Chapter 40
AMELIA
That night, I dreamt of both Dante and Caiden. Their hands roaming over my exposed flesh, their lips coating every inch of my skin, painting my body with roses and sunlight.
I awoke to the sound of birds filling the empty spaces in the silence. I wanted to stay in bed, to nestle into the covers and drift from reality.
But reality would still be here when I resurfaced, and I realized there was no point in hiding.
My hand lingered in the air by the doorknob. I didn’t trust how I would react when I saw Caiden. I imagined walking out and seeing him standing on the porch. I imagined running into his arms and diving into something that was fated in the stars.
My inner thighs still tingled when I thought about our kiss yesterday. Not rushed or full of tense fury, it was different.
Aching.
Passionate.
Consuming.
For a moment while I was on his lap, I didn’t want it to end. I wanted us to keep going until all our clothes were ripped off, and we were tangled up in each other.
I couldn’t believe that I was thinking this way about Caiden, the one man who I never envisioned myself being intimate with.
I rolled out of bed to change my clothes and shuffled to the bathroom, face puffy and hair wild as seaweed. I brushed my teeth, watching myself in the mirror, marveling at what a night of safe sleep did to my skin.
The lines that had framed my eyes since my mother’s death had faded a little, the bruised shadows under my cheekbones a little less severe. Even my mouth seemed to have softened, like the memory of Caiden’s kiss had pressed some new shape into it.
The kitchen was bright with morning sun. Dante sat at the table, feet propped on a chair, a book open, and half a cup of coffee in reach. He looked up when I entered.
“Morning,” he said. “You sleep okay? It’s almost ten.”
“Yeah. I think I could’ve slept forever,” I said. I grabbed a mug and poured the last of the coffee, black and acrid, but it suited me. “Where’s Caiden?”
He shrugged, the gesture lazy but aware. “Out for a walk, I think. Said he needed some time to himself before we head out. You know how he gets.”
I did know, all too well.
“That’s fair,” I said. I tried to picture Caiden in the woods, stomping through last year’s leaves, picking a fight with the quiet, but all I could see was the way he’d looked at me last night.
Dante closed his book and studied me. “You seem better today. Less haunted.”
I tipped my mug at him. “Maybe I just gave up haunting myself for a morning.”
He gave a small huff of a laugh. “You should give up more often.”
I didn’t want to talk about Caiden, but everyone knows that when two people tiptoe around a subject, it only grows teeth.
I sat beside Dante at the table, watching the orbit of his hands around the mug.
He had strong fingers, the kind that looked like they could fix anything. A broken chair, a busted engine, a heart that never learned to beat at the right tempo.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Sure. Not like I have secrets left.”
He considered his words, then rolled them out with care. “Why’d you come back here with him?” He nodded at the empty seat, the one Caiden might’ve filled if he weren’t always halfway out the door. “You could have brought anyone. Or no one.”
“It’s complicated,” I said, and hated how true that was.
“I think I wanted to see if it was real. The change in him. The way he looked at me in Colorado, or how he’s acted since.
” I risked a look at Dante. “He was awful to me for so long. But what if that’s not all there is? What if he can be different?”
Dante took this in, nodding slowly. “He can. I’ve seen it. But it’s not on you to fix him.”
“I know.” I rubbed at my temples, feeling the slow crawl of caffeine into my veins. “You ever want to believe something so much that you start lying to yourself? Like, if you want it enough, it has to be true, because otherwise—” I trailed off. “Otherwise, you’re just a moron with a broken heart.”
He smiled. “That’s called faith, Amelia. You’re not a moron for having faith, or for having a good heart.”
“I think my heart too good, and I wish it wasn’t, because I’m afraid this will end with me being hurt.”
“Then you should be honest. With him. With yourself.” He tilted his head, dark eyes catching mine. “And with me.” The air shimmered, full of invisible threads. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered. “You deserve—”
He held up a hand, stopping me. “Don’t. Don’t say I deserve better.
I’ve told you there is nothing wrong with you.
I’ve had feelings for you for a long time, even before we became close.
I’d watch you when you’d be by yourself, or when Caiden would torture you, and I’d feel guilty as hell on the sidelines for not saving you,” he paused and held his breath, before continuing.
“I almost had you, but things became complicated with Caiden. Wrong timing I suppose.”
I stared at Dante, at the honest plainness of his face, feeling something shift in my chest. The last embers of leftover anger at Caiden threatened to flicker up, but I smothered them.
“I just wish I knew what the right timing was,” I said.
“Seems like every time I think I’ve got it, I’m wrong again. ”
He shrugged. “That’s the trick about time, isn’t it? It just moves. Doesn’t care whether you’re ready or not.”
For a while, we listened to the sounds of the lake house: the pipes shivering behind the walls, the wind scraping at the windows, the birds still singing like they didn’t even know what heartbreak was.
I wondered what it would be like to choose Dante, not because he was safe, not because he was a way out, but because he was his own kind of gravity. What would it be like to let myself fall toward him instead of orbiting around Caiden’s black hole?
I imagined kissing him. The thought startled me, because it felt possible. It felt honest in a way I hadn’t let myself admit before.
Of course I’d thought about it, since we kissed in the motel room. I’d wanted to lean over him, touch the hair at his temple, feel what it was like to be seen by someone who wasn’t already drowning.
But I’d chosen someone else. Or maybe, I realized, I’d never chosen at all.
That was the thing about Caiden and I. It was a push and pull. I pushed forward, and he would pull away. He pushed forward, and I would pull away. I wondered what would happen if we both pushed, and if neither of us pulled back?
Would we collapse together, or would the force send us careening off the earth? Would we become new and catastrophic, or would we burn out in a single supernova?
A small voice appeared in my head, telling me that maybe I just don’t love myself enough to choose Dante, who would be the safer and nicer option.
Maybe this would be a huge mistake. Maybe it’s my trauma bond pushing my thoughts towards Caiden. Maybe it’s the version of myself from years ago who saw how bruised and broken Caiden was and wanted to fix it.
Maybe I hadn’t changed at all, and choosing Caiden meant I was moving backward.
Caiden and I were so similar in our pain, I thought it was a good thing; it meant we would understand each other. Maybe it was the opposite, maybe the damaged ones were meant to love and be loved by somebody who was whole.
There was only one way to find out.
I sipped my coffee, burning my tongue, and set the mug down.
“I think I want to see where it goes with him,” I said slowly. “That’s the truth. I owe it to myself to see what’s there and if it’s real or just some fucked up muscle memory.” My hands curled around the mug, knuckles white. “I’m sorry, Dante. You deserve a clean answer.”
He didn’t flinch, but I could see the disappointment slide through his eyes and settle at the corners.
“I figured,” he said softly. “You two have this...history. I used to tell myself it was like gravity, but I think it’s more like stagnation.
You keep going the same direction unless something big knocks you off course.
” He tried a smile. “Maybe you need to finish falling before you can stand up again.”
I closed my eyes, wishing there was a way to explain how heavy it felt to have someone else’s hope tangled up in your chest. Instead, I shook my head. “I’m not saying this to hurt you. I just can’t be another person who lies to you, or to myself.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I liked you in the first place.”
We let the silence build, reaching that bracing, glacial standoff that always precedes the next big thaw.
The moment stretched until I almost believed it would break, but Dante just got up, rinsed his mug in the sink, and leaned against the counter, arms folded, and gaze turned out to the empty lake.
I stood and followed him, placing my hand on his bicep. “Dante.”
He closed his eyes.
“Please look at me,” I pleaded.
He opened his eyes and looked at me, and I saw why he had been afraid to meet my gaze. His face was adorned with yearning and sadness.
“Can I kiss you?” He looked like a little boy begging for the last piece of candy, or how a child carries a longing for a special toy.
“Of course.”
He placed his lips on mine. It started as a soft touch, then it turned into something hungry and aching.
I let him kiss me, I let him weave his arms around my back and pull me close, because I knew it would help ease his hurt, and maybe I wanted it one last time too, before I dove into the unknown.
I kept my hands on his arms, not daring to engulf myself into him too much, otherwise it would be harder to walk away.
He reluctantly pulled away and looked deep into my gaze. “Fuck, Amelia,” he whispered, his voice so low and gruff. “You are going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”