clarity that he’d called the police.

“Yes, I understand you have a policy about how long it takes before a missing person report is filed, but this is urgent.” He went quiet, likely from the other person speaking. “Yes, I’m sure. Check his bedroom again? Oh! Yes, I guess I should check to see if he packed his stuff up and left.”

His steps drew closer and closer until I could hear him inside my space. The carpet muted him, though the force of each footstep was still loud with my head to the floor.

“It looks like his stuff is still here so maybe — oh fuck! He’s here. I found him. He’s on the floor.” His hand moved to my back, then his face was leaning over to meet my open eyes. “Gerald? Are you ok? What happened?”

By some miracle, I managed to shake my head. It was a subtle movement, but the very observant man before me caught it.

“Ok… ok. We’ll figure it out. I’ll get you help. Is it… are you in pain?”

I nodded.

“Where does it hurt? Should I call an ambulance?” He waved his phone in front of my face. The call with the police must have ended once he realized I was here.

I shook my head as I forced the word “No” from my lips.

How could I explain this to him? I’d already told him about my addiction. This is only a step away from that. In fact, it’s directly connected.

And yet, the words won’t come. I can’t explain it to him. Hopefully, he’ll give me time to find the words. Because above all else, I knew he wouldn’t let this incident go without answers. Weston was a man who controlled everything with precision. In a way, I belonged to him as his employee, which meant the pain I’d sought to avoid would have to be put on display.