Chapter Seventeen
Idon’t know what I expected when Cade said he was going out with Tristan.
After I word-vomited all my worries to his friend, I knew Tristan would do something, I just wasn’t sure what.
And that was before Cade unloaded all his weird thoughts about custody battles, which we haven’t talked about since.
Mostly because I hope he’s forgotten about it, and I’m scared to remind him.
Either way, Cade coming home sober and relaxed before it even got dark was not what I was expecting today. It is a delightful surprise, though.
He’s closing the door behind him just as I reach the entryway. I can hear Tristan’s car pulling out of the driveway and taking off, and I immediately do a once over of my boyfriend to get a lay of the land.
There’s no smell of liquor, which is nice. There is an acrid, burned sort of smell, but that could be a lot of things. And more importantly, his whole posture is loose and relaxed, even as he struggles to take off his shoes.
Cade looks up at me and his shoulders slump a little, like he’s sad. But the smile he gives me is soft and sweet. A real smile, not something he put on for show or when he’s desperately trying to make me laugh.
“Hey, baby,” he says so softly it’s almost a whisper. “Can you help me out here? My hand has given up for the day, I think.”
It takes me a few long seconds to process, then I move toward him all at once. I’m not sure what to say, so I focus on bending over and unlacing his boots while he leans heavily into my back. It’s awkward and he probably should have sat down first, but I like the feeling of him leaning on me.
It’s a little on the nose, but it feels good. I’m only wearing a t-shirt, and I can feel the chill of his wind-chapped skin where he rests his hand on me.
“It’s getting cold out there, man. We might be finished with the teeny-tiny window of hoody season and headed straight into real winter,” Cade says overhead.
As soon as I get his boots off and stand up, he makes a show of rubbing both his hands together and then wrapping his arms around me.
“Brr,” he pretends to shiver. “Warm me up, baby. I need my own personal space heater.” His cold hands splay across my back underneath my shirt as he squeezes me a little around the waist and pushes his face against my chest like a cat.
I huff a little, because I do run hot, and he tends to be on the colder side and more than willing to steal my body heat. Also like a damn cat.
“You’d probably conserve your heat better if you weren’t always yapping,” I mumble, even as I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold him tighter. “Your mouth is open so often, all the heat zips right on out of you.”
Cade chuckles, even though the sound is muffled by my shirt.
“One of us has to yap, or we’d live in absolute silence. It’s all about balance, baby. I yap so you don’t have to. It’s self-sacrificing of me, really.”
I rub one hand up and down his back, letting myself truly relax into the embrace for the first time in god-knows how long.
“And what was your excuse for the first 22 years of your life?”
“It was a public service. Just making sure the introverts of Possum Hollow knew they had someone around to pick up their slack. What can I say, robot boy? I was made for you. You just kept me waiting.”
He leans back as he says this, looking me in the eye and giving me a crooked grin that makes me want to kiss him more than I want to breathe.
So, I do.
Cade kisses me back, and it’s a soft, gentle thing. It feels real, though, and I find myself settling inside more and more with each second that our lips are pressed together.
“Hi,” he says when we break apart, almost shy.
“Hi,” I reply. “Did you have a nice time on your play date?”
His expression shutters a little, becoming more serious, but he nods.
“I did. I’m glad Tristan took me out. I think I needed that.”
“Tell me about it,” I say, pulling away from him enough to snag him by the less-injured hand and lead him into the living room.
He follows me easily, letting me pull him onto the couch and arrange us so we’re lying down face to face, our bodies interlocked and overlapping everywhere we can. It’s not really necessary for this conversation, but I feel compelled by the need to keep him as close to me as possible.
While I manipulate us until it’s comfortable, he tells me about the day in bits and pieces. The shooting range; going for food. He tells me that they had a sort of heart to heart, although he downplays it and doesn’t use those words. I can imagine what they probably talked about.
“I’m sorry I’ve been scaring you,” he says finally, after a long silence. His voice is small, but his grey eyes are meeting mine without hesitation.
It’s difficult to pick what to say. I don’t want to minimize it, because he has been scaring me.
That’s the whole reason I ran to Tristan in the first place.
Telling him it’s okay feels like telling him he can do it again, and even if this kind of stuff isn’t the end of the world, I’d really rather if he never did it again.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I say, my voice cracking a little from being quiet for so long.
“Just don’t shut me out, okay? This is supposed to be the happily ever after part.
” I push an unruly curl back from his forehead, because my fingers are itching to touch him.
“I know neither of us has a good template to work from as far as happy endings are concerned, but I’m pretty sure however they work, we’re supposed to do it together. ”
Cade is quiet, and my words seem to sink into both of us like weights through murky lake water. Slowly, but inevitable all the same.
“I’m sorry, “ he says again. His voice is thicker now, but his eyes are dry, and there’s a tension to his whole body that I’m aching to soothe. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Cupping his jaw, I hold his face more forcefully than I need to as I look him in the eye.
“Nothing’s wrong with you. You deserve this. You deserve to be happy. We both deserve to be happy. Even if it doesn’t always feel right, because you’re so used to being stressed or miserable that anything else is uncomfortable.”
Cade huffs something close to a laugh, but doesn’t pull away from me.
“Is that what they teach you in therapy?”
I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, dude. That’s it. And then we repeat it over and over and over again until it starts to make sense.”
He laughs at that, even though it’s a wet sound, and I find myself laughing quietly, too.
“We deserve this. I know I still have shitty days sometimes, but it doesn’t mean I’m not here for you. We can take care of each other.”
“Yeah, where the music plays us off and we kiss in front of the sunset or some shit. A soft epilogue, right? That’s what you’re picturing?”
I laugh again and kiss him hard, eventually nodding against his mouth. “All we have to do is pretend, and eventually it won’t feel like pretending any more.”
“I can do that,” he mumbles before kissing me again.
I know it’s not everything that needs to be said. I know it’s not enough. But it’s enough for now, and I need to have my hands on him without all these layers between us before I explode.
Our kiss quickly turns from something intimate to something messy and intense.
Cade grinds against me, pawing at my t-shirt, and I fumble my way to the hem of his hoody without breaking away from his lips.
We roll until Cade’s more under me than next to me, and when I tug at that fabric he arches his back with a whine, giving me space to drag up the sweater and whatever shirt he’s wearing underneath in one fluid movement.
As soon as it’s off, I attack his mouth again, and the sensation of him rolling his hips into mine, already half-hard, has me growling into his mouth with a desperate kind of urgency.
I want him.
I need him.
Sometimes I think this desire will consume us both.
My fingers leave ragged, red trails in the skin of his torso as I touch him everywhere I can, stopping only to pinch his nipples roughly, the way he likes, until I pull a ragged noise of pleasure from him.
Cade’s hands are on me just as frantically, under my t-shirt, the material of the splint scratching against me overheated flesh.
“Please,” he whines between kisses, and I quickly reach behind my head to yank off my shirt.
For once, the insecurities about my body that have been eating away at me more and more lately stay silent. Having Cade touch me with nothing between us feels more important right now, and my normal chorus of doubts are quiet.
Cade pushes his splinted hand into the waistband of my basketball shorts, but when he can’t comfortably get a grip on my hard cock, he whines in frustration.
This might be my favorite version of him.
I mean hell, they’re all my favorite. But this Cade is special.
He’s always in control, hour by hour, minute by minute, even if he doesn’t seem like it.
But here is where he truly unravels, just for me.
He turns into something soft, pliant and desperate, unable to take care of his own needs and desperate for me to do it all for him.
I’ll never get sick of how much he lets himself need me when he’s like this.
“Don’t worry, baby,” I whisper to him. “I’ve got us. You just relax.”
I pull away from him for a second, which earns me another whine, but it’s easier to pull off the rest of my clothes followed by Cade’s.
He lies on his back on the couch, letting me manhandle him, his chest and cheeks flushed from arousal and his mouth open in a quiet pant.
His cock is hard and dark, glistening with moisture, and I need him now.
There’s no lube down here, and I can’t wait that long. I need to be close to him more than I need to be inside him.