Chapter 18 #2
My pulse jumps hard enough that I become painfully aware of him all over again—the broad line of his shoulders beneath his T-shirt, the scrape of stubble along his jaw, the quiet rise and fall of his breathing, and his hands.
Always his hands. Resting loosely against his knees, big and calloused, familiar enough that I stopped noticing them weeks ago.
Except suddenly I'm noticing everything.
The hand that steadied me on the ice. The hand that retaped my wrist. The hand that keeps settling against my back without either of us thinking about it.
The memories arrive one after another, small moments that seemed forgettable on their own but feel impossible to ignore together.
Something tightens low in my chest because none of this is new, the touching, the closeness, the attention.
What's new is that for the first time I can't pretend not to see it, and judging by the way the conversation keeps slowing around us, I'm not entirely convinced Calder can either.
Calder's hand shifts automatically against my ankle while making space for me when I tuck one leg underneath myself. The touch stays there absentmindedly afterward. My breathing catches slightly because he doesn't even seem aware he's doing it anymore, and somehow that makes it worse.
Outside, distant traffic hums faintly through the windows. Inside, everything narrows quietly toward Calder. The warmth of him beside me. The roughness in his voice. The way his attention feels completely fixed on me now.
"You're staring," I murmur.
The corner of Calder's mouth twitches.
"So are you."
Heat climbs immediately into my chest, and though I know I should look away, I don't, neither does he, and when Calder's thumb brushes once against the inside of my ankle—barely a movement at all—my stomach tightens as his gaze drops briefly before returning to mine with a subtle shift in his expression that changes everything.
The air feels different afterward. The conversation doesn't stop so much as fade away, words becoming less important than the spaces between them.
The music continues playing softly from somewhere behind us, but neither of us seems to be listening anymore.
I become painfully aware of every small thing: the warmth of his hand, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the fact that he's close enough that I can still see the tiredness lingering beneath his eyes.
The realization arrives unexpectedly. Not that something is changing, but that it already changed, weeks ago maybe, hidden inside all the touches neither of us acknowledged.
The routines. The coffee. The way he follows me home after training.
The way he reaches for me without thinking. The way I let him. My pulse jumps.
Calder shifts slightly closer, the movement small enough that I could pretend it didn't happen.
I don't. His fingers tighten briefly against my ankle before relaxing again, and for the first time all evening he looks uncertain—not uncomfortable, just careful, like he's waiting for something. Or someone. My breath catches.
"Calder."
His name comes out quieter than I intended. His eyes lift immediately. The look that follows settles somewhere low beneath my ribs. Unsteady. Dangerous. Enough that I forget what I was planning to say. For a second neither of us moves. Neither of us looks away. The apartment feels impossibly quiet.
Then Calder leans forward. Not much. Just enough that the distance between us becomes impossible to ignore.
And then he stops. The hesitation lasts less than a second.
Still long enough that I understand exactly what he's doing.
Waiting. Giving me room. Giving me a choice.
The realization hits harder than it should.
Because after everything else, after weeks of Calder quietly stepping closer, this might be the clearest thing he's ever said without using words.
Instead I move first. My hand catches lightly against the front of his shirt.
Calder's eyes lift to mine instantly. Then I pull him toward me.
The sound that leaves him is quiet. Not surprise.
Something else. His mouth finds mine and everything inside me goes completely still for half a second.
Relief hits first. Not shock. Not panic.
Relief. Like something stretched painfully tight between us finally gives way.
Calder kisses me carefully for exactly one second. Then I kiss him back.
Something shifts immediately.
His hand slides from my ankle to my waist and suddenly the distance between us is gone. Weeks of tension collapse all at once. Every almost-touch. Every shared silence. Every moment spent pretending not to notice.
My fingers slide into his hair. Calder exhales sharply and for a second nothing exists outside this tiny space between us.
The apartment.
The music.
The city beyond the windows.
All of it disappears.
There is only Calder. The familiar roughness of his hands. The steady beat of his heart beneath my palm. The impossible realization that none of this feels new.
His forehead brushes mine briefly when we both lose track of where we're supposed to be. Neither of us laughs. We stay there for a second, breathing the same air, close enough that I can feel the way his chest rises and falls.
When his eyes open, the look in them nearly destroys me. Not because of the wanting. Because of everything underneath it. The softness. The honesty. The complete absence of distance. Calder lifts a hand to my face and brushes his thumb slowly along my jaw.
"Tell me to stop."
The words come out rough. Held together through visible effort.
I shake my head. The answer arrives before I even think about it.
Because stopping feels impossible now. Not after this.
Not after finally understanding what has been happening between us for weeks.
Calder closes his eyes briefly. Like the response costs him something.
Or saves him. Maybe both. My hand settles against his cheek.
"Hey."
His eyes lift immediately. The reaction is so automatic it makes my chest ache. Something inside him looks dangerously close to overwhelmed now. Raw in a way I have never seen before.
"You're okay," I tell him softly.
The words leave on instinct. The same instinct that made me reach for him.
The same instinct that has been pulling us toward each other for months.
Calder exhales slowly. The tension in him eases just enough for me to see it happen.
And suddenly the thing affecting me most isn't the kiss.
It isn't even the closeness. It's the trust.
The realization that somewhere along the way Calder stopped feeling like someone standing beside my life.
He became part of it. The coffee. The early mornings.
The beginner lessons. The quiet conversations.
The way he reaches for me without thinking.
The way I look for him without meaning to.
All of it leads back here. Back to this.
Back to him. For a second neither of us says anything.
Neither of us needs to. Because for the first time since I met him, it feels like we're both finally acknowledging the same thing.
The hallway is short but the walk takes longer than it should because neither of us stops kissing long enough to navigate properly. My shoulder catches the doorframe. Calder swears quietly against my mouth, pulls back to check I'm okay, and I laugh for half a second before he kisses it off my lips.
In my bedroom the light is thin and grey and enough to see him.
He sets me down on the edge of the bed with more care than the situation strictly requires and stays standing while his eyes move over me in a way I have to actively not react to.
Not performance. Just attention. The specific kind that always does more to me than it should.
"Still okay?" he asks.
"Very much still okay," I tell him.
His mouth twitches. Then his hands find the hem of my sweater and he lifts it slowly, and I let him, and the look that crosses his face when he sees me makes my breath catch because it is not what I expected.
Not hunger exactly. Something more careful than that.
Like he is being trusted with something and knows it.
I pull him down to me.
There's a moment when we both still against each other, just breathing, his weight settling over me.
I can feel his heartbeat. He has one hand against the side of my face, tilted toward me like he needs to look before he moves, and something about the steadiness of it makes the back of my throat ache.
Then it stops being careful almost at once.
His mouth closes over my breast and I make a sound that surprises me.
His thumb circles my other nipple while he sucks gently, teeth just barely there, and the sensation pulls through my whole body in a way that makes it hard to stay still.
I don't try. He moves lower, mouth dragging down my stomach, and I understand from the deliberate pace of it that he intends to take his time.
He does.
When his mouth reaches between my thighs I grab his hair without meaning to.
He makes a low sound against me like I've done something right, and then his tongue finds exactly the right place and stays there.
I stop being able to track my own internal monologue.
He slides one finger inside me, then two, curling slowly, and I dig my heel into the mattress and say his name in a way I haven't said anyone's name in a long time.
I am briefly furious at how good he is at this. Then I stop caring about anything except the pressure building until it breaks and I come with my hand pressed over my mouth, because the sound I want to make feels embarrassingly honest.
Calder looks up at me afterward with an expression I will be thinking about for a long time.
"Come here," I manage.