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Ryker nodded and turned to Aspen, who stayed frozen just inside the room.
“It’s okay, they won’t bother us here.”
With a jerky nod, the boy slowly drew off his sunglasses and Ryker got his first glimpse of the damage left by someone’s fists.
“Do you own all these books?”
The question was odd, considering the books were in his home, but he heard the tremble in Aspen’s voice.
Nodding with a smile, Ryker waved a hand around.
“Help yourself. If you see any you want to read, you’re more than welcome to take it with you.”
“Ah, that’s the reason I’m here,” Cohen said. “Aspen needs a place to lay low where there’s constant protection and right now, you have a house filled with bodyguards.”
“I do.” Ryker grinned. “I’ll have a room prepared.”
“What about yourman?” Cohen walked over to drop gracefully down onto the rich brown leather couch that faced a giant picture window overlooking the grounds.
“He’s not my man,” he snapped and followed to the sitting area to sprawl into a matching leather chair that sat across from the couch.
Aspen moved to the bookshelves that stretched the room and reached the ceiling. The boy ran his fingers over the spines of the books.
“And I’ll handle Marshal.”
Cohen laughed. “I cannot believe you haven’t tapped that.”
“Shut up,” he grimaced, hooking one leg over the armrest. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me.” He studied the delicate silver bracelet around his wrist. A lump grew in his throat.
He couldn’t fathom why Marshal was blowing hot and cold and why he was refusing to even contemplate giving them a shot. The sparks between them had been undeniable.
Perhaps the reaction in that kiss had been all in his head and Marshal felt nothing beyond friendship.
Hell, now they were more like acquaintances if he were being honest. They’d gone from being close to something…painful.
“I’m sorry.” Cohen pressed a hand to his arm. His friend knew of his unrequited feelings for Marshal.
“How old is he?” Ryker changed the subject by jerking his head towards Aspen.
“Sixteen in two weeks.”
Ryker blinked, staring at his friend.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Cohen said, running his fingers through his dark curly hair, thrusting the teal streak along the front into disarray. The streak’s color changed with Cohen’s mood.
“That he’s a minor and you’re breaking the law?”
“I’ve contacted my lawyer. He’s taking steps to get Aspen emancipated from his parents.”
“Did both parents do that?” Ryker shot Aspen a quick glance, but the boy was at the end of the large room with an open book in his hands.
“I don’t know.” Cohen glanced away. “He showed up at the center scared to death.”
“So, his parents could be innocent,” Ryker murmured, thinking quickly. “Leave him here, I’ll see if I can get him to talk.”
“I was thinking—”
A knock interrupted Cohen and a moment later, Marshal stepped into the room, removed his cowboy hat, and closed the door. Walking over to the sitting area, the bodyguard settled his large frame into the other comfy leather chair and his hat on one muscled thigh.
