Chapter 9
T he good news about Cayden driving me back to my grandmother's house is that at least I don't have to sit in the middle this time.
Without Jax's body crowding me into Cayden's, I have room to breathe. More dangerously, I have room to think.
Cayden has continued to act as if nothing is different, even after I slept with his friend Adam this morning.
Loudly, messily, publicly. But he doesn't seem to care.
Maybe it's a sign that he's really not that into me.
Except his flirty touches and his protectiveness and enthusiasm for keeping me close haven't gone away at all.
Either he has a really weird way of showing he's not interested or he's really weird about monogamy.
Either way, I'm a mess of emotions. Heading back to my grandmother's house doesn't help.
As we climb the mountain road, I stare out the window.
The rambling, ramshackle house comes into view, and a sinking pit of dread opens up in my stomach.
I love my grandmother—dearly. I miss her so much.
But I never liked that old, dusty, falling apart house.
The task of cleaning it out and fixing it up for sale is beyond daunting.
Even though I'm pretty sure I should be discouraging him or flat out sending him back home, I'm insanely, irrationally glad that Cayden is coming to help.
He parks in the long gravel driveway, more or less in the same place he parked last night. What a difference a day makes. The sun shines bright light on the uneven wood siding and the patches of green growing in the cracks on the roof. The windows reflect, they're covered in so much dust.
With a sigh, I open the door and step out.
Cayden gets out, too, and falls into step beside me as we climb the rickety porch.
"I tried to help, you know. This was always too much house for your grandma, and after she got sick…"
"I know. She told me you loved to make up excuses to check in on her."
"She was a proud old broad."
I chuckle. "Stubborn, too."
I didn't bother to lock the door last night—who would even be around to take advantage, up here? I push on through and step inside. It's dim and gloomy, despite the sun outside.
Funny, how I didn't really notice that, the month I was here taking care of her through her final days. A pallor of sickness and death held over everything. I chalked up any additional gloom in the decor to that.
My eyes are clearer now, though.
This is just how the place is. The only way to change that is to roll up my sleeves and get to work.
Cayden nudges me. "So where do we start?"
And yet again, I'm so grateful for his presence, I could cry.
I grab his sleeve and turn to him. His bright, warm blue eyes meet mine.
"Thank you," I say, too fervently. "For being here. For doing this."
"It's really not a problem, Haley."
"It might not be to you. But to me, it means a lot." It means everything.
Only I don't know how to tell him that. I suddenly, urgently need him to know, though.
Without letting myself think it through too much, I tug on his shirt and lunge up onto my tiptoes.
His hand comes to my side to steady me. His brows rise in surprise, but I go through with it anyway.
I plant my lips just to the side of his—close enough that it could count if he wanted it to.
Far enough away that he could write it off as a cheek kiss.
I dart my gaze to meet his. His eyes dance. He reels me in, and I close my eyes. He presses another, firmer, less ambiguous kiss to the center of my lips. His beard tickles my chin, and warmth tingles all the way to my toes.
It doesn't last long, but that doesn't make it any less perfect.
He lets me drop back down but he doesn't let go. "That's one hell of a thank you."
"Well, I really mean it."
"Then you're welcome." He grins, squeezing my side. "And feel free to show your appreciation any time."
My breath races. "Oh yeah?"
"Oh, yeah." With that, he plants another single kiss to my cheek. His lips end up close to my ear, where the heat of his breath sends tingles of awareness to the tips of my breasts. To the warming place between my legs. "Been wanting to do that since eighth grade."
I bury my face against his chest and breathe him in.
If I actually was in eighth grade, I'd be running off to my room to doodle his name in my journal, and probably stifling a squealing scream of pre-teen joy into my pillow.
But I'm a grown-ass woman, so a moment of silent crowing while I breathe in his warm, amber scent will have to suffice.
"Me, too," I admit.
"I always hoped…"
"Yeah."
And how awesome is it to know that we're on the same page here? It may be awfully late, and it may be coming on the heels of a lot of other stuff I didn't see happening, but I don't care. As long as he doesn't, either…
I lift my head from his chest and bite my lip. "About this morning…"
But he shushes me, shaking his head. "It's fine."
"Really?" Part of me thinks I should run with it; the other part wonders if I need to just go ahead and spell it out. Only he can't be that oblivious, can he?
I have to smell like Adam. My panties are still wet with my desire and the faint remaining traces of his release. He fucked me two rooms over from where this man was having breakfast. He kissed me and sucked a mark into my shoulder and gave me two delicious orgasms. He came inside me, bare.
That has to mean something.
But Cayden just puts his other hand on my shoulder. His thumb reaches out, stroking right where Adam's mouth left a bruise on my skin. His eyes stay warm. Maybe warmer. Darker. He licks his lips.
"I promise you, Haley. It's fine."
The moment drags on. I want to kiss him again, but deeper this time. I want him to throw me against this wall and thrust in deep, claim me. But somehow it doesn't quite feel right.
He doesn't seem to think so, either. With a smile, he squeezes my shoulder. He leans in for one more soft, small peck, then pulls away. "Come on. Let's get to work."