The Ahern Brothers Collection - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,4
a room that’s bigger than some apartments.
What do they want in exchange?
My stomach tightens as fear ripples through me.
“In case you need anything.” He walks toward the main door and points to my left. “On the other side of the stairs is my parents’ suite. Right across from your room is the green guestroom. The door after it is Sterling’s room—my younger brother.”
I frown at the mention of a brother. This guy seems nice, but what about the other people who live here?
“You don’t have to worry about him,” he says, as if responding to my question. “He’s in college. My room is the one at the end. I’m living here just until I find a place. Soon enough it’ll be just you and my parents.”
I hug myself, hoping that his parents are as nice as they sound.
Weston continues the tour by showing me the bathroom. I follow behind him, staring at the posh carpet and wanting to take off my sandals to feel the softness under my feet. But before that, I want to take a long shower. Wash away the memories. The pain. Or at least try to, although I know that they’re seared into me like a second skin.
“It’s hard to get used to a new house and new people,” he says using a low soothing voice. “I understand what you’re going through.”
He draws in a long breath.
You have no idea what happened to me, rich guy, I can’t help but huff.
“I too have a story,” Weston says softly, his handsome face sags. “A story that I don’t particularly enjoy talking about. I came here when I was five. Filthy, malnourished, and needing a haven.”
My ears perk. My gaze finds his. Those blue eyes contain a hint of the pain and sadness that I’m all too familiar with. My heart begins to ache for that poor five-year-old. I want to take his hand, reassure him that he’ll be fine, even if I don’t believe it myself. But I don’t break my silence.
A silence as thick as the mood oozes between us. Something about his expression urges me to speak. I lower my gaze, biting the inside of my cheek.
“You’ll be safe with my parents,” he reassures me. “They are the best.”
He moves into the bathroom, and I follow behind. Weston explains how the shower works. I can adjust the temperature on the panel next to the glass door. There are multiple showerheads mounted on the wall, and I can choose if I want them all or just one. All kinds of toiletries cover the top shelf. There are loofas, and under the sink are stacked clean towels. This bathroom is spotless, spacious, and has a big window covered by the same beautiful white shutters as the bedroom.
“This is your sanctuary,” he continues. “No one will come in unless you invite them. In here, you’re safe. We’re here to listen if you need us or to just to be around for support.”
There’s something in his gaze I recognize. It’s more than the sadness and the pain. It’s the look of someone who’s lived through hell and is still here to tell their story.
“We have a lot in common,” he says, shoving his hands inside his pockets and looking down at the floor. “I’ll help you, the same way my parents helped me.”
This guy is delusional. He might have suffered the same fate, and on that level, we’re equals. But, for the sake of that five-year-old, I hope not. We’re not the same though. He’s a survivor, I’m a casualty. Yet, his strong personality calls to me. What if I hold onto him while I weather the storm? What if he were my lifeguard? Then I wouldn’t drown.
I’ll hold onto his promise, at least for today, in hopes that I can make it through this alive.
Chapter Two
Wes
Family reunions aren’t my cup of tea. Mom loves them along with parties. She finds any and every excuse to organize one at least twice a month. Abby’s graduation is no exception. She sent invitations to our family and her closest friends. She also demanded my brother’s presence. Sterling, who has only met Abby twice, refused to come until Dad threatened him.
I’m still not sure what it was this time, but it’s obvious that Dad and Sterling’s relationship keeps breaking apart. After two years away from home, he’s changed a lot. His light brown hair is longer, and he sports at least three new tattoos that I can count. He’s becoming everything my