Chapter 17 Emma
Emma
Caleb reappeared a few minutes later, arms full. He wore his glasses, long-sleeved T-shirt, and those low-slung sweatpants stuffed into unlaced work boots.
Just looking at him killed a bunch of my brain cells.
“Raided the kitchen and the guys’ stash: cheese puffs, Froot Loops, and leftover pizza.” He put it all down, along with two waters.
I could’ve kissed him. But wait…I already had, and we were done with that. Only, as he got back into our makeshift bed, I couldn’t remember why. At least, not until he slid back under the open sleeping bag and put his cold feet on mine, making me squeal. “Hey!”
“Payback’s a bitch.”
I didn’t smile. “You know that’s several times now.”
“What?” he asked.
I busied myself shoving a handful of Froot Loops into my mouth. “That you’ve told me to ‘stay’ or ‘wait,’ like I’m some kind of special snowflake who needs protecting.”
“I get it.” He opened the cheese puffs. “You’re used to being an island of one, but I’m not. We Colburns stick together. Even when we can barely speak civilly to one another.”
“Admirable,” I said. “Sticking with people you don’t always see eye to eye with.”
He shrugged. “Family.”
“You’re lucky to have them.”
“Agreed. Who do you have?”
Why did that question make my heart hurt?
“I’ve got an aunt in Santa Rosa.” Or at least I used to…
“And you’ve met Suzie.” I thought about it.
“And the people at my work are nice, but I haven’t been there long enough to make close ties.
” I paused, embarrassed by the small size of my inner circle.
“I told you, I’m not good at connecting.
Not like you—you can pull out the charm and charisma at the blink of an eye. ”
“You’re better at it than you think,” he said cryptically.
“And charm and charisma don’t earn you respect or love.
When I played hockey, people came out of the woodwork, wanting to get close to me.
It took getting screwed over a few times before I learned to close myself off to almost everyone except my siblings.
With them, I’ve never had to worry about agenda or motives. ”
“You know when else you don’t have to worry about those things?” I asked, munching on more Froot Loops. “When you don’t let people in.”
“Touché.” He was now chewing on a slice of cheese pizza. “I hope you know I’ve got no agenda or motive here. We’re both stuck, so why shouldn’t it be a give-and-take?”
“A give-and-take isn’t you commanding me to wait.”
“That was instinct,” he said. “So is sharing the food.” He smiled. “Plus, I got to hear you moan over the cereal.”
“I did not moan.”
“Deny it all you want, but the sound now lives rent-free in my head.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You also moaned when I kissed you.” He smiled. “Which means you like me as much as you like Froot Loops.”
“I don’t like anyone as much as I like Froot Loops.”
“Interesting,” he said.
“What?”
“You didn’t deny that you like me, which I knew because you helped me with the migraine.”
I lifted my chin. “I helped you because it was the right thing to do. Has nothing to do with my feelings for you.”
“So then maybe you expect a reward.” He waggled his brows. “Name it.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Just admit I’m growing on you.”
“I admit nothing other than that you’re so full of yourself, I don’t know how you fit your head through the doorways when you walk through this place.”
He laughed. “Say what you want; the proof was in that kiss.”
“Maybe it’s just that we’re stuck here together.”
He cocked his head. “You think so?”
“I want to think so,” I muttered, then snagged a piece of pizza. “I’m grateful you’re here though, because I wouldn’t have eaten anyone’s food, so I’d be starving right now.”
He snorted. “Good to know I’ve proven useful.”
I wrestled with revealing the truth because he was sure enough of himself already. “I mean it, Caleb. I’m glad I’m not alone, but I’m also glad it’s you.”
His eyes warmed. “I’m glad it’s you as well.”
The tiny spark in my chest rekindled. I gestured to the pizza. “This tastes like Happy Pie’s, our campus pizza joint, remember? Everyone always went there after games.”
“They had the best pizza on the planet.”
I took him in, sitting on the bed, hair tousled, eyes heavy-lidded, looking so much like that college kid, it brought me back to that time. “Do you miss hockey?” I asked softly.
He drew a deep breath. “I miss the game, the camaraderie, and the travel. But…” He shrugged, staring at the last piece of pizza. “Hockey was never my endgame.”
My mouth fell open in surprise, and I pushed the pizza at him. “No?”
“Mostly, it was a means to an end—a college degree to support myself.” He eyed the last slice. “You sure?”
I nodded, and he scooped it up. “I don’t really talk about this to anyone. I mean, my family knows, but that’s about it.”
“Is it a secret?”
He shook his head. “Not really. It’s just that most people don’t believe me when I tell them I didn’t mind not going pro. Either that or they pity me.”
I’d been with him on the jobsite, seen firsthand his genuine excitement at the work ahead of him, so I believed every word. “If hockey wasn’t your endgame, what was? Coaching? Commentating?”
“This.” He gestured around us. “Renovating historical landmarks, working with my brother. Hockey was a way out.” He chewed thoughtfully, then gave me a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes as he gestured to himself. “Not just a pretty jock.”
I’d been all too guilty of judging him as well. But now, I’d seen him on the job, in charge, in control, smart, efficient, capable. “Your dad must be so proud of the man you turned out to be.”
He opened one of the waters and handed it to me before taking the other for himself. “Doubtful.”
“He seems like such a sweet guy,” I said carefully.
“He wasn’t always like how he is now. Growing up, he was a hard man, exacting and aggressive. Not exactly father-of-the-year material.”
“Is that why you call him by his name instead of Dad?”
He drank down half his water bottle, then nudged me to drink as well.
“He was a staunch military man,” he said, “without an ounce of softness, weighed down by four kids when his wife died. We all had a rough go. Ryder put himself on the line to protect us until he left for college, and then I took over. But he’s not that same man now.
Two years ago, after his strokes and surgery, he changed. ”
Understanding flooded me. “It must be difficult to adapt to who he is now.”
“Difficult,” he said on a rough snort. “Yeah, you could say that. A man I hated my entire life suddenly isn’t that man anymore.” He shook his head. “I haven’t quite figured out how to let go of the hate. I know I should leave the past in the past…”
“No one can completely let go of the past. All you can do is learn to accept that the old Hank is gone and, more importantly, the people you love are safe.”
He stared at me, then let out a breath.
“What?”
“You’ve always been so much smarter than I am.”
I smiled and ate some cheese puffs. “Not true, but I’m going to keep letting you think that.
” I looked around. Couldn’t see much, but it was easier than meeting Caleb’s gaze as I said, “My dad walked out on us. My mom had to work multiple jobs, and it still wasn’t always enough to keep a roof over our heads.
I never really knew him, and I hated him. For so long I hated him.”
“Past tense?”
“Very,” I said. “Holding on to it, hugging all that animosity close to my heart like that, gave me anxiety. Stomachaches. Headaches. Stole my sleep. Then one day, in third grade, I blacked out at school. They thought I was sick. I had to go through all sorts of tests that my mom couldn’t afford.
Weeks and months of trying to figure out what was wrong with me, and we finally got a diagnosis—IBS.
But the meds didn’t fix anything.” I met his gaze.
“Because it wasn’t IBS. It was stress and anxiety and hate. It was killing me. I had to let it go.”
“How did you do it?”
“Ever hear of scream therapy?”
He shook his head.
“My mom took me camping up in the mountains. We sat on a ledge and screamed into the abyss. I was timid and embarrassed at first, but as time went on, I got into it.” I smiled at the memory of holding my mom’s hand, both of us screaming ourselves hoarse.
He smiled as well. “I can see a young you, bravely sitting on a ledge and screaming your sweet heart out.”
Just as I could see a young Caleb having no such outlet for his fears and frustrations…
It took me a moment to realize I’d reached for his hand, not clocking it until his big, warm, calloused one gently squeezed mine in odd but lovely silent solidarity.
***
I woke with a startled scream and was immediately tugged into a warm, hard body. Caleb cradled me to him, whispering, “You’re okay, it was just the wind…”
His voice was low and thick with sleep. Somehow we’d fallen asleep, and I’d woken both of us. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Despite the fact I could tell he was still more than half-asleep, he did have me. He’d tucked me in close, and I felt wrapped up in care and testosterone—which snapped me all the way awake.
And unfortunately reminded me of an unasked question.
“What did Kiera mean, you’re not allowed to sleep with anyone related to the job anymore?”
He stilled for a beat, then sighed against my hair. “Long story.”
“Well, we don’t have TV, so…”
He ran a hand down his face. “You really want to hear this?”
“I really do.” I’d told myself to stay emotionally detached with him, a self-protective measure.
But he’d been steadily showing me he wasn’t the same Caleb from all those years ago, and in return, I’d shown him more of the real me than I usually showed anyone.
Against my better judgment, I wanted him to do the same.
He let out a long exhale. “A few years ago, I went out with the daughter of a very important client. It didn’t end well, the client dumped us, I fucked up, the end.”