CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Aspen
Aside from that god-awful day Jason came wandering into my facility and brought all of the abandonment issues to the surface, I haven’t seen or heard from Cal. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, he just left me there, broken into pieces in my office. He said he’d be back, but instead he texted me. I knew to trust my gut. He avoids me, then asks my son if I’m around like nothing is wrong? That’s why I pretended like I was going to bed. Petty? Immature? Yeah, maybe. But now I’m thinking about him having the audacity to ask my son if I’m around when he's been the one dodging me all fucking week, and I’m riled up all over again.
I expected so much more from him than this. Beyond pissed, I put on my coat, then let River know I’m heading over to Cal’s so she can keep an eye on Tucker, even though he’s in bed. By the time I make it across the street, I’m livid. I ring his doorbell over and over like a complete psycho. A few seconds later his door opens.
I’m in his face. “Do I mean anything to you?” I glare at him. My heart pounds in my ears as I wait for an answer.
He doesn’t say a word. He just stands there, stunned. Tears immediately well in my eyes, and the pain radiating in my chest is crushing. I nod in acceptance of his silence and release a deep sigh. It hurts like hell. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I can’t believe I came over here. What the fuck did I expect? I begin to walk away. He grabs my wrist, pulling me inside, wrapping me up into a bone-crushing hug while kicking the door closed.
“Stop it!” I yell with my face squished against his chest, trying to push him away, but he only holds me tighter. “What is it about me that makes me so damn unlovable, Cal? Please, just tell me so I can fix it,” I beg in desperation.
He kisses the top of my head, squeezing me tight. He cradles my head, his fingers weaving into my hair as he takes his other hand and gently tilts my head to look at him. “Is that what you think?” He pulls back, staring at me with glossy eyes. “You think you’re unlovable?” He dusts his soft lips across mine in a featherlike kiss. “There’s nothing about you that needs fixing. It’s me.” He pats his chest. “I’m the one who has deep-seated issues. I’m the one who’s fucked up. Not you—never you, Angel. You’re fucking perfect. You’re a ray of sun peeking through the clouds right after a rainstorm, promising a better day. You’re a guiding light in the darkest tunnel. There’s not a single thing that I don’t love about you.”
“So we’re doing the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me thing’?” I swipe a tear.
“Can you come sit down so we can talk?”
I’m reluctant, but with a sigh, I hang my coat on the coat stand beside the door, then follow him through the entryway and into his massive living room. He sits down on the couch. I’m surprised when he pulls me into his lap to straddle him. One hand resting on my hip while the other holds my hand.
“I’m going to lay it all out there, so bear with me.” I nod in response as tears begin to pool in his eyes. He wipes them away. “I’m so damn tired of crying, but I know it’s supposed to be healing, and I want to finally heal.” He gives a self-deprecating laugh before he becomes somber.
I take in his expression and find vulnerability staring straight back at me. I frown in confusion, but now I’m also worried. I keep my mouth shut and wait for him to collect his thoughts.
Cal takes a deep breath, then exhales and looks me directly in the eyes. “I’ve been absent in my own life for years, and I haven’t wanted to connect with anyone—until you. You make me feel alive. I’ve spent years coasting through life without feeling anything but pain, anger, and more recently . . . guilt. For the past few months, you made me live, but the guilt has been eating away at me for feeling the way I do about you and Tuck. My past and future were colliding, and I didn’t know what to do with that. I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish. You’ve been giving me all of you, and I’ve been taking, and taking, and taking.
‘You’re like a dopamine hit; it feels so damn good to be around you, but I haven’t been fair; I haven’t given you anything in return. I’m sorry for that.” He finishes on a whisper, then presses his lips to my temple before continuing. “I haven’t been open with anyone about all the details, but I trust you. I want you to know . . . I’m about to dump a lot on you, and what I’m about to tell you isn’t pretty, so I want you to be prepared, okay?” He caresses the back of my hand with his thumb, as if he is trying to comfort me. I hold his gaze and let him speak.
He releases a sigh. “My wife died, Aspen.” My eyes blow wide, and a gasp of shock leaves my parted lips. “Every day that I’m with you, I feel things I’ve never felt before. The guilt from that eats me alive. I loved her so much; she was my wife. But with you it’s . . . different. I didn’t know what to do with that. When I’m around you, I forget about being sad. I get so lost in you that I forget about missing her. But when I’m away from you, the guilt for what I feel for you fucking tears me apart. Like I’m not supposed to or allowed to feel this way for you.”
I sniff and wipe my face. Empathy for what he’s been going through washes over me. This sweet man has been living in literal hell, and here I was pissed off because he didn’t give me the attention I wanted. I cup his cheek, staring into his red-rimmed eyes. He wraps his arms around me and continues.
“I’ve always wanted a family,” he whispers, then he clears his throat. His focus shifts to his lap like he’s ashamed. “I already told you a little bit about my upbringing, but I never went into too much detail. When I was young, my mom wasn’t in the best position to care for me. I spent the majority of my childhood homeless, bouncing from park benches to whatever shelter had room for us. I did that until my mom died of an overdose. I was Tuck’s age.”
“W—What?” My brows furrow.
“I had a rough childhood until Seattle’s head hockey coach, Jeffery Miles, adopted me. I knew when I became a dad, I was going to provide an extraordinary life for my child, like Jeff did for me. I wanted to be the best dad and give my kid everything I never had. I wanted to be like my dad, Jeff.”
“Do you still speak to your dad? You never mention him.”
“Sometimes, but not often. I became really good at shutting people out over the past few years. Honestly, I’ve been scared to talk to him. I feel terrible about how I’ve skirted around and completely avoided him. He provided a loving and stable environment to grow up in. He’s the best dad. I wanted to be the same for my child. So, when Paisley became pregnant, I was so excited—completely beside myself.”
His eyes well with more tears. “Midway through Paisley’s pregnancy there were complications, and our son didn’t make it to full term; he was born sixteen weeks early.”
I’m stunned. “Oh my gosh, Cal.”
I can’t even fathom what he’s been going through all these years; my heart shatters for him.
He wipes my tears away, then attempts to erase his own, but they flow freely. He takes a ragged breath. “After the delivery of my son, Paisley decided she didn’t want to . . . she couldn’t handle it . . . she, um . . . she was diagnosed with postpartum psychosis.” He struggles to get through; his jaw ticks as he tries to keep it together.
“She went back and forth from being in a catatonic state to being in a state of hysteria and mania; sometimes she was just downright delusional. She refused to name our son, refused to go to his funeral, refused to acknowledge the loss, and the weight of everything bore down on my shoulders to deal with alone. Dad tried to help as much as he could, but he lives in Seattle. Her parents are pretty much useless, so I was completely alone.”
He takes another shaky breath. “I had to do everything on my own.” His voice cracks.
I try to bring him comfort. I rub his back as he collects himself. I just can’t imagine this nightmare. Like, how does he even function? If I lost Tucker—no. I can’t even imagine the thought.
“I took care of everything. I made funeral preparations. I named him.”
“What did you name him?”
He looks at me, then looks away. He takes a deep breath, and on a sob, he speaks again. “Xander.” He begins to sob again. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs. “I haven’t been able to say his name since the funeral because the loss is so painful. I didn’t want to revisit it. I lost him too, you know?” His face scrunches up in pain, tears barreling down his face, as he weeps. His inhales become shorter as if he can’t catch his breath. I can tell that he has been holding on to this like a ticking time bomb ready to explode, so I stay silent and let him fall apart. Holding this in as long as he has, and doing so alone, isn’t healthy.
After a few minutes, he finally collects himself. “No one really thinks about the fathers when there’s a miscarriage or a preterm loss. I had to deal with the loss of our baby without any real support because everyone was concentrating on Paisley, and I was okay with that at the time. I mean, my teammates were there for me, but most of them didn’t know what to say or do. I watched my wife lose her mind while simultaneously trying to take care of her, the funeral arrangements, and the obligations I had with the team.”
“The Colorado executives were as supportive as they could be, but I was under contract, and my time for bereavement ran out. I had just signed a three-year contract. Paisley and I were going to counseling, but it was during the busiest time in hockey season, so I could only attend a few; I was forced to be away a lot. We found a great doctor who prescribed her medication. I thought, eventually, we could make it through the loss, our broken hearts would somewhat heal, and then we could try again. After a few months of medication, she started to feel more like herself, but that’s when she took a turn for the worse. She took it upon herself to stop therapy and eventually got off her medication, against her doctor’s advice. I had no idea. If I had known, I would’ve broken that damn contract.” He trails off, shaking his head.
I can feel his pain so emphatically. I wipe my tears with the back of my hand. When he begins sobbing again, I gather the sleeve of my shirt in my hand, reaching up to wipe his face. His tear-filled hazel eyes lock on mine. I can’t bear it. My heart aches for him. Seeing that raw pain in his eyes undoes me, and I sob right along with him.
He takes a staggering breath. “I was pulled from the seventh game of the championship series. My teammate’s . . .” Tears stream down his face, his body wracks with grief, struggling to let out his next words. “My teammate’s wife . . . she found Paisley. She umm . . .” He gasps for a breath. I wrap my arms around him, trying to give him every bit of comfort I can. I stroke his hair while he continues. “I wasn’t enough.” He shakes in my arms as sobs wrack his body.
I wrap him tight in my arms until he calms down, then I hold his face in both of my hands, wiping his tears with my thumbs. “You are enough, Cal. She must have been utterly and completely broken. I can’t imagine the pain either of you were going through. What she did, it wasn’t your fault.”
He stares at me, gauging my sincerity before he nods in acceptance. He wipes his eyes again. “I think I know that now. I went to see Paisley yesterday while I was in Colorado. I needed to sort some things out before I could move on. This sounds so stupid, but I needed permission to move on with you. I want to be with you, Aspen. I’ve been wanting that for a long time, but I just couldn’t get out of my own way.” He sniffs and wipes his face with the back of his hand again. “I think I’m ready if this is what you want. If I’m what you want.”
I continue to soothe him by running my fingers through his hair while my arms encompass him. I place a gentle kiss on his lips. “I’ve been waiting on you, Hotshot.” His body visibly relaxes. “You know, you weren’t one hundred percent accurate when you said you haven’t given me anything in return. You may have been holding back from telling me about your life and your past. But you’ve been giving Tucker and me your presence. You make him happy. You make me happy. You’re important to us. Maybe at one time you were coasting through life, but for the past few months, that’s not what it’s felt like, not to me anyway.” I stroke his hair, consoling him.
Now I know why he’s kept me at arm’s length this whole time. Even though I’m in a somber state about the revelation of his wife and his baby, I’m glad to be the one he felt safe enough with to share his past with. He brings his hand up to my face and caresses my cheek with his thumb before he kisses me softly.
He pulls back, and I see an earnest gleam in his eyes. “Thank you for everything: for bringing me joy, for pushing me out of this godawful headspace, for forcing me to live, and for placing your trust in me, not only with your heart but also with your son’s. I love him, Aspen. I love him like my own, and I would do anything in this world for him. I will always be here to protect him.”
I look for the truth, finding it in his eyes as he regards me with so much adoration. He kisses me one more time before whispering. “You don’t mean anything to me, Aspen; you mean everything. You own every piece of me. I don’t want to lose you because I’m stuck in the past; I’m ready to move on. I’m ready to put all of this behind me.”
I release a breath as he engulfs me in his strong arms, holding me tight. “You have such a big heart, Cal. You love hard, and there is nothing wrong with that. They will always be a part of you, and I’m not looking to replace her.”
“I know, Angel. It’s just been hard to comprehend that moving on doesn’t mean replacing, but I get it now.”
“I think I know a way we can honor her and Xander’s memory if you are open to it.”
With my head placed in the crook of his neck, his fingertips stroke through my hair. “I would love that actually,” he finally states.
“I also think you should talk to your dad.”
He plays with the ends of my hair. “Yeah. I probably should.”
I don’t know how long we sit wrapped in each other’s arms, drawing comfort from one another as we grieve his past together. Eventually, he tips up my chin and kisses my lips. “Okay. Enough with the heavy,” he says softly.
With my legs wrapped around his waist, Cal picks me up, carrying me through the living room, the entryway, and then up the stairs to his master bathroom.
“What are we doing?”
He wets a washcloth. “I’m going to wash our tears away.” He begins to wipe my face. “Then I’m going to walk you back home.”
Once my face is patted dry with a hand towel, he takes my chin in his hand and angles my face up towards his. He peppers light, feather-soft kisses all over my face before taking my lips in a tender kiss. Butterflies take flight in my stomach. This man is not what I ever expected. I think back to our first encounter and snort a laugh, kind of ruining the tender moment.
“What’s so funny?” He muses with a smirk. “Do I amuse you?” He lifts one brow.
I shake my head, then think better of it and nod. “You keep surprising me. Gone is the brooding asshole who hit my car, and standing in front of me is this incredible man who is so tender and sweet.”
Cal lays the washcloth over the laundry basket to dry. Chuckling, he strolls back to me and lifts me off the counter with such ease, then places me on my feet. “Awe, you think I’m incredible?” He smirks as he washes his face.
I roll my eyes, like he needs an ego boost. Leaning against the doorjamb with my arms folded across my chest, I watch him. “I’m sorry, did you hear me say incredible? I think you must be imagining things because I’m pretty certain I said incorrigible .”
Cal pats his face dry with a hand towel and laughs. He sets the towel down on the counter; then suddenly, he bends down and grabs me by the waist, hoisting me over his shoulder —fireman style. He carries me into his room and plops me down in the middle of the four-poster king-sized bed that’s draped with a light gray down comforter. I scamper to climb away from him, but he pulls me back to him by my ankle and descends on me with an onslaught of tickles. “What was that?” He continues to tickle my ribs. “I don’t think I heard you correctly the second time.”
A fit of giggles erupts out of me, and I try to fight him off, but it’s no use. “Okay! Okay! You’re incredible!” I wheeze between laughs. “You’re Incredible! I give up! Mercy!”
He smacks my ass and drops a peck to my lips. “That’s what I thought.”
He moves off me and stands beside the bed, placing his phone on the charger. Still on the bed, I hop to my feet so I can tower over him. I know I’m playing with fire, but I don’t care. I grab one of his pillows and toss it at him. The pillow lands a playful blow to the back of his head before falling to the floor. He turns around, tongue in cheek, as I giggle. My eyes go wide, and I squeal when he effortlessly jumps onto the bed and wraps his arm around my waist. We both tumble in a fit of laughter, but our laughter dies down as his eyes map my face. His fingers tenderly move my hair away from my eyes.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, nipping my bottom lip. “And you’re going to look even more beautiful when your ass is painted red with my handprint.”
“Mmm. Is that so?” I sass.
“You have no idea, Angel,” he breathes. “Keep testing me.”
“Hmm. Do you have a kink for spanking your bosses?” I giggle.
“When we’re in the bedroom, you’re not my boss. I’m the boss. Do you understand?”
I don’t respond until he raises an eyebrow. I nod my head, but apparently that’s not good enough because he says, “Words, Aspen.”
“I understand.”
“Good girl.” His lips skim my throat.
I think I may have a praise kink because hearing those words come from his mouth is a complete fucking turn-on.
“I’m going to tie you up.” Kiss. “Tease.” Kiss . “Torture.” Kiss. “And manipulate your body until you’re fucking dripping, writhing, and begging for release.” His lips hover over mine. “I’ll deliver pleasure so overwhelming that it’s on the brink of pain. I won’t be done with you until you're completely wrung out, pleading with me to stop.”
I bite my lip imagining all the things he would do to me. I’m left panting, and my panties wet with desire.
He kisses my lips again, then he winks. “But, as much as I want to keep you here all night and take my time with you, I really need to walk you home.” He gives my ass a gentle tap and lifts himself off me.
I’m left reeling, confused, and so fucking sexually frustrated. He’s just going to work me up and send me home? What the fuck is wrong with him? He must see my frustration because as he helps me off the bed, he pulls me to him, then whispers in my ear, “It’s called delayed gratification, Angel. The first time I take you to bed, it’s going to be all about us. “Today was hard and emotional for us both. Plus, it’s after one in the morning. There’s a little boy sleeping in his bed, expecting to see his mom when he wakes up.”
And there it is. The reason this man completes me.
Cal walks me across the street to my house. When we reach my front door, I turn, wrap my arms around his neck, and bring his face to mine, kissing him deeply.
“Thank you for trusting me, for opening up to me, for giving me pieces of you that you’ve refused to give anyone else.”
He kisses my forehead. “When I said that you own me, I meant every word. You own every piece of me.”
I peer up at him through my lashes and whisper, “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you alone tonight.”
He grabs my hands from around his neck and brings them to his lips; he kisses my knuckles. “I’ll be okay. It’s only a few hours until we both have to be at work.”
I scrutinize his sincerity for a moment before nodding my head reluctantly.
He bends down, teasing my lips with his own before delivering a kiss that leaves my toes absolutely curling. “Now take your sexy ass to bed,” he whispers when we break apart. Cal reaches around me, opens the door, then ushers me in. “Good night,” he says before he quickly closes the door behind me.
Bossy ass.