Chapter Three

Holden

Holden deleted the sentence with angry clicks of his mouse and sat there staring at the screen. The two words at the header of the document said Chapter One. Nothing more, nothing less. The sum total of his work since he’d arrived in Clear Water Creek. He’d been at his desk three hours already today and so far, all he’d done was surf random crap on the internet, think about watching porn, and delete everything from his new novel over and over again. Truth be told, he hadn’t written a new word in months, not since Leo had taken everything and left him with nothing.

With a heavy sigh he pushed his wheeled chair back and stood, stretching out his spine and rotating his head. Sitting for so long made him ache, gave him a sore ass. It was the only time his ass was sore these days; more was the pity. His thoughts strayed to Leo. Bastard. Fucking unmitigated bastard. Why hadn’t he seen through him? He’d thought the sun shone out of Leo’s ass when actually, Leo had Holden exactly where he wanted him as he slowly closed the trap. He’d spent a year courting him, opening him up, prying him undone until he knew everything about every area of Holden’s life—not just what made him tick, but his finances, his work, his home, his family. He’d waited until Holden trusted him with his life, then he’d sealed him inside a misery of his own making and left with everything.

Holden stalked across the landing to stand at the window, jaw clenched. Why couldn’t he stop his mind from going there over and over again, probing the wound, picking at the scab to see if it would bleed? All he had left was the money tied up in this dilapidated house and his car outside. Royalties trickled in from his previous books and gave him just enough to pay the bills and eat. He needed a bestseller and he didn’t know where he was going to find that. His previous books had all sold well, enabling him to build up his bank balance. He hadn’t been a spendthrift when he’d hit the big time. He’d squirrelled it all away—and become a sitting target for the first con artist to come his way. Leo had seduced him, younger than him by fifteen years. Holden had been flattered of course, being the wrong side of forty and feeling his age. He had felt invincible with Leo by his side and even better that Leo was a whiz with numbers and happy to be his agent for free rather than him giving away ten percent to that annoying woman who’d once represented him. But that annoying woman hadn’t been a crook. She wouldn’t have fleeced Holden.

There was no money now of course to continue the expensive counselling sessions for his addiction. He’d been deep into it when he’d met Leo. Leo had helped him, professed to understand it, even tolerated Holden’s many failures and stumbles along the way—the lying, the infidelity. Another man wouldn’t. He groaned. Seeing as Leo had never loved him anyway, he’d found it easy enough to lie. Easy to take Holden’s behavior on board and act like the long-suffering and ever-forgiving partner. And Holden had believed it all. He had been grateful for what he could get. Someone to understand and not judge. In fact, Leo was merely enabling him.

He remembered one night with Leo, deep into their relationship, sometime after Leo had found out the truth. Holden had come home with the stink of another man on him and confessed it straight away to Leo. Leo had acted so hurt, so patient, such a Goddamn martyr to Holden’s addiction. Holden had been taken aback to find himself stripped naked and under Leo. He hadn’t expected Leo to ever want to touch him again. Instead, Leo had thrust into him, whispering filthy words, demanding that Holden tell Leo just what the faceless man had done to him. Leo seemed to get off on Holden’s stuttered confession of being fucked down a dark alleyway bareback by a stranger who’d spat on his cock to lube himself up. He’d told Holden his ass was still wet with the stranger’s cum and he’d moaned in excitement at the fact. It should have spelled alarm bells for Holden. Instead he was just relieved that Leo wasn’t ending their relationship. Far from it. When Holden fell again and again, his punishment was Leo making him describe every detail while he fucked him. In the morning, he acted the wounded partner rather than the man getting off on Holden’s infidelity. Holden knew the truth though. Leo enjoyed Holden going with other men even though he told him sternly that it must never happen again. One of his many lies. The unhealthiest of relationships.

Holden looked out of the window, his gaze landing on the annex below. He noticed his tenant’s curtains were open for the first time in two days. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Tyler since he’d brought him home from the diner and had found his mind going back to the veteran over and over again, jostling with his usual anguished memories. He’d wondered if Tyler was dead, maybe from sepsis, but he hadn’t gone over there to see, not after how Tyler had yelled at him that afternoon. Leave me the fuck alone, I’m not dead yet! He felt guilty, but he had his own problems. He couldn’t even look after himself, never mind the stranger across the yard. Still, the curtains were open, so the guy wasn’t dead. Holden guessed that was a good thing. He remembered Tyler lying face down on the bed with his prosthesis discarded, that stump with the skin red and raw around the edges of it, where the bones had been sawn through and the shin and foot removed, tossed into clinical waste like they were unimportant. Holden swallowed. There was always someone worse off than you, and that man was Tyler. Holden had lost everything, but not a limb. Tyler looked like he’d lost everything, including a limb. Holden looked down into the bedroom of the annex. From his vantage point, he could see Tyler sitting on the bed, his back turned. He sat motionless for so long, Holden began to wonder what he was doing. Reading? But his head wasn’t bowed and he couldn’t see him holding up a book or tablet. Meditating? The guy was ex-military so he was a meathead, yes? Those guys didn’t meditate. Holden felt ashamed. He knew nothing about Tyler and yet he had the nerve to presume the guy had nothing between his ears. Why? People who fought for their country weren’t stupid, why did he think they were? He reddened at his thoughts as though Tyler would somehow read them through the bricks and glass that separated them. Then he saw Tyler toss something onto the bed—a large red book of some kind, perhaps a photo album—and grab the crutches propped beside him. He disappeared from view and Holden saw him reappear behind the frosted glass of the front door a moment before he opened it. He paused on the step, giving Holden ample time to observe him unseen.

He noticed first that the guy wasn’t wearing his prosthesis. Tyler wore three quarter length cargo pants. The tip of the left dangled in the air and he leaned heavily on his crutches. Holden felt a hot flash of guilt as he remembered that day coming back from the diner. He could only presume it was still too painful to wear. But his gaze travelled back up Tyler’s body and his glance turned to a stare. Was he blind? Had the lack of a leg overshadowed everything so completely that Holden had honestly not noticed how fucking built Tyler was? From the broad shoulders to the massive tattooed biceps exposed in the sleeveless T-shirt, his chest was big too, hips narrow, thighs strong, straining the camo pants. Straining them between his legs too. Holden noticed that as well. How could he not?

He licked his lips as he dragged his gaze from crotch to face. Yeah, the guy was beautiful. He’d seen that and recognized it on some subconscious level, but his mind hadn’t let him acknowledge it until now, maybe because something about it was wrong when Tyler had been in such distress. And now? You’re allowed to acknowledge it now? You’re twenty years older than him, you fucking pervert! A flush of shame enveloped his face. He felt like the washed-up middle-aged man he was. Before he could step back, Tyler looked up and their gazes met.

The guy was all chiseled jaw with just a hint of stubble, and stormy grey eyes. His hair was dark, shaved at the back and sides, slicked back with military precision on top, the parting razor cut in, not a hair out of place.

Tyler broke the eye contact. He hopped away on his crutches. Holden swallowed. He turned away from the window and descended the stairs with purpose, pushing his feet into his shoes at the door. He paused with his hand on the handle.

What are you doing? Think about this a moment.

I am. I want to talk to him. I want to say sorry.

No, you don’t. You want to try it on. You’ve realized he’s hot and your addiction is taking control.

Like he’d ever look twice at me, I’m nearly fifty! Old enough to be his dad!

That was a sobering thought and almost enough to make him turn back. But he went out anyway. He absolutely wasn’t going out into the yard to proposition Tyler. The idea was ludicrous.

Between the main house and the annex at the furthest point of the yard stood an area of decking with a sorry-looking table and chairs. Steps led down to a lawn and flower beds spilling over with roses and sunflowers. Tyler was seated on one of the chairs, looking out over the garden. The day was hot, the air loud with birdsong. Birdsong was the only sound. Clear Water Creek was a peaceful place. For the first time, Holden was glad to be here. But he wasn’t alone. He had a tenant. A tenant he needed to get rid of, but wasn’t sure he could. Tyler would tell the press. They would descend on Holden and open up his wounds once again.

Tyler heard him coming. He glanced over his shoulder, his body tensing, then looked away. Holden went to stand in front of him. “Look, about yesterday.”

Yeah? Make this good.

“We got off to a bad start.”

Tyler looked up at him. The sun made his grey eyes glitter with hints of sapphire. His pupils were constricted. His face was cold. “Did we?” he asked.

Holden’s gaze strayed from his stunning face to the loose end of his pants where his left leg should have been. The stump was covered by the material and he was grateful he didn’t have to look at it. He felt immediately guilty. The guy’s stunning, two legs or not! What’s your fucking problem?

“Yeah. I came in all guns blazing when I shouldn’t have. I didn’t realize your situation.”

Tyler raised a brow. The stony expression on his face hadn’t changed. “My situation? You mean my lack of a leg?” His face grew ever more closed and hostile. He spoke between his teeth. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“That’s not it.”

“Isn’t it?” Tyler grasped his crutches and lurched up. Holden stepped back. Too far, he realized as he overbalanced on the top step and fell backward, twisting his ankle and landing in a heap on the lawn.

Tyler looked down at him in bemusement. He leaned on his crutches on the top step and held his hand out. Holden grasped it. He made sure not to put all his weight on Tyler as he climbed to his feet, then scorned himself. The guy could probably press more than Holden’s body weight, one leg or not. Tyler’s hand was warm and strong. He pulled Holden easily to his feet. Their hands remained joined as Holden made it back to the top of the steps.

“Glad you did that and not me,” Tyler said, letting go. “Would have had you feeling real sorry for me.”

Holden’s face grew hot. His cock was thickening in his shorts. It didn’t take much for the addiction to rear its head. A casual touch was more than enough. “I don’t feel sorry for you. I just don’t want to throw you out, okay?”

They stood face to face, looking at each other. Tyler was a good five inches taller and intimidated him.

“What are you even doing here?” Holden didn’t know why the words spilled from his mouth.

Tyler looked away. “I could ask you the same question.”

Holden laughed without mirth. “You already know my business, right? I’m hiding out.”

“I guess I do,” Tyler said. “And I guess I’m doing the same.”

“Hmm. We should stick together then.” He hadn’t meant to say that. Tyler darted him a look of astonishment. Holden smiled. He was pleased he hadn’t come on to Tyler. Maybe he could interact with him after all without his addiction calling the shots. His cock was still half-hard though. It recognized a handsome man when it saw one.

Tyler dipped his head. He seemed about to say something, but in the end nothing came out. He turned, hobbling away on his crutches.

Holden’s cock was fully hard when he got back inside. He stood at the kitchen sink looking into the annex. Tyler was sitting on the bed again with his back turned. He was holding that red covered album once more. Holden berated himself. What a fucking dirty old man you are. Wouldn’t he be horrified to know he was the object of your affection? Is he even gay? He took some deep breaths, clenching the sink. His rampant libido had taken a nose dive since Leo had left. He hadn’t even thought of sex in weeks, when once it had consumed him above all else. Now he wanted to jerk off and he was disgusted with himself. That merely made his cock harder, because it liked the forbidden and was in charge, more often than not.

He stared down at Tyler. It had to be a photo album, right? Old photos, because who had hard copies of photos anymore? Holden wished he could see the pages. He wished he could talk to and interact with Tyler without his desire getting the better of him. He’d come here to escape the world though, so why did he want to seek out Tyler’s company? He didn’t know. Maybe it was guilt. Guilt at trying to throw him out of his home and guilt at being repulsed by his stump. He’d sunk right down into this hole of self-loathing and he really didn’t think he could get any further down, but to his astonishment, there seemed to be room for more self-hatred. Just great. He should avoid Tyler like the plague. That would be the sensible solution.

Meanwhile, his cock was beyond hard, begging him for just a little touch, no matter how he loathed himself. He ground his teeth, gripping his dick through his pants. Let’s find some porn then. A hot guy who’s not Tyler. A couple of minutes of stroking to send me into oblivion. And make me feel even worse after. I’m supposed to be stopping the porn. It was one of the boundaries I set.

He bounded up the stairs to his office. The laptop had gone into sleep mode. He moved the mouse to wake it up and entered his password. Going to his bookmarks, he chose one of his favorite sites and browsed the video thumbnails, looking for something to catch his interest. Previously he’d jerked off over anything and everything, as undiscerning as it was possible to get. Hell, he’d even jerked off over men with women, because that was hot too, even if he didn’t want to sleep with women. He had though, when they’d offered, because he was an addict and sex was sex. While he moved the mouse, he unfastened his pants with his other hand and took his erection free.

What was that?His mouse hand stopped moving. There. Two guys both in army gear, up against a wall and entwined, lip-locked. Holden’s heart started to beat hard. He clicked play.

One guy was white, the other black, both late twenties, both attractive. The white guy was dark-haired and well built. He looked like Tyler. The black guy looked like Idris Elba. They kissed passionately, all tongues and gasps, hands stripping each other.

Oh God, it was hot. Holden gripped his dick and slid his hard flesh through his palm. The white guy dropped to his knees, pulling the black guy’s cock free and going down on him. Holden groaned as the man bobbed up and down, taking the guy’s dick right to the root. He imagined the black guy as himself, against a wall while Tyler sucked him down.

That wouldn’t happen. It would be too painful for Tyler to kneel at the moment, minus prosthesis. The thought dragged him from his fantasy. He carried on watching, but his thoughts drifted, to Tyler and what he’d be like in bed. Would he take the leg off? Would Holden close his eyes so he couldn’t see the stump?

A knock came at the door. Oh holy fuck.

Holden slammed the laptop lid shut and fumbled his cock away. Shit, shit, shit. He hurried from the office and ran down the stairs. Checking the peephole, he confirmed his visitor was indeed Tyler.

Shit. He smoothed his hair down, checked his zip was done up. Was he flushed? Did he look guilty? Almost certainly. Fuck.

He swung open the door.

“Hi,” Tyler said. He looked awkward and his face was flushed too. Something about him tugged at more than Holden’s dick. “So, I know the place is in need of repairs. I could do some work for you. I’m good with my hands.”

I bet you are, Holden didn’t say. He bit his tongue and tried not to let Tyler’s grey eyes take him back to erection. What the fuck was Tyler doing? He took a breath. “I need quiet to write,” he said, trying to avoid any further contact with this man.

“I can be quiet,” Tyler said. “You can work in another room. Or at my place.” He gestured over his shoulder. He was right about the place needing fixing up, but Holden wasn’t sure he had the money.

He hesitated. Most of all, he didn’t want Tyler in his personal space, where Holden couldn’t control himself, because he couldn’t control himself around any man. Not ever. And now he guessed Tyler was offering his time and skill in exchange for not paying the rent, never mind not throwing him out. Holden didn’t know if that was okay, but he felt sorry for Tyler. He didn’t want to be that bastard he’d been the day they met.

“Why don’t you come have a look around if you think you’re up to it?” He amazed himself. Tyler smiled. He hopped inside on the crutches and closed the door behind him. “Leg still giving you trouble?” Holden indicated that loose flap of material on his pant leg and wondered when Tyler was going to start wearing the prosthesis again.

“Yeah.”

“Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No.”

Holden said nothing. The subject was apparently closed. He wondered if Tyler was in the VA system and had somewhere to go for treatment when he needed it. He guessed whatever compensation he got barely covered his living expenses.

Tyler looked around the hallway, with its peeling paint and high ceiling. To the left was the living room. Straight on was the kitchen. All of it was barely furnished and monastic but Holden suspected Tyler was used to that. He glanced towards the stairs at the same time Tyler did. He guessed Tyler wouldn’t be tackling the stairs at the present time and had no wish to see the guy sliding up the steps on his ass.

He led the way into the living room. Tyler looked around his bare surroundings.

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make coffee.” Holden didn’t give Tyler the chance to reply, but fled to the kitchen. Once there, he leaned against the counter breathing heavily. Don’t proposition him. Don’t beg him for sex. Don’t drop to your knees and say you’ll do anything.

For Holden, sex addiction went hand in hand with degradation and humiliation. He had done almost everything in the name of addiction. He couldn’t remember a normal relationship. Certainly that hadn’t come with Leo. His addiction sent him to nightclubs and online hook-ups. He’d begged men who weren’t into him to let him suck their cock. He’d paid for it, he’d hung around in public toilets and used glory holes. He’d been spit roasted by two guys up a dark alley. At his lowest, he’d hooked up with twins on line. He’d gone to their apartment and two men turned into four. All four men had used him under the influence of cocaine and alcohol. He’d gloried in it, begged for more. He’d passed out, woken up sore, and found out they’d ridden him bareback. He’d slunk home and despite his horror, he’d jerked off over the memory for months, because that was the way it went. The more terrible it was, the more he needed to relive it and get off.

He clenched his fist, looked towards the living room in fear. Please don’t let me, God, please don’t. He deserves better than me any day of the week.

He poured coffee into two mugs with a shaking hand and took a deep breath before he went back to the living room. Tyler was sitting bolt upright on the uncomfy couch looking as uneasy as Holden felt. He handed over the mug and Tyler thanked him. Holden took the sagging armchair opposite. He crossed his ankle over his opposite knee and sipped his coffee. Silence reigned.

“So, there’s plenty needs doing,” Tyler said, looking around. “Painting, electrics…”

“You can do electrics?” Holden interrupted him.

Tyler gave him a withering look. “I was in the army. I can manage some wiring.”

Holden reddened. He took a long look at Tyler, wondering just what he had suffered. Everything Holden had suffered was down to his addiction and his own fault. This man had suffered through what he had signed up for. He bit his lip before he said, “Was it awful? In Afghanistan?”

Tyler flinched. He looked as though he couldn’t believe Holden had dared mention it.

“Sorry,” Holden said quickly.

Tyler clutched his mug in both hands. He looked down into the coffee and Holden gazed at the long sweep of his lashes against his cheeks. After the longest silence, he said, “It wasn’t too much fun.”

“I’m sorry,” Holden said again and he meant it. He had a lump in his throat at the expression of torture on Tyler’s face. “Do you…do you have counselling?”

“That’s all bullshit,” Tyler said with a glare.

“Yeah,” Holden agreed before he could stop himself. Counselling hadn’t done much for his need to pursue men for cheap, fast sex.

Tyler met his gaze for a long while. He seemed to see deep inside Holden and he squirmed under his direct stare. He knows. But how could he?

Tyler put his mug down on the table near the couch. He grabbed his crutches. “I should go.” He stood and hopped forward. Holden let him go first and followed him to the front door. He didn’t know if he was relieved or not that Tyler was going. After wanting him to stay away, he’d kind of enjoyed his presence in the empty house. Tyler stopped to open the front door. He negotiated his way outside and turned to look back at Holden. Once more their gazes held.

“Look,” Holden said, and his words dried up. He couldn’t say sorry once again. He couldn’t let Tyler know how sorry he felt for him. Pity didn’t help anyone and Tyler was obviously proud and strong. Or at least, he had been when he was US military. He had joined the army for a reason. He had the strength of character, leadership skills and discipline needed. He had fought for his country and his country had rewarded him with the loss of a limb and an annex outside Holden’s crumbling home in a backwater people came to hide in. He had no money, no job, and his prosthesis hurt too much to wear. What exactly could Holden say that could ever make Tyler feel better? He wore his psychological wounds like a cloak. Holden could never compare his own life to Tyler’s and could never understand the depth of his torment. “If you need to talk…”

Oh God, is that the best you got?He shriveled up inside at Tyler’s frank stare.

“I’ll bear it in mind.” The veteran turned and hopped away.