Chapter 17 Callie
Callie
“I see you, Callie. I see everything you are. Everything you’ve built. Everything you carry. And I want it. All of it.”
As much as I want to believe him, I just… don’t.
Can’t.
The thought of opening myself up to the same kind of pain as before is too scary. I’m not even sure this living arrangement will survive a week.
Two, tops.
This man has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.
From the corner of my eye, I watch as River strips down to his boxer briefs like it’s routine and we’ve been doing this for years.
All the fangirling on Railers Rumors about River Thompson being one of the sexiest hockey players in the league is one hundred percent accurate.
The guy has more in common with a Greek statue than a flesh and blood man.
As much as I don’t want to be totally entranced by the sight of him, I am.
At this very moment, I’m having a difficult time ripping my attention away.
My gaze drags across the broad line of his shoulders, the sculpted muscles of his chest before sliding over the deep ridges of his washboard abs.
And then there are the tattoos. But it’s the sharp cut of muscle just above the waistband of his boxer briefs that melts my brain.
I have no business looking that low, and yet… here we are.
It’s official.
I’m way in over my head.
When I’m finally able to shake myself out of my River Thompson induced trance, I snatch my duffel bag off the floor and flee to the en suite bathroom to clear my thoughts.
It’s the best option.
The only one available to me.
The second I step inside the massive bathroom, I come to an abrupt stop, momentarily stunned by the sheer luxury of it all.
Like the kitchen, the walls are a rich charcoal gray that somehow feels both sleek and soothing.
The color perfectly complements the gleaming white marble floors laced with subtle gray veining.
Chrome fixtures catch the muted ambient lighting, casting a quiet elegance over the entire space.
A freestanding soaking tub sits beside a floor-to-ceiling window that frames a spectacular panoramic view of the city skyline.
It’s the kind you only see in luxury hotel ads or dream real estate listings.
Across from it, a deep mahogany vanity stretches along one wall, topped with a matching marble counter, and outfitted with double sinks.
The open shelving beneath holds neatly folded towels that practically beg to be wrapped around bare skin.
I trail my fingers along the polished stone, taking it all in with wide eyes before they land on the glass-enclosed shower at the far end of the room. The bathroom is easily bigger than my entire living room.
Probably twice the size.
And just like that, I’m already imagining the feel of warm water pouring over me, the steam curling around my body as I let myself unwind, even if only for a few minutes. I’d be crazy not to take full advantage of the spa-like features while I can. In a week or two, this won’t be my reality.
But right now?
It’s calling my name.
Shoulders squared and chin lifted, I head back to the bedroom.
River is sprawled across the king-sized mattress with his hands folded behind his head like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
The position draws my eyes to the curve of his biceps, flexed just enough to make my mouth turn cottony.
He glances over, his gaze tracking me as I pause at the doorway, suddenly more aware of myself than I want to be.
“Is it all right if I take a shower?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
His brows lift just a fraction. “Callie, you don’t have to ask permission to do anything. This is your home now. Nora’s too.”
The way he says it tugs a string loose inside me. A string I’ve kept wrapped tight for too long. The ache that blooms within me at the sound of my daughter’s name on his lips catches me off guard. Like he already sees her as part of his life.
It takes effort to swallow the lump of emotion rising within me. “Thank you.”
His lips lift. “No problem.”
With a nod, I turn and slip back inside the bathroom. The moment the door clicks shut behind me, I reach for the lock and twist it.
Not because I don’t trust him.
I do.
It’s probably what unsettles me the most.
I lean against the solid wood and try to gather my composure. There’s something dangerously comforting about this space. About him. About the quiet, steady way he keeps showing up.
It’s unfamiliar territory.
And yet, it doesn’t feel wrong.
It feels like the start of something I have no idea if I’m ready for but can’t bring myself to walk away from.
More than anything, I need a sliver of control in a situation that feels like it’s slipping further from my grasp with each passing second.
I twist the shower handles and watch as water cascades from the rainfall head mounted in the ceiling.
For a long beat, I stand and stare at it, letting the sound calm my frayed nerves.
Then I move on autopilot, peeling off my clothes and dropping each piece into a neat pile on the cool tile.
I dig through my duffel for a ponytail holder and then twist my hair into a messy bun before stepping into the enclosure.
The second the warm spray hits my skin, I exhale.
Not just a sigh, but something that sounds a little too close to a sob.
I close my eyes and tilt my face toward the heat, letting it wash over me, melt into my muscles, and sink deep beneath the stress that’s been living in my bones for months.
It feels so good I could cry. Instead, I press my palms to the wall, let my forehead rest against the tile, and try to regain my bearings.
It feels like it’s been years since I’ve been able to do that.
There’s no rushing.
No multitasking.
Nora’s not screaming from the other room.
There isn’t a clock ticking down until the next crisis.
There’s just stillness.
It’s blissful.
As dangerous as the thought is, I can see how easy it would be to get used to this.
To River.
To how patient he is and how he anticipates needs I have yet to verbalize. Everything about him, from his quiet protectiveness to the thoughtful way he speaks, feels like a balm on raw, exposed skin. It’s the kind of comfort I’ve stopped letting myself long for.
I shove the thought from my mind before it can take root.
No one sticks around forever.
Especially when it gets hard.
Even though I want to stand under the water until my skin prunes, I force myself to turn the dial off.
I grab one of the plush towels from the open shelf and wrap it around my body.
After drying off, I pull on the only clean clothes I brought in here with me.
Sleep shorts and a comfy ribbed tank top.
They’re not meant to be sexy.
But when I glance in the mirror, my stomach flips. The fabric clings to every curve, the chilled air in the bathroom highlighting just how thin the top is. My nipples are clearly visible through the cotton. I tug at the material, but it’s hopeless.
There’s nothing else in the bag to wear.
Perfect.
My pulse stutters as I crack the bathroom door open, just enough to peek into the bedroom.
River’s head turns immediately, his eyes locking on mine with laser focus.
His gaze drops as I step into the room, raking over my bare legs, pausing at my hips, lingering at the hem of my tank before climbing slowly back up to my face.
Heat crawls up my neck as I tug at the edge of the shirt, even though it does absolutely nothing to hide what’s already on display.
He remains silent.
There’s no smirking or teasing.
But the intensity of his stare says everything.
I practically scurry to the bed and climb in, pulling the sheet and blanket up to my chin like some sort of protective shield. My heart finally begins to slow once I’m cocooned beneath the covers.
The mattress is more like a cloud, and the sheets are cool and silky against my skin.
And yet, nothing about this moment feels harmless.
The real danger isn’t the man next to me.
It’s how easily I’m starting to want him.
He doesn’t say a word as he remains stretched out beside me. He’s all lean muscle and quiet strength, the kind of man who seems comfortable, confident, and unshakable.
Like having a woman in his bed is nothing new.
I stare at the ceiling as my mind spins with doubts and questions. Instead of staying buried, they rise to the surface like bubbles in boiling water.
Before I can stop myself, the one that’s been uppermost in my mind slips out. “What is it exactly that you expect from me?”
He shifts, turning toward me. His elbow sinks into the mattress, bringing him even closer. My nerves snap to full attention.
He watches me for a beat before his gaze drops to my mouth and then lifts back to my eyes. “Nothing.”
The word lands softly, but it feels like a seismic shift.
His hand moves slowly, like he’s giving me time to pull away. When his fingers brush my cheek, I flinch out of reflex, not fear. But he doesn’t withdraw. Instead, he lets the touch settle.
“I don’t expect anything from you, Callie,” he says gently. “I’m not here to take anything you’re not ready to give. I’m not going to sleep with you just because we’re in the same bed. Not until you want it too.”
It’s the kind of thing a man says in a movie. Something scripted to melt a woman on the spot.
My eyes go wide.
And then, to my own surprise, laughter spills out. It’s more of a sharp release from all the pressure that’s been building. I clap a hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it’s too late. The tension shatters.
“That is never going to happen,” I say once I’m able to steady my nerves.
River’s mouth curves into a lazy smirk. “We’ll see about that.”
Without another word, he rolls onto his back and reaches for the bedside light before clicking it off.
Even though darkness settles around us, my thoughts refuse to be silenced, and my pulse doesn’t show any signs of slowing. I lie there for a long time and stare into the shadows above. The steady sound of River breathing next to me is both oddly comforting and completely unsettling.
After everything that happened today, from the way he ignited a fire inside me to the tenderness he showed Nora, to the words he said that reach straight into the parts of me I didn’t know were aching, one thing is painfully clear.
I don’t have River Thompson figured out.
Not by a long shot.
And that might be the most terrifying realization of all.