Damaged: A Black Diamond Novel, page 1
DAMAGED
A Black Diamond Novel
Unlucky 13
HAYDEN HALL
Damaged © 2023 by Hayden Hall
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover art by Rebel Ink
Cover photo by Xram Ragde
Edited by Sabrina Hutchinson
Written by Hayden Hall
www.haydenhallwrites.com
ISBN: 979-8-3971-7539-5
Created with Vellum
Contents
Keep In Touch With The Author
Foreword
Welcome To Black Diamond
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Need More?
A Note From Hayden
Also By Hayden Hall
About The Book
Welcome to Black Diamond Resort & Spa…
I’m left on this strip of sand after my second round of rehab. Father says I should rest and build my strength back, but I know better.
I’m a toxic asset.
Father is launching his campaign of hate and bigotry in a presidential bid and I am the black hole for his reputation.
And not because I’m an addict. Oh no. I’m radioactive because I like kissing guys in clubs and the paparazzi love catching me in the act.
I am of such little importance that nobody bothered to find me a private house on this godforsaken island and I’m forced to share one with a dangerously handsome, self-proclaimed a-hole, and America’s eleventh luckiest lottery winner, Tiago Alvarez.
I’m the kind of guy who likes flirting with disaster and there’s no bigger disaster than the self-destructive daredevil I’m forced to share the bed with. The attraction is instant, but the scars on my soul rip and bleed as soon as I have a chance to get closer to him.
And Tiago is harboring dark secrets. Secrets that pull me in and won’t let go. He’s a handsome train wreck and I am a walking relapse. We’re a match made in the seventh circle of hell.
Being near him is like leaning from a skyscraper. It’s the highest high I know. But any good addict will tell you: after every high, there comes a low.
And us? We stand no chance against this bitter world.
We’re just so damaged.
Keep In Touch With The Author
Gay. Sweet. Steamy.
Hayden Hall writes MM romance novels. He is a boyfriend, a globetrotter, and an avid romance reader.
Hayden's mission is to author a catalog of captivating and steamy MM romance novels which gather a devoted community around the Happily Ever Afters.
His stories are sweet with just the right amount of naughty.
You can find out more and get in touch with Hayden through his website at www.haydenhallwrites.com or hit one of the buttons below.
Foreword
Dear reader,
Thank you for picking up Damaged: A Black Diamond Novel. Whether you are familiar with my work or are joining because of a talented author that precedes or follows me in this series, I would like to invite you to take a moment and read this preface.
Telling you what to expect of this book is not an easy feat. I thought long and hard how to make this work for everyone. So much of this story comes from the complex and, sometimes, sensitive topics that are explored throughout.
Matthew and Tiago are tired of fighting the rest of the universe when this story begins. Their pasts are riddled with darkness. Their struggle is raw and real. But telling you any more than that could spoil the story. So, I will give you the best choice I could come up with.
I would never wish to invite you to read this book without preparing you for what you will encounter. It is purely a personal preference.
If, like me, you have no triggers in fiction, I would urge you to flip the pages to Matthew’s opening chapter and dive in without knowing anything beyond the retail description. Let yourself be immersed in a story that will take you on an emotional rollercoaster and trust me to land us safely. That’s all I ask.
However, if you would prefer to know what to expect, that is absolutely valid. I want you to experience this story as naturally as possible, but I do not want you to be affected negatively by the heavy topics it explores.
To find out what to expect from Damaged, please visit haydenhallwrites.com/content-warnings.
I understand that the list on my site contains things some readers will find upsetting. I want to emphasize that I have done everything in my power to approach the subjects with kindness and compassion. I also want to repeat that this story has a satisfying and happy ending.
And, finally, I would like to stress that characters, events, and places in this story are purely fictional. Any real world names are completely fictionalized and do not represent reality.
Now, get cozy, and enjoy Damaged. Matthew and Tiago could use some company.
Welcome To Black Diamond
Black Diamond Recovery Center was founded in 2001 by father and son, Craig and Dexter Diamond. Wanting a place for those in the public eye to go to seek help with their addiction and mental illness, Black Diamond came to fruition.
We recognize that addiction and mental illness are complex diseases that affect every aspect of a person’s life, and we provide comprehensive care that addresses all of our clients’ needs. Unlike other recovery facilities, we don’t just treat the addiction; we treat the whole person. Our approach is designed to provide support and healing for our clients’ physical, emotional, and mental well-being, helping them achieve lasting recovery and a brighter future.
During your stay, you’ll enjoy relaxing living quarters, gourmet meals, and luxurious amenities—all carefully curated with your healing and comfort in mind—while still receiving the utmost levels on anonymity.
Chapter One
MATTHEW
The valet was preposterous.
He wore a white undershirt, black boxer-briefs, and a smirk on his face. Sitting on the guardrail of the loft bedroom with one leg dangling over it and his back leaning against the wooden beam of my private bungalow, he was eye-fucking me when I wasn’t in the mood.
I squinted and glanced around. There were scattered bits of clothing around the ground floor’s living room. Swimming shorts, underwear, mismatched socks, a stained shirt. The kitchen to my left had an open box of cereal on the counter and a dirty bowl in the sink.
The blond, short-haired guy with tattoos along his arms grinned lazily after I had pointed out that my suitcase was baking in the sun in front of the bungalow.
I frowned. “You’re not a valet.”
“Perceptive, aren’t you?” For some reason, he appeared more amused than hostile, but the fire in his eyes was unfriendly. I knew what the look of an enemy was like better than most people. Being my father’s son, I had been on the receiving end of this disdainful look most of my life. He’d still fuck me if I asked, though. No amount of animosity in his eyes could hide the spike of interest in the back.
“Then what the fuck are you doing in here?” I demanded, balling my fists. Stay calm. You’re not ready for confrontations. Despite whispering these things to myself, I was immediately aware of how futile the exercises had been. Dr. Weaver would weep.
My heart climbed to my throat instantly when the strange intruder in my house slid from the balustrade. He wasn’t pulling back into my bedroom loft, but jumping off the rails. The madman. He grabbed the baluster with both hands, hanging with his back turned to me. The plain white undershirt he wore lifted above the waistband of his underwear, revealing the skin of his waist and lower back. His bare legs hung limp for a moment before I saw the muscles ripple and his entire body crash on the floor. He folded into a squat and straightened after a fraction of a heartbeat. “Phew,” he said, dusting his hands off.
My heart pounded with fear that I had just witnessed the dumbest death the world had ever seen. But the intruder in nothing but his underwear spun around and dusted his hands one against the other. That easy smile was back. I still didn’t trust it. His steps were light, shoulders swinging like he was some frat bro despite the prettified face and a canvas of striking tattoos all over his body. Though his walk was determined, like he was marching through a gym he owned, I had a sudden and unshakable realization that my instincts were correct. The interest in his eyes, which was the reason for half my distrust — for those wondering, the other half was the fact he was in my fucking house — was too dazzling for him to be anything but gay.
I growled as he brought his face close to mine. “What’s the matter?” he asked so softly that I figured he was mocking me. “Daddy didn’t rent the whole thing just for his little boy?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “As a matter of fact, daddy did rent the whole thing just for me.” It was only after the words were over my lips that I he
The stranger snorted with contempt. “He did not. I got here first.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I demanded. “I can’t deal with this right now.”
The intruder threw his head back and laughed out loud. “Why? Are you busy?”
The sarcasm was duly noted. But yes, in fact, I was busy. I was busy wanting to sleep for a week. I was busy wanting to lock all the doors and drown out all the sounds so that I could lose myself in the abyss of my own consciousness.
But I wasn’t going to tell that to a rude stranger. Besides, I sensed more than a dose of contemptuous challenge in him. “This is bullshit,” I grumbled, practically admitting defeat.
“Why?” he asked, the mock cheerfulness rubbing me the wrong way. “I’m the one who kindly allowed a stranger into my house. You don’t hear me complaining.”
“Allowed?” I asked, incredulous. “Are you fucking with me? Is this a prank?” I looked around. The house was more of a bungalow, anyway, and it had a spacious living room with a generic couch you’d find in any resort in the northern hemisphere. On the left side was a kitchen and dining room, merged into one, and there were stairs straight ahead, leading to the top landing. Up there, one room was a fairly large loft bedroom and the other was, presumably, the bathroom. There wasn’t anything else in here. “Where the fuck do you imagine me sleeping?” I asked.
“You’ll have to forgive me if my imagination is running wild, oh important one, but you can have the couch.” He crossed his sculpted arms over his chest, the undershirt he wore rising and revealing an inch of his stomach. The firmness of his abs was unmistakable; the V line of his lower abdomen was visible enough that I could confidently put the pieces together. Who the hell was this guy?
“The couch? The couch?!” I huffed and puffed and stumbled over my own thoughts. This was not how I had planned to spend my first day in a slightly more relaxed gilded cage. “You’re kidding.”
“You keep saying and I keep not,” he said, then frowned a little as if noticing the way he’d phrased it. He shrugged a little, tugging up that agonizingly short undershirt. “The bedroom is mine. That’s what I told your people already. But, if you’re a good boy, I might consider letting you sleep in my bed.”
“My people? Who the fuck are my people who talk to you?” So far, everything this sparsely dressed twink had said left me with more questions.
“Carl, I think,” he said. “Maybe Caroline. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Carl was Father’s aide. The fact that this guy knew the name, even while pretending he didn’t, meant it was true. “I’m taking the bed,” I said sulkily.
He snorted. “If you want to be a pain in the ass, be my guest, but I won’t make it easy. It’s my bed.”
“It fucking isn’t,” I insisted. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” The little energy I had had when they transferred me here was fading away quickly. A throb in my head hinted at the oncoming headache even if I had already gone through the worst of it. My mouth was drying and my palms were sweating. It was the killing fucking combo.
But before I could find another word to say, the stranger who held my bed hostage spoke. “I’m locking the bedroom door. Good fucking luck climbing over the railing.” He spun away from me, but looked at me over his shoulder. “Oh, but if you’re desperate enough for cuddles that you’d climb that way, I might even let you.”
I’d seen him jump off the railing. I had no wish to go near it without a sturdy set of stairs. “We’re not done,” I growled. Of all the things I could have done, it seemed my default was to revert to a fucking brat. But before I could stop myself, I threw a big boy tantrum and stormed out of the house. I nearly tripped over the small suitcase at the door, then felt the urge to kick it into dust, but resisted. The fucker would only gloat for provoking me so easily. I knew a tease when I saw one. I’d been a target of such people all my life.
The breeze carried the scent of salt and the lush greenery rustled and murmured around me, overpowered by the hum of the sea and the crashing waves against the distant cliffs. I had gotten used to it over the past two months, while on the other side.
Sand seemed nicer here. Although, that might have been the glumness of the beholder on the other side. It wasn’t like I had watched the fucking sand while going through the hells of so-called healing.
I stormed to the reception desk. “Matthew Harris,” I said, leaning against the counter and into the cute receptionist’s face. He greeted me with a fake smile, but I didn’t pay it any attention. I spoke before he had a chance to woo me with sweet promises of resolving any issues I had. “I have number two-oh-three and there’s a stranger claiming my bed.”
The receptionist blinked, then typed something into the computer, all the while saying soothing words that barely tickled my consciousness. “Ah, I see,” he said, the sweetness disappearing in place of serious awkwardness. “The arrangements were made rather late. The occupant, Mr. Alvarez, volunteered to share his house.”
“What are you talking about?” I snapped. “My father made these arrangements two months ago.”
The guy cringed a little. “I’m afraid that’s not, er, exactly the case.”
He went to a lot of trouble not to call me a liar, and yet I felt like I was being called a liar. My eyes narrowed. “Tell that to fucking Senator Harris. Go on. Get him on the phone.”
The receptionist blinked twice quickly, then picked up the phone in a hurry.
“What is this?” I asked. “Are you new here? Is this your first day?”
“Uh…” The receptionist got nervous as he punched in the phone number.
Guilt ripped through me and I sighed. “Let me speak to him.”
I wouldn’t call it thankfulness, but there was definitely a wave of relief that washed over the receptionist’s face. He handed me the phone while it rang.
Reaching Dad was always an eventful journey. One of the aides picked up and told me to wait, directing me through the hierarchy until I reached Carl. “Matthew,” he said, not exactly delighted. “Your father is busy.”
“Yeah, well, I’m homeless,” I replied. “It’ll only be a minute, Carl.”
The stubborn, terrifyingly efficient man on the other end of the line sighed and told me to wait. I did, moving a little further away from the desk. The cable of their landline wasn’t exactly letting me take a stroll, but I turned my back to the receptionist who typed something at the computer and pretended not to hear me.
Dad’s gruff voice didn’t surprise me in the least. He cleared his throat into the speaker and kept his voice tight and words clipped. “Matthew? Can’t this wait?”
“Howdy, Daddy,” I sighed. “What the hell is up?”
“You tell me,” he grumbled. “You’re the one calling.”
“Uh, okay. So, apparently the houses were all booked, and that genius Carl decided to cram me in some random dude’s house.” I said that, not really expecting a reaction, but still being surprised when none came through. “Dad?”
“I’m listening,” he said harshly.
“Uh…” I frowned, pressing the phone tighter against my ear. “That’s it.”
“That’s it?” He scoffed. “What I’m hearing, Matthew, is that you are acting like a brat. Share the house. It’s the best we could do.”
Frustration zinged through me. “Are you kidding me? It’s not the fu…uh, it’s not the best, Dad. This is very much not good.”
“What are you? Made of money? Can’t share a house? Tell that to all our soldiers sleeping in bunks. Go on. Tell them how you can’t share a house in a fucking resort.” And if that wasn’t enough, Dad lowered his voice as if speaking to himself. “Your mother spoiled you. Spend time in the company of a real man.”
