Chapter 1
MICHAEL
Autumn, 1988
“Look! Look what I found, Ronnie!” Michael called out; his voice bright with excitement as he waved the small object in the air. His other hand gestured impatiently for Ronnie to hurry up and join him.
Ronnie, seated near the riverbend where the two often spent their afternoons, smiled as he stood and approached. His movements were slow and deliberate, his curiosity piqued by Michael’s obvious eagerness.
Michael held out the pebble; small, pinkish grey, its smooth surface gleaming in the harsh summer sun. “It’s so pretty, right?” he asked, eyes wide with pride, his voice almost breathless with the thrill of finding something special.
Ronnie leaned in, inspecting the rock with a thoughtful gaze. His fingers brushed over its edges, and without a word, he nodded, pocketing the pebble with a swift motion. A wink followed, one of those playful, teasing winks that always made Michael’s heart race. It sent a flutter through his chest, like a butterfly trapped inside.
“Thanks, kid,” Ronnie said casually as he returned to his spot by the river, stretching out under the shade of a sprawling tree. Michael, still feeling the warmth of that wink, couldn’t help but keep his eyes trained on the older boy as he resumed his search for more rocks.
Ronnie lay back, his head resting against the gnarled roots of the tree, his eyes closed and chin tilted upward to catch the rare sun. It had rained nonstop for days, and now, with the sky finally clearing, he seemed content to soak in the heat. Michael watched him, something soft blooming in his chest.
The way Ronnie looked, relaxed and effortless, reminded him of the pebble he’d just handed over; smooth, pretty, and unique. It was the same way he thought of Ronnie: special, unlike anyone else.
Ronnie’s skin was deep and rich, the color of chocolate, the kind Michael could only have when he earned it by finishing his chores or Bible readings on time. The way his skin seemed to absorb the sunlight was something Michael envied, though he didn’t dare say it out loud. And his eyes, those eyes were like the sky after a storm, bright and clear, while his dark, curly hair fell longer than Michael’s, which he secretly adored.
If only his mom would let him grow his hair out the way Ronnie had. But no, every time he asked, she’d shoot him down, saying, “You are not a girl! Only girls have long hair, Michael!”
The injustice of it all made him laugh to himself. Ronnie had long hair, and no one ever thought he was a girl. Michael didn’t dare argue the point with his mom, though; he knew better than that. The last time he’d talked back, she’d had him bent over in no time for a good whooping.
But Ronnie, older than Michael by a few years, was nothing like the other adults. He didn’t treat Michael like a bother or a burden. He made him feel important. Ronnie always made time for their secret trips to the river, their rock hunts, the quiet afternoons when the world seemed far away, and the only thing that mattered was finding the perfect stone to add to Michael’s collection.
There was something about that spot by the river that felt like it belonged only to them. No one else knew about it, at least, no one else who mattered. Michael had promised Ronnie he wouldn’t tell a soul, and he never would. Ronnie had smiled at that promise in a way that made Michael’s stomach flutter, in a way that only seemed to happen when someone really cared. It made him feel like he had a secret worth keeping.
The clouds began to roll in, dark and heavy, signaling the change in weather. Ronnie glanced up at the sky, reading the signs. “Alright, kid. Time to head home.”
Michael felt a wave of reluctance wash over him. He didn’t want to leave, not yet. The thought of going back to the house, with its dull routine and the never-ending list of chores, was almost unbearable. But he knew better than to argue. If they got caught in the rain, it’d only mean trouble for both of them.
He dusted off his knees and stood up, brushing the dirt away before falling into step beside Ronnie.
“We’ll come back tomorrow, I promise,” Ronnie said, his voice warm, a comfort in the fading light.
And then, just like that, Ronnie reached for his hand. The touch sent that familiar fluttering feeling racing through Michael’s stomach. He smiled; the weight of his earlier disappointment lightened by the promise of another adventure. Tomorrow, they would be back by the river again. Just him and Ronnie. Together.
Present
Michael slowly blinked his eyes open, his vision blurred as he adjusted to the dimness of the room. The oppressive darkness seemed to swallow everything, broken only by the pale sliver of moonlight creeping through the window, casting faint shadows on the walls. The contrast was jarring; so different from the eternal sunshine of the dream that was already slipping away, fading faster than he could grasp it.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet finding the cold floor beneath him with a thud. He gripped his head with both hands, as if somehow, if he held onto the throbbing ache, he could prevent the dream from disappearing completely, from fading like so many others before it.
“Bad dream?” came a soft voice from the bed, followed by the gentle press of cold, thin hands at his waist. He felt the warmth of a mouth trailing soft kisses down his back, the touch intimate, yet foreign, as if it belonged to a complete stranger.
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? The one he couldn’t ever seem to answer, no matter how many years had passed or how many therapy sessions he’d endured.
The dreams had come every night for as long as he could remember. Some left him trembling, shaken to the core with emotions he couldn’t comprehend. But it was the ones like tonight, the ones that left him with only the ghost of a feeling, that were the worst. The dreams he couldn’t even recall, but the ones where he could still feel it; the warmth, the love, the sense of being cherished. And then to wake up alone, in the dark, in a bed that felt too big with only the faintest remnants of someone who wasn’t there anymore. It was devastating.
“I’ll drive you home,” he muttered eventually, his voice flat, not wanting to be alone but simultaneously needing her touch to stop. The warmth of her kisses, the excitement that had sparked through him just hours ago, now felt entirely wrong, a dissonant note in the quiet of the room. He needed everything to stop; to breathe, to think, to remember.
“Oh. Okay,” she replied, her voice small, tinged with reluctance. She slid out of the bed, gathering her clothes in jerky, unsteady movements. Michael could feel the tension in the room, the way her actions betrayed her disagreement, even though she’d never voice it aloud. She knew better than to question a Dom. But her silence, her hurried motions, spoke volumes.
He should’ve felt guilty, he did, a little, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He just stayed quiet, moving mechanically as he began getting dressed, joining her in the preparation for the inevitable end of the night.
She probably thought this would last longer than one night. They all did. Michael was considered a catch at the club, a prize to be won, though he never stayed with anyone for more than a month. It didn’t matter, though. They still came for him, like moths drawn to a flame, and he still let them.
But it was all wrong. All of it. No matter how many times he tried to make it work, to find something that made the hollow feeling in his chest go away, nothing ever lasted. The high was always fleeting, and once the rush of pleasure faded, the emptiness was back. Always.
“You look like shit,” Jack’s voice cut through the quiet of Michael’s office as soon as Mike walked in, making him roll his eyes, already used to the jabs.
“I know,” he grumbled, shoving Jack’s legs off his desk with an exaggerated sigh. Jack pouted at the interruption, but Michael didn’t spare him a second glance as he moved toward his chair.
“What do you want? Misha’s not working today,” Michael muttered, settling into the chair on the other side of the desk.
Jack snorted and stuck his tongue out, an expression that made Michael think of a petulant child, though he didn’t say it aloud.
“I know that,” Jack replied with a mischievous grin. “He’s out with Dean and his brother. Apparently, something they’re having a ‘girl’s night out,’ which is complete bullshit since they’re all guys.”
“So, you were bored and decided to pester me,” Michael deadpanned, raising an eyebrow as Jack smirked in response, offering no excuse for his intrusion.
“Yup.”
“Oh, and Ash came by a few minutes ago with a letter for you,” Jack added, his voice laced with an unusual seriousness. “I put it on your desk.”
The mention of the letter made Michael’s heart drop. His face paled almost imperceptibly, but he forced his hands to remain steady as he reached for the already familiar pink envelope resting innocuously in the corner of his desk. The weight of it felt wrong; heavy, suffocating.
Without even bothering to open it, he shoved it into the pocket of his leather jacket. He already knew what it would say; the same tired script, the same hollow words he’d read over and over. It wasn’t worth looking at, not yet.
“Who’s it from?” Jack asked, his tone shifting slightly, a furrow of concern crossing his brow as he watched Michael carefully.
“None of your business,” Michael responded flatly, his voice a wall of indifference.
Jack shrugged, undeterred by the response, though Michael could feel his friend’s gaze lingering on him.
“Okay, mister ’I’m too important,’” Jack teased, standing up with a dramatic sigh. “Since you’re obviously in PMS and I don’t have the slightest desire to deal with that, I’m going to go do literally anything else.”
As Jack reached the door, he paused, turned, and walked back to Michael’s desk with a quick, “Oh, I almost forgot!”
“Here’s that number I promised you.” He handed over a small business card. “The guy’s an old friend from the army. Does private security now. Call him if you still need it.”
Michael took the card, his eyes flicking to the pocket where the letter was hidden for just a moment. Then, his gaze shifted to the card, reading the name scrawled on it, his thoughts momentarily distracted from the letter he would have to face eventually.
Krüger Private Security
Niklas Krüger, Owner
