33. Serena #2
"Why do you keep doing this?" I whisper. "Why do you keep holding onto me even when I spend all my energy pushing you away?"
He doesn't hesitate. "Because it's what you need.
And maybe, selfishly, what I do too. I spent a lot of years building a life on rules and structure and winning, but you…
" He trails off, and there's a note of awe in his voice that makes my stomach flip.
"You are the only thing in my life I can't out-logic.
You're the only thing worth being reckless for. "
I have to look away, because if I look at him for one more second I will absolutely let myself believe it, and then I will fall apart in some way that will take months—maybe years—to fix.
I don't know how to just let myself have this, not when every instinct screams that good things are always already halfway to leaving me.
"So you want me to just… let them destroy your career, for me?" My voice is small. Ugly with self-loathing.
He exhales, shaking his head. "I want you to fight. With me, not against me. For once, Serena, just stand still and let good things find you."
I pull back to look at him. This man who walked into my disaster of a life and decided I was worth saving.
Who saw through every wall I built and never stopped trying to reach me.
Who's standing here now, willing to lose everything, and somehow making me believe that maybe I'm worth losing everything for.
"Caleb."
"Yeah?"
The words are right there, pressing against my throat like caged birds.
I've been carrying them for weeks, maybe months, too terrified to let them out.
My hands shake. My chest tightens. I can barely breathe around them.
But if I'm going to fight for this relationship under oath, in front of a room full of strangers whose job it is to judge us. ..
"I love you." The words tumble out in a rush, raw and unpolished. "I love you so much it scares me senseless. I love you enough to stay and fight harder than I've ever fought for anything in my life. I love?—"
He cuts me off with a kiss that steals my breath and stops my heart. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright with something that might be tears.
"Say it again," he whispers.
"I love you." This time it comes easier, like a dam breaking. "I love you, and I'm terrified, and I don't know how to do this, but I'm not running anymore."
"Good," he says fiercely. "Because I love you too. Completely. Irrationally. Forever."
He lifts me then, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me toward the bedroom, past all the boxes and chaos and deposits me on the edge of the bed.
Then he kneels in front of me, hands on my knees, looking up with reverence and heat and that persistent awe.
Like every time he touches me he can't believe it's real.
"Again," he demands, and it's almost a plea.
I smirk, wiping at my wet face. "You're ridiculous."
He spreads my knees and leans forward, his hands warm and heavy on my thighs. "Say it."
"I love you." I thread my hands through his hair, my voice steadier every time. "I love you."
He launches himself up and kisses me so hard I topple backwards onto the bed, laughing and breathless. He's above me now, bracing his weight on his hands. There's a wildness to his grin, a raw and eager happiness that's so sincere it borders on embarrassing.
"I would pay good money to have a recording of those words," he whispers against my lips. "I'd play it every morning just to make sure I didn't dream this."
"You are such a sap," I say, but my chest fills with a strange, weightless feeling, like someone's removed all the fear I've been carrying and replaced it with helium.
He shifts his weight, propping himself on one elbow to look down at me. His free hand traces the curve of my cheek, and I can feel him cataloging every detail of my face—the tear tracks, the puffy eyes, the mess I've become in the last few hours.
"I want you to know something," he says, his voice suddenly serious. "No matter what happens with the ethics board, with my career—I need you to believe that this, right here, is worth everything to me."
"Don't say that," I interrupt, but he shakes his head.
"I need to say this. You need to hear it.
" His thumb brushes across my bottom lip.
"You want to know why I really made that stupid deal with you?
It wasn't because I thought you owed me something.
It was because I was terrified you'd disappear again, and I couldn't handle that.
I'd rather be unethical than lose you before I even had a chance to show you what we could be. "
My heart does something acrobatic in my chest. "That's the most romantically problematic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"I'm full of romantic problems," he says, lowering his head to kiss my neck. "It's one of my many charms."
I laugh despite everything, my hands fisting in his shirt. "Your many charms are about to get you disbarred."
"Worth it," he murmurs against my collarbone, and I feel the vibration of his words in my chest.
"This is insane," I whisper, even as my body responds to his touch. "We're in the middle of a crisis and you're?—"
"Making love to the woman I adore," he finishes, lifting his head to meet my eyes. "Yeah. I am."
The words hit me like a physical thing. Making love. Not fucking, not having sex. Making love. Like something precious and deliberate and real.
My heart catches in my throat, and I'm suddenly aware of everything—the weight of him above me, the sound of his breathing, the fact that I just said "I love you" for the first time in my adult life and meant it with every cell in my body.
"Caleb," I whisper, and his name in my mouth feels different now. Sacred somehow. "I need you to know that I'll be there. For whatever happens next. I'll testify, I'll tell them everything. I'll tell them nothing. Whatever you need from me, I'll do it. I won't let you face this alone."
He smiles, that devastating smile that's been undoing me since the first night we met. "I know you will. That's why I love you."
His lips find mine again, and I surrender to the feeling of being completely known and still wanted. His hands slide under my shirt, warm against my skin, and I arch into his touch.
"You're so beautiful," he whispers, pulling my shirt over my head and letting his eyes graze over me. "Every single part of you."
He traces the line of my collarbone with his lips, then lower, and I arch into his touch without reservation. No calculation, no performance. Just pure reaction.
"I love you," I say again, because I can. Because the words are finally free.
He stills above me, lifting his head to meet my eyes. "Keep saying it."
"I love you," I repeat, stronger this time. "I love you, Caleb. I love you."
Something breaks open in his expression. He strips off his shirt, then comes back to me with a hunger that's somehow gentle. Like he's starving but determined to savor every bite.
When he touches me now, it's different from every other time.
Slower, more deliberate. Like he's memorizing the texture of my skin, the way I respond to his hands.
I realize I'm doing the same, cataloging the way his breath hitches when I drag my nails down his back, the sound he makes when I bite his shoulder.
"I love you," I whisper against his throat, and he groans like the words physically affect him.
"Again," he demands, his hands mapping the curve of my waist.
"I love you." It's easier every time, like a muscle I'm finally learning to use. "I love you, I love you."
He makes quick work of the rest of our clothes, and then we're skin to skin, nothing between us but breath and want and the terrifying honesty of finally saying what we mean.
When he slides into me, we both go still, both of us holding our breath like we're afraid to shatter this fragile moment. His forehead presses against mine, his eyes locked with mine, and I see the same wonder I feel reflected back at me.
"I love you," I say again, and this time he kisses me, swallowing the words like they're something he can keep inside himself forever.
We move together, finding a rhythm that feels both familiar and new.
I've never been so present in my own body, so aware of every sensation—the slide of his skin against mine, the catch in his breath when I arch up to meet him, the way his hands never stop moving, like he's trying to touch every part of me at once.
"Tell me this is real," he whispers, his voice breaking on the last word.
"It's real," I promise, wrapping my legs around him to pull him closer, deeper. All I can do is feel. The weight of him, the heat between us, the way he whispers my name and feels like truth.
He gives me everything. His body, his breath, his complete attention.
When I come apart beneath him, it's with his name on my lips and tears streaming down my face.
Not from sadness, but from the overwhelming relief of finally letting myself have this.
All of it. The love, the fear, the messy complicated reality of choosing someone and letting them choose you back.
He follows me over the edge moments later, his body shuddering against mine as he buries his face in my neck. I hold him through it, my hands stroking his back, whispering "I love you" over and over until the words lose all meaning except the feeling behind them.
Afterward, we lie tangled together. My head is on his chest, his fingers brushing back and forth on my bare shoulder. Neither of us speaks for a long time.
"So," he says eventually, his voice rough as sandpaper. "You love me, huh?"
I laugh against his skin, the sound coming out giddy and a little embarrassed. "Did you really need to hear me say it that many times?"
He turns, rolling me over, so I'm on top of him, his hands anchored to my hips. His eyes are bright, still glassy, but the smile is pure mischief. "I need you to say it every morning," he says. "Every hour, if possible. Maybe more. And text it to me if we're not in the same room."
I mock-scowl. "So demanding."
He shrugs, all smug. "I'm used to getting what I want. And what I want, Serena, is you."