Rule Breaker (Mixed Messages, #1)

by Lily Morton

it’s not serious and it won’t ever be. He’s not the type for relationships.” She looks at me steadily, and a little sadly. “He might not be, but you are, Dyl. You’re a nester by nature and a born nurturer. You’re my little Florence Nightingale.” “Oh God, please don’t call me that, and especially not ever in front of Gabe.”

“Don’t say that you’re my boss.” He shudders wildly at my breath in his ear and looks at me quizzically, so I nod emphatically. “Mum has some really seventies ideas about bosses exploiting the proletariat.”

they redecorated when I left home and took down all my posters of Brad Pitt.” He pouts mockingly. “Oh dear, what a tragedy.” I nod. “I know. They were from ‘Troy’ when he had long hair, but I really feel that his seminal work was ‘Fight Club’.” He smiles. “I’m noting your use of the word seminal.” I laugh. “You were meant to.”

“I actually like hearing about people’s childhoods. It’s nice to listen to, a bit like overhearing a really lovely secret.” He instantly looks both embarrassed and aggrieved, as if I’ve made him say such a whimsical thing.

“What made you relax so suddenly around my dad? It usually takes a while. Some of my uni mates were scared shitless of him.” He smiles almost nervously. “He has your smile.” “Sorry?” “Ben may look like him, and you look like your mum, but you have your dad’s smile. It’s always made me relax.” He brushes past me towards the kitchen, and it might be the light, but I could swear he’s blushing.

thank you for the wonderful heart-warming stories you’ve shared about my son.” My dad laughs heartily, and I shoot a glare at Gabe who has overshared evilly. My dad stretches. “Well, it’s bed for me. But just one more please, Gabe.” Gabe smiles wickedly. “Once, Dylan got his tie caught in the small, portable shredder at work and actually shredded half of it before he realised. Then he was trapped because the reverse button didn’t work, so he had to stay there for a couple of hours until I came back and was able to cut him out.”

“Dylan came in drunk one night when he was nineteen. He’d forgotten his key and got stuck trying to come through the dog flap. He was there all night, and when we came down in the morning he was still there, drunkenly singing to himself.” Ben snorts out a huge laugh. “Oh my God, that was his ‘I’m so Sad’ song.” “Fucking hell you lot,” I grouse as Gabe bursts out laughing, and

“You have very unusual Christmas traditions, Gabe. This is the first time that I’ve ever been given a present like this. Normally, we’re fully clothed with Christmas music playing.”

I don’t let go. I feel the need to grab a tight hold on him because, like water, he’s going to slip through my fingers and flow away sometime soon. I can sense it.

he looks smug. “Of course you were staring at me. Who wouldn’t?” I shake my head mockingly. “I really feel we need to work on your confidence level, Gabe. It’s so low. You have so much to offer. Just believe in yourself.”

“I think that’s really why I don’t want a dog. You get so attached to them, and I can’t bear to lose anyone else.”

“Sometimes we think that a certain path in life is the way we have to go. We see other routes, but we avoid them because we’re so insistent they’re not for us, that we might get lost or hurt. Then sometimes fate sets in, and someone takes your hand or waves you over. You step off your chosen path, and find that although this one is new and scary, somehow your feet know the way to navigate it. You might even find that it leads you the way that you were always meant to go.”

There’s a new tenderness in the fingers that run over my face and body that has never been there before. That he’s never let be there before. I also know that I’ll pay for this as soon as it’s finished. Maybe that’s why the whole encounter assumes a dreamlike feel, a sequence of mental snapshots that I’ll store away when he goes back into emotional hibernation.

that man needs love like no one I’ve ever met before. It’s like he’s starved himself of any meaningful connection.” She sighs. “He reminds me of Fagin.” I jerk. “Do you mean the scraggy, old dog that used to sniff around for scraps? That’s who my boyfriend reminds you of.” She laughs. “It’s actually a good comparison. Fagin had been beaten and neglected all his life. No one knew who he belonged to, and although people tried to help him, he wouldn’t have it. He’d appear at your door and let you feed him, and sometimes he’d even let you pet him. When you did, he’d lean against you for a while as if he couldn’t understand what a good touch should feel like, and you’d feel so powerful and happy. But you’ve got to remember that when he’d done that, he would always move away and be on his way.”

It hurts to know that fate has given me the perfect person for me to love, but has failed to make it reciprocal.

that man has deep feelings for you, Dylan. He just seems so emotionally stunted that he’ll never do anything about it.” He strokes my hair affectionately. “You’re worth more than this arrangement. Please think about that.”

“That’s how you treat my telling you that I love you. You tell me to try harder to sleep with someone else.” I shake my head. “A long time ago, I’d have dreamed of you telling me you loved me too and begging me to try, but I know better now.” I take a deep breath. “I know that I can’t do this with you anymore, Gabe. I’m worth more than being a fuck toy for someone who hasn’t got the balls to try for more.”

I’m worth more. I want to matter, and not be treated as if I’m an old dildo that gets tossed in the drawer when the battery goes. I want to be there for someone. I want to grow old with someone. I want to die knowing that I loved with all my heart, and to the best of my ability.”

“I am. Another thing I’m sure about is the old quote about getting over your man by getting under another one.” I laugh incredulously. It feels wrong to get love advice from someone who looks like she should be knitting, but in truth, she’s incredibly ribald with no sense of barriers.

Me: Having a drink with a colleague from work. Why are you so concerned, Mother? Have I overshot my curfew? A second later my phone beeps. Jude: If I was your mother I would spank you. I snort and tap quickly. Me: If you were your dad, I’d let you.

Jude: No, it isn’t. Bloody Billy. One watch of Fifty Shades and he thinks he’s the master of BDSM. I knew he wouldn’t be able to get that knot untied. Me: It puzzles me why he couldn’t just use a pair of scissors, rather than contribute to my future therapist’s workload.

“He’s a model. An underwear model,” I add deliberately. “And he’ll absolutely adore you.” I throw out my arm for a taxi, and as I slide into the cab, he follows closely behind like I’m the pied piper of underwear models. I shrug. Jude can deal with him. I’m too drunk.

“Dylan, I’ve heard you use bad language many times before.” I shrug. “Well, Gabe didn’t mind …” I trail off. He smiles. “I’ve heard him use it a fair few times as well, most noticeably when you spilt tomato juice down his light-grey Armani suit.” “It looked like he’d been shot,” I say fondly, remembering the tantrum.

“I think he was in love with you, Dylan. The man who spent two hours telling me funny stories about you, and wanting to know whether you were okay, isn’t the prick he appeared to be.

“All I’m saying is that the man you want, the one you’re in love with, he cares about you and he’s miserable without you. Isn’t that everything you ever wanted?”

I’m lying on the floor at the foot of the steps, and as per usual, nothing is stopping the London commuters. They surge past us, stepping around me, and a couple of times over me. It reminds me of a nature programme I’d watched once, showing a colony of army ants on the march and ravaging everything in their way. I suppose at least the rude commuters aren’t eating me.

“I saw you filming me while I was screaming like a little girl.” I look at him beadily. “That’d better not end up on Facebook, Jude.” He shakes his head, diverting the subject, so I know it’s already on there. “How many comments?” I sigh. “Two hundred and forty so far,” he says happily. “They’re not all horrid either.”

“Sir, I did tell you about patient confidentiality.” “And I told you it’s fine if you want to abide by that, but I do not choose to do so. So instead I am going through this casualty ward, opening every curtain until I find him.”

“I am not going private, Gabe,” I say firmly. “I’m staying with the NHS. It was fought for by my ancestors, and we need to support it.” “Your ancestors were farmers,” he says smoothly. “They were likely digging up turnips, so we will do what my ancestors did instead, which is pay for good service and complain when we don’t get it.”

Now, you need to go out there, apologise, and lay on the charm.” He nods obediently. “Okay.” “Pretend they’re customers who are paying by the hour,” I suggest. He shakes his head at me. “You make me sound like a fucking hooker.”

“Ah, my replacement.” He winces. “You’re a lot nicer to him than you were to me.” “I don’t spend my whole time lusting after him, and then making myself be distant the way I did with you,”

He shakes his head, his face gentling and making me stare at him. “Never. You’ve never irritated me. You’ve challenged me and made me laugh, but irritation is far too bland an emotion to fit the range of the ones I have for you.”

He’d obeyed the instructions given to him by the hospital religiously, waking me every few hours to ask questions. He’d taken it very seriously, and didn’t even crack a smile when I’d said falteringly, “Is that you, Grandma? Shall I go to the bright light?” I’d had to stop him picking up the phone and calling the hospital after that, and had been soundly told off.

“This is the song that makes me think of you.” I open my mouth, but he shakes his head. “Just listen to it.” So I do. I listen to Peter Gabriel singing about being lost and empty and running to someone who really knows and fills him up, and suddenly tears fill my eyes.

you’re somehow everything I never knew I needed. You’re funny and clever and irreverent. You don’t let me get away with anything, and you stand up to me. You’re kind and generous and warm, and when I see you, something fills up in my chest, and it feels so good. But then you leave, and it’s lonely again, and I’m so fucking tired of being alone and too afraid to try.”

You could go out tomorrow and find someone better for you, but the truth is that no one will ever need you like I do.” He pauses and then says firmly. “No one will ever love you like I do.”

“God, l love you,” he says softly against my lips. “I’ve never loved anyone before.” He pauses. “Sometimes it’s not exactly pleasurable.”

“But you’re hurt.” “I was hurt. I feel loads better, and a few aches and pains are not going to stop me getting you inside me again. God, Gabe,” I groan. “My cock hurts way more than my fucking leg.”

“Dylan, I think I’ve finally found a way to shut your clever mouth up.” I raise my head, panting. “You love my clever mouth.” I expect a sarcastic remark back, but instead, I get a warm smile that brightens and warms his eyes like the sun coming out. “I do,” he says softly. “I love your sharp mind and even sharper tongue. Don’t ever change.”

Please use me as you see fit, Master.” He groans. “Two years of full-time employment, and now you give me my rightful title.” “Jackass. That’s your rightful title,”

I remember that day in Verbier when he’d nestled against me, and I’d made him look up into the sky, sharing that moment together as the snow cascaded down around us. Realisation hits me that this is how life will be with him – dizzy, unpredictable and sometimes a bit off-balance, but always safe and just simply more enjoyable with him. I smile. I can certainly live with that.

I’m late. In fairness, it isn’t my fault. I have never been grocery shopping, let alone Christmas grocery shopping, so I didn’t know that I needed to book out the whole of December in order to find a parking space at Sainsbury’s.

He always smiles at everyone, being one of the sunniest and most gregarious men that I’ve ever known. However, he has a special one that seems to be only for me, and I hoard the sight of it like a miser with gold, because it’s happy and so full of love.

“Thanks for that, you bastard,” he mutters. “I cannot have a hard-on in Sainsbury’s. It’s just not done.”

I knew I should have listened to Jude.” I look back at him. “Why, what did he say?” “He said taking you to a supermarket was like taking Prince Philip to Laser Quest.”

“Want to get some more Christmas decorations for the house? Surely there must be a spare inch that hasn’t been covered by fairy lights yet.” He shakes his head and raises his middle finger at me. “Stop taking the piss. I love Christmas.” I scoff. “Our house looks like Christmas threw up in it.”

Dylan made himself at home in my kitchen, and I’d found to my surprise what a homebody he is. He loves cooking and having people over to sit for hours, drinking and eating and talking, and so I discovered a love of it too.

I had known he was a game changer the instant that I’d seen him, when I made the woman from HR cancel the rest of the interviews. I’d been fascinated from that first moment, and then he’d come to work for me and scared me shitless. His humour, his brain, the way everyone gravitated to him,

I love him fiercely beyond any of my previous barriers. I can be open, because I want him to know all of me, knowing that I won’t get all of him if I don’t.

I suppose what he does best is to encourage me to be the best, because he loves me. Maybe at its finest, that’s what love should be.