That Crazy Kind of Love

I cared about Harlow, probably more than I should, more than I deserved, and tonight cemented that fact.

There was no way I could walk away from her. No fucking way.

Chapter Fifteen

Aiden

I’d taken Aiden to his place, not worrying about how I’d get home. I already told my parents I was staying with Pixie, which had been the original plan. I could call her and have her pick me up. Maybe I should’ve just had her follow us, but my main concern was getting Aiden home safely and helping him wash off the blood that covered him.

I pulled to a stop in front of his home, cut the engine, and looked out the front windshield. His home was small, the yard mowed but with several areas where you could see the grass had died off. Outside of the property line, the grass was tall, the weeds trying to creep into the yard. The paint on the house was chipped, and I could see the living room window had a large crack that was haphazardly fixed with what appeared to be duct tape.

I glanced at Aiden and saw he was watching me, his focus seeming clear in this moment.

“Ready to run away yet?”

I couldn’t help myself from reaching out and placing my hand over his. “Not on your life,” I whispered. “A fight, a little blood, and certainly not a house or money make a person who they are.” I stared into his eyes. “I see who you are, Aiden, who you really are.” I felt like it was the perfect time to kiss, to seal those words together between us. But instead, I pulled back, knowing he was tired, his knuckles probably sore, the blood on him needing cleaned off. Not to mention, he was probably drunk, or close to it.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside.” I climbed out and walked around the front of the car, but he was already out and shutting the passenger side door by the time I reached him. “Is your mom up?” He shook his head then rolled it around his neck, his eyes closed and the exhaustion clear on his face. I looked down at his hands, saw how bloody and bruised his knuckles were, and although maybe I should have felt disgusted at the sight, all I noticed was what he’d done to protect me.

“The medication she’s on makes her tired. She’ll be out cold until the morning,” he said low and deep, and we started walking toward the front door. He reached out and took my hand, and I slipped my fingers between his. “You didn’t have to walk me to the door. I should have been doing that for you, taking you to your place and making sure you got home okay.”

I shook my head and stepped aside so he could open the front door. “I want to make sure you’re cleaned up and got home okay. I’ll have Pixie pick me up after. No problem.”

Once inside, I noticed the scent of lemon and disinfectant filling my nose. I assumed the house was kept pretty clean and sanitized due to his mother’s condition, and that was made clear when I looked around. Nothing was out of place, no dishes, no trash lying around. Although the house itself was pretty outdated, it was immaculately cleaned.

“Where’s your room?” I whispered, not wanting to wake his mother up, even though he said she’d be out until morning.

“This way.” He led us down the hallway, and we found ourselves in his room.

He sat on the edge of the bed, and I left this room to go to the bathroom I’d seen as we passed it on the way. I turned the light on, and the florescent bulb flickered before it turned on, and the room was washed in a muted yellow glow. I found a washcloth under the sink and ran the tap over it, soaking it in cold water before turning off the water and light, and headed back to his room. He was lying flat on his bed now, his arm thrown over his eyes, his legs hanging over the edge of his bed and his feet touching the floor.

“I rarely drink anymore, and I think those three shots were a bad idea,” he muttered, clearly sensing me come in.

I shut the door and walked over to him. “You’ll feel better in the morning.” I doubted that, but I lied to make him feel better. He dropped his arm to the mattress, and I started cleaning off Braxton’s blood, the droplets splattered along Aiden’s chest and neck mainly, but a few had made their way to his cheeks. He watched me the whole time, his gaze seeming sleepy.

“Your shirt is ruined,” I said softly, the white material dirty from the fight. Before I knew what he was doing, Aiden sat up and reached behind him, pulling the material of his shirt up and over his head and tossing it aside. He immediately flopped back down, but I couldn’t help but stare at his chest, at the way his muscles contracted, and the sight of his six-pack, of all that raw, masculine power. His chest was clean since the shirt got all the blood, but I wiped off his neck and a couple spots on his arms. My hand was shaking as I did this, as I felt him watch me… as I wanted to do more than just sit here.