The Wall of Winnipeg and Me

How messed up was that? I couldn’t even bother feeling that guilty about it, especially not when we’d gone to a good family with strict but caring adults. Not like what I’d had before. “I don’t like being scared. I wish I wasn’t, and I’ve tried not to be,” I blabbered on mindlessly, feeling defensive all of a sudden.

He reared back, and I could tell he was looking at me with an uncertain expression. “It was only a question. Everyone is scared of something.”

“Even you?” I made myself meet his eyes, easily batting away the defensiveness I’d felt a moment ago and clinging onto the subject change.

“Everyone but me,” came his smooth, effortless response.

That had me groaning. The bright beam of light between us was throwing shadows over parts of his face. “No. You said it. Everyone’s been scared of something. What about when you were a little kid?”

The silence went thoughtful just as thunder made the windows rattle. I subconsciously touched him right between the pecs with my fingertips.

“Clowns.”

Clowns? “Really?” I tried to imagine a tiny Aiden crying over men and women with overly painted faces and red noses, but I couldn’t.

The big guy was still facing me. His expression clear and even, as he dipped his chin. “Eh.”

God help me, he’d gone Canadian on me. I had to will my face not to react at the fact he’d gone with the one word he usually used only when he was super relaxed around other people. “I thought they were going to eat me.”

Now imagining that had me cracking a little smile. I slid my palm under my cheek. “How old were you? Nineteen?”

Those big chocolate-colored eyes blinked, slow, slow, slow. His dark pink lips parted just slightly. “Are you making fun of me?” he drawled.

“Yes.” The fractures of my grin cracked into bigger pieces.

“Because I was scared of clowns?” It was like he couldn’t understand why that was amusing.

But it was. “I just can’t imagine you scared of anything, much less clowns. Come on. Even I’ve never been scared of clowns.”

“I was four.”

I couldn’t help but snicker. “Four… fourteen, same difference.”

Based on the mule-ish expression on his face, he wasn’t amused. “This is the last time that I come over to save you from the boogeyman.”

Shocked out of my mind for a split second, I tried to pretend like I wasn’t, but… I was. He was joking with me. Aiden was in bed joking around. With me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I was just messing with you.” I scooted one more millimeter closer to him, drawing my knees up so that they hit his thighs. “Please don’t leave yet.”

“I won’t,” he said, settling on his pillow with his hands under his cheek, his eyes already drifting to a close.

I didn’t need to ask him to promise not to leave me; I knew he wouldn’t if he said so. That was just the kind of man he was.

“Aiden?” I whispered.

“Hmm?” he murmured.

“Thank you for coming in here with me.”

“Uh-huh.” That big body adjusted itself just slightly before he let out a long, deep exhale.

Without turning around, I laid the flashlight down behind me and aimed the beam toward the wall. He didn’t ask if I was really going to leave the flashlight on all night—or at least however long the battery lasted—instead, I just smiled at him as I took my glasses off and set them on the unused nightstand behind me. Then I tucked my hands under my cheek and watched him.

“Good night. Thank you again for staying with me.”

Peeking one eye open, just a narrow slit, he hummed. “Shh.”

That ‘shh’ was about as close to a ‘you’re welcome’ as I was going to get.

I closed my eyes with a little grin on my face.

Maybe five seconds later, Aiden’s spoke up. “Vanessa?”

“Hmm?”

“Why was I saved on your work phone as Miranda P.?”

That had my eyes snapping open. I hadn’t deleted that entry off the contacts when I quit, had I? “It’s a long, boring story, and you should go to sleep. Okay?”

The “uh-huh” out of him sounded as disbelieving as it should have. He knew I was full of shit, but somehow, knowing he knew, wasn’t enough to keep me from falling asleep soon after.

And when I woke up when it was still dark outside, rain pattering the windows, it took me a moment to realize where I was: on my bed, and I was doing my best to imitate a blanket.

Aiden’s personal human blanket.

One of my legs was thrown over his thigh, a forearm was flopped across his bellybutton, and the top of my head was literally nestled onto his bicep. My freaking mouth was an inch from his nipple.

What in the hell was I doing?

Moving my head slightly back, I found Aiden on his back with his palm acting as his pillow—where his pillow was, I had no idea—and his other arm, the one who’s biceps I was using as a pillow, was wrapped around my neck.

Pulling my leg and arm back so that I wasn’t acting like a massive octopus, I slowly rolled over, keeping my head where it was. I tried to imagine what Aiden would have thought if he’d woken up and found me in that position, and I didn’t want to know.

What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“I woke up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water,” Zac said over a bowl of oatmeal and bananas.