Bad Habits: A MM Taboo Story(Book 2) by Natalie Knight

Author:Natalie Knight [Knight, Natalie]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter 13

Weston

The sun was a traitor. Its light snuck past the blinds, a glaring reminder I’d overslept. 9:00 a.m. already. I should’ve been up hours ago, suited and scowling, ready to rip someone’s marriage to shreds. Instead, Kent’s voice echoed in my head. He told me to take the day off and visit Dad. I didn’t want to, but I knew the bastard would haunt me in my sleep if he keeled over and I never saw him. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the weight of the Ashbourne legacy pushing down on me like a lead blanket. Dad was in the hospital. The great Arthur Ashbourne, laid out and hooked to machines. A sick part of me wanted to see him vulnerable, to witness the iron man rusting.

He taught us to be strong. To suffocate anything resembling weakness until it was nothing but a whisper at the back of our minds. Emotions were for those who couldn’t handle power. And we, the Ashbournes, wielded it like a goddamn birthright.

“Never let them see you bleed,” he’d say. So I didn’t. For forty-two years, I kept the wounds hidden, bound tight beneath bespoke suits and an Ivy League veneer. Having feelings was never in the cards. It’s why we’re all fucked-up now. Broken toys in a gilded cage.

Kent’s words nagged at me. The thought of facing the old man stirred something dark inside. But perhaps it was time to look the devil in the eye, acknowledge the cracks in our armor. Dad was down, and I… I had to see what that looked like.

The empty half of the bed sneered at me, its sheets untouched and chilly. I groaned; it felt like a cruel joke, a spot too neat for my chaotic existence. In the shower, steam fogged the mirror while I scrubbed away my lingering unease. But no amount of water could cleanse the mark of family connections.

I dressed in jeans and a snug, white T-shirt, the fabric hugging my frame. A departure from the typical Ashbourne attire. No fancy silk ties suffocating honesty. Just cotton and denim—a mask of normality. It seemed like a betrayal, yet strangely freeing.

I filled my thermos with black coffee, no frills. The first sip burned, snapping me to attention. Cynthia’s vanishing act lingered in my mind. No note, no text. She usually left traces. But today, all I got was silence. I grabbed a piece of fruit, its weight comfortable in my hand, and let the thought of her whereabouts disappear as I took a bite out of the apple and grabbed my keys. As I headed toward the door, the opposite hallway drew my attention, the quiet reminder of fucked-up memories I tried to push to the depths of my soul.

But they always resurfaced like a stain. Just like the memories of the club a few nights ago, the thrill of defiance was still fresh in my mind. Darius, that irresistible presence, exploring every part of who I really was.

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