Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Early on, I’d sensed that Kayden would either stay with us for a couple months, or he’d stay forever. He’d been such an angry young boy, but it hadn’t taken Quin long to dig underneath it to reveal a wounded puppy.
Quin had eventually adopted him, but even then… To this day, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Kayden always had one foot out the door. He was full of contrasts, that one. Desperate to belong, quick to run away.
Quinlan and I wondered if he had a mild form of dyslexia, but Kayden refused to admit it or get answers. There might be more too. We had no idea. We didn’t know if his anger stemmed from an untreated diagnosis or his childhood, where he’d been neglected from a young age.
According to the social worker, Kayden hadn’t been abused in a…traditional sense, and I understood why they’d used that term, but fuck, abuse was abuse in my book. You couldn’t fucking leave a young child on his own for a weekend because you and your drunk hubby had a coupon to an Indian casino.
His case file had been filled with those types of stories, along with bullying, because Kayden had been “too sensitive” and “expressing too much interest in boys his age.”
Under the circumstances, he’d adapted well to a family that gave a fuck, and I wasn’t sure he gave himself enough credit for that. He tended to focus on his issues. When others succeeded in something, he felt like shit for not measuring up.
He’d be the last person to mention that he’d gotten an A in social studies and that he’d taken his high school swim team to Nationals. If Chris dared compliment Kayden on his piano playing, the kid would mumble and walk out of the room.
He’d learned to accept Quin’s affection, and it was certainly reciprocated. Kayden just had his own way of showing it.
He had a good relationship with Yaya too, but she never asked anything of him. She lived next door to Quin, and she let Kayden get away with excuses and deflection. If he became uncomfortable around her, she never pushed. And at the end of a dinner, she went home again.
Then there was me.
I scrubbed a hand over my face.
Was I ready to analyze the ins and outs of our dynamic at this hour?
Did I have a choice? Had I ever been able to stop my brain?
Things had changed for me some four years ago, when I’d found him flipping between kinky porn and Wikipedia’s BDSM page on Quin’s laptop. To say Kayden had been mortified would’ve been the understatement of the century, and I’d done the right thing based purely on the fear of him running away if I just buried the matter. I’d told him it was okay, I’d told him exploring was natural, and I’d admitted—thinking he’d find it easier if he wasn’t alone—that I was involved in kink too.
I’d been forced to view him as an adult ever since.
I’d also forced myself to be there for him whenever he had kink-related questions, which was both a blessing and a curse. But what he’d confessed tonight…? That was something else entirely. I’d had no idea his kinky identity ran so deep.
It screwed with my head.
And no. I couldn’t fucking tackle this in the middle of the night. My thoughts were too jumbled to make heads or tails of anything, and I wasn’t sure I wanted clarity.
Goddammit.
I folded the pillow around my head and tried to shut out the sounds.
The smell of fresh coffee refused to be ignored.
So did Kayden’s sweet giggles.
What was he doing?
I supposed he still had some battery left on his phone. It sounded like he was watching a video—all while clanking around in the kitchen.
Well, he definitely didn’t have service up here, so he must have some media downloaded for offline viewing.
“Ouch,” he whispered. It was followed by a hiss. “Damn butter!”
I smiled sleepily into the pillow, unable to help myself. He was in the splash zone of sizzling butter, no doubt.
Considering the winds hadn’t let up, I guessed we were having breakfast early. There wasn’t much else to do indoors.
I’d woken to the front door slamming shut, so I assumed he’d brought in the cooler from the porch.
“Kayden?” I muttered groggily.
“Yessir?”
Don’t call me sir.
I lifted my head off the pillow as he emerged in the doorway with a cute smile. And barely any fucking clothes. He couldn’t walk around wearing only a pair of briefs like that. And those crystal-blue eyes. And that bed head.
I felt horrible for thinking it, but I needed the scowling punk who refused to help out to reappear. He was much easier to handle.
“Don’t use the steaks in the cooler labeled for the 22nd,” I said. They were for his birthday.
His smile widened, and he spoke before he left again. “I saw them. Interesting date!”