33. Serena
Serena
" I should unpack everything."
The words are out of my mouth as soon as Bennett hangs up from his marathon information gathering session with his assistant.
While he was asking Jenna to help with damage control, I was standing in the middle of my apartment, surrounded by the boxes we'd been packing together just hours ago, and all I could think was that I need to undo it all.
"What?" Layla stares at me like I've lost my mind. "Why would you unpack?"
"Because they're going to investigate everything. Every text, every meeting. If it looks like we were planning to move in together, like this was some predetermined relationship?—"
"That's ridiculous," Dominic says. "Leave the boxes."
"This is my fault?—"
"Stop." Bennett's voice cuts through my spiral. "Unpacking makes you look guilty. Like you're trying to hide evidence of the relationship. You leave everything as is."
My phone buzzes for the fourth time in the last twenty minutes. Caleb's name on the screen. I don't answer.
"Serena," Layla says gently. "You need to talk to him."
"I need to not make things worse." I turn the phone face down. "I'm a witness now right? If they think we're coordinating stories?—"
The apartment door opens, and Caleb stands in my doorway. He's wearing a suit now, and he looks absolutely wrecked. His tie is gone, top buttons undone, hair a mess.
"Everyone out," he says quietly, but there's steel underneath.
"Caleb," Bennett starts. "We should strategize."
"Now."
They file out without argument. Dominic squeezes my shoulder as he passes. Layla gives me a look that says, 'don't you dare run.' Then we're alone.
"Why didn't you answer your phone," he says, still standing by the door.
"I thought?—"
"I know what you thought." He finally moves, crossing to where I'm standing by the boxes. "You thought you were protecting me. You thought distancing yourself would help. You thought—" He stops, jaw clenching. "You thought this was your cue to run."
"But I went to see her. Maya. She asked about you, about how I got you to represent me?—"
"What did you tell her?"
"Nothing! Just that we had history, that it was complicated. But she assumed we were sleeping together and now she's twisted it into?—"
"Stop." He grabs my shoulders, gentle but firm. "Look at me."
I can't. If I look at him, I'll break.
"Serena. Look. At. Me."
I lift my eyes to his, and the raw emotion there steals my breath.
"You didn't do anything wrong," he says. "I did."
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intend. "You didn't do anything wrong. You helped me when no one else would. You?—"
"I made your legal representation dependent on a date. I knew you wouldn’t accept pro bono, and I knew you couldn’t pay. I did what they’re accusing me of." His hands drop from my shoulders. "Jesus, Serena, when I say it out loud like that..."
"I chose that option. You gave me options, Caleb. I wasn’t forced."
"I know that. You know that. But that's not how it looks." He turns away, running both hands through his hair. "And now they're going to examine every moment between us. Every text. Every time you stayed over. They're going to turn what we have into something ugly."
I watch him pace my living room, this man who's always so controlled, so sure of himself, and I see him falling apart in real time. The weight in my chest gets heavier.
"Maybe we should—" I start.
"Don't." He whirls back to face me, his eyes fierce. "Don't say what I think you're about to say."
"You don't know what I was going to say," I protest weakly.
"I do. You were going to suggest we take a break. That we step back until this blows over." He moves closer, his voice dropping. "You were going to sacrifice us to save me."
I look down at my hands, unable to deny it. "Your career, Caleb. Everything you've worked for?—"
"Means nothing without you." He takes my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Do you understand that? I don't care about any of it if I lose you."
"That's not rational," I whisper, even as my heart soars.
"Love isn't rational." His thumbs brush my cheeks, and I have to close my eyes against the tenderness there. I can't bear it—not when I'm the reason his career is imploding, not when I'm the reason the thing he's worked his entire life for might disappear.
"You don't understand," I say, my voice barely audible. "This isn't just about your job. It's about your reputation. Your license. Everything you've built."
"I understand perfectly." His hands drop from my face, and I immediately miss their warmth. "I'm a big boy, Serena. I knew what I was doing when I made that deal with you."
"And if you had to do it over?" I ask, pushing him because I need to know. "Would you choose any differently?"
He gives a bitter laugh, throwing his arms wide in a helpless gesture. "Of course not, Serena. The only thing I'd change is letting you think for one second that I wouldn't burn down my own career for you. For us."
The words splinter me, so I shove my hands in my pockets and stare at the mail slot until the feeling passes. "You should tear up our contract. Fire me and say I manipulated you."
"Shut up," he says gently, already shaking his head.
"No, seriously. I can say you were just being professional, and I seduced you. I can say?—"
He laughs again, more desperate this time. "You are the worst liar I've ever met."
"So are you."
We both stand there, neither of us knowing how to fix what's broken.
He comes closer, takes my face in his hands and pulls me hard against him, crushing his mouth to mine.
There's nothing romantic about it—it's the kind of desperate kiss that comes from two people drowning.
His hands tangle in my hair and for a second I lose myself, because when I kiss Caleb nothing matters but the solid warm reality of him, the way he clings like he can hold the world together if he just squeezes hard enough.
When he finally breaks away, we're both gasping.
"Whatever happens," he says, his forehead against mine. "Whether I lose my license, my job, all of it—I need you to know that I would do it again. Every time."
"Don't say that," I whisper, but it's too late. He means it, and I love him for it, and I want to believe it could be enough, but logic and fear are still screaming in my head.
"Why?" His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking along my cheekbones. "Because you think I'm being noble? Because you think this is some grand gesture I'll regret?"
"Because—" My voice breaks. "Because what if you do regret it? What if in five years you're practicing family law in Peoria and you remember that you used to be somebody important before you met me?"
"Serena, I'm worth more money than I can spend in three lifetimes.
I don't practice law because I have to—I do it because I love it.
But you know what I love more?" He cups my face.
"You. I love you more than the thrill of winning cases, more than my reputation, more than being 'somebody important.
' I work because it gives my life meaning, but you—you ARE the meaning. "
"Caleb."
"Serena." He says my name like a prayer. "Look around this apartment. What do you see?"
I glance at the boxes scattered everywhere, my life half-packed and in limbo. "A mess."
"I see a woman who was ready to rebuild her entire life. Who was brave enough to leave everything familiar behind." His voice drops lower, more intense. "You think I don't know what that costs? You think I don't know what it means that you were willing to do that for us?"
The tears I've been holding back finally spill over. "That's different."
"How?"
"Because my career was already over. I had nothing left to lose."
"Bullshit." The curse makes me flinch. "You had everything to lose. Your independence. Your control. Your ability to run when things got scary." He wipes a tear from my cheek. "And you were choosing to give it all up anyway."
"I was choosing you," I whisper, voice hoarse.
"Then let me choose you back." He pulls me closer, until there's no space between us. "Let me choose you publicly, messily, with witnesses and consequences and everything."
I close my eyes, trying to imagine walking into a hearing room, sitting in the witness chair, and telling a panel of stern-faced lawyers that yes, I love Caleb Kingsley.
Yes, he made my legal help dependent on a date.
Yes, it was improper and unprofessional and I don't care because he's the best man I've ever known.
The thought terrifies me. But for the first time, it doesn't make me want to run.
"They're going to ask me everything," I say. "Every detail of how we met. Every time we were together. They're going to make it sound sordid."
"So we tell them the truth." He tilts my chin up. "That I've been halfway in love with you since that first night at the bar. That I made the worst professional decision of my career because I couldn't stand the thought of you walking away again."
"Halfway?" The word slips out before I can stop it.
His smile is soft, devastating. "Full disclosure?
I've been completely gone for you since you told me you hated the beach.
" He grins at me, equal parts fond and exasperated.
"You remember that? You said and I quote—'if God wanted humans to be caked in exfoliating sand and fish piss, he wouldn't have invented hotel spas. '"
Now I'm laughing through my snot and tears, which is honestly the most on-brand thing I could do. "You keep a running file on all my flaws?"
He shrugs. "Not flaws. Just facts. I like knowing what makes you human."
I laugh despite everything, the sound watery and broken. "You're an idiot."
"Your idiot," he says, and then he's kissing me again, softer this time but no less desperate.
When we break apart, I rest my forehead against his chest, breathing him in. He smells like soap and anxiety and something fundamentally safe.