Page 34 of Addiction

I’d lived up to the reputation of being a lady's man because it masked what was going on underneath.

I’d fucked women because it had been an escape. I’d fucked women because it had been the easiest option. I’d fucked women to hide the burn in my body of a desire I was finding more difficult to ignore, yet the idea of admitting it brings an all-new level of fear.

I forbid myself from going down that path.

My therapist has told me to look at my mental health as if it were a toxic tree. All problems start at the root and the bigger the tree grows, the wider spread the issues become. I’ve had to look deep inside myself to find that root as it is most likely the answer to all my problems. But the truth is, I haven’t had to look deep at all. The issue is at the surface. It is in every corner of my life, every direction I turn, and every breath that I take.

Day in.

Day out.

I know what it is.

I know who I am.

And if I’d had any doubts, it soon became evident when I found myself in a building full of men. Women work in St Brides but they are far from attractive.

I quickly came to realize who I have been running from for all these years: from the young boy who had often been confused and never felt like he fitted in at school to the man who’d promised to protect his men on the field but never could. I’d convinced myself that what I’d felt over time had just been a phase—that one day these thoughts and attractions would pass. But they never have. If anything, they’ve become stronger, and in many ways more unbearable, because I’ve told myself I can never act on them. But then with one look, and one touch, everything changed for me.

Iraq changed everything for me, yet in many ways, it never changed anything at all.

So, yes. I’ve never had to look deep inside myself because I’ve always known.

I know. But even though I know, I’m terrified to admit it to anyone else, or myself for that matter.

“Hey, man. How are you doing?” Grayson’s voice catches my attention and I follow his line of sight.

Like that damn fucking devil is playing tricks with me, Wade Johnson walks through the door, and my heart picks up speed as my eyes have a mind of their own and scan his body from head to toe like I’m some fucking predator.

He’s in grey sweats and a white tank top that is at least two sizes too big for him. His dark, chocolate hair has strands of caramel weaved through it, falling longer at the front, and is curled up off his face. He’s a fine fucking specimen of a man who seems to have invaded my thoughts far too often since I’ve been home. I don’t think I’ve never seen him out of his work uniform, and if I have, he’s been wearing more clothes than he is wearing now. His biceps burst with muscle, the flash of his torso under his tank is inviting, and the evidence of tattoos instantly have me wanting to know the stories behind them.

The chain around his neck, the rings on his fingers and that gorgeous fucking line of scruff on his jaw all torment my desires and the possibility of wanting more. What I can't get my head around, though, is why being around him feels so familiar yet so confusing. It had been the same at Mom’s the other evening. I’d hardly spoken to or spent any time with him when Pop was alive before heading out to California. So why do I feel this unfamiliar connection with him?

“I’m good,” he says to Grayson, but his tone doesn’t convince me.

“What can I get you?”

“Beer.”

"How's work?"

"Good." His one-worded replies have me questioning who this man is because he's far from the guy full of joy and laughter that everyone makes him out to be.

"How are you liking the clinic?" Grayson asks, giving him his beer.

"It's okay. Just taking a little getting used to."

When he looks my way and the second our eyes meet, it’s as if someone has grabbed hold of my stomach and squeezed it. He smiles and nods with acknowledgement, flashing his dimples.

“Hey, Asher. How’s it going?”

“Good, thanks.”

“He’s business planning,” Grayson adds.

“Ah, Nora mentioned something about a gym. Do you have a location yet?”

“Virginia Beach. A mate of Twilight’s has a warehouse there. It’s a pretty good space.”