Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
About three hours later, Liam is with Liza who kindly agreed to come over and look after him, and I'm staring out at the Portland skyline through his floor-to-ceiling windows.
The space feels too perfect, too clean compared to my chaotic life.
I'm not getting home until late, and I refuse to feel guilty about it.
I curl up on Caine's velvet sectional, watching his cat pad silently across the hardwood floor. He’s absolutely stunning - easily the most beautiful cat I've ever seen. His silver coat catches the light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, each strand seeming to shimmer like spun metal.
"What's his name again?" I ask, mesmerized as the massive feline approaches.
“Lucifer.” Caine glances up from his laptop. “He’s a little trouble maker.”
The cat must weigh twenty pounds, maybe more. His thick, luxurious fur flows like liquid silver as he moves with surprising grace for such a large animal. Tufts of fur peek from between his toes, and his ears are adorned with long, wispy hair that gives him an almost regal appearance.
"He's enormous." I extend my hand slowly, letting Lucifer sniff my fingers. His nose is a soft pink triangle against the silver mask of his face. "I've never seen a cat this big."
"Maine Coons are the largest domestic breed. Lucifer’s on the bigger side even for his breed. Your little Oliver might be just as big one day.”
“I bet,” I tell him. “He already is… he’s been growing like crazy.”
The cat's eyes are what captivate me most - pale green, almost translucent, like sea glass. They study me with an intelligence that seems almost human. When he finally deems me acceptable, he rubs against my legs, his purr rumbling like a small engine.
"He likes you." Caine sits for a moment, watching us with amusement.
I run my fingers through Lucifer’s thick coat, marveling at how soft it is despite its wild appearance. His tail, bushy and magnificent, curls around my wrist like a silver plume. The markings on his face create perfect symmetrical patterns, dark silver stripes against lighter fur.
"He's like a small lion." I scratch behind his ears, and his purr intensifies. "Liam would absolutely lose his mind if he saw him."
Lucifer settles beside me on the sofa. He's easily three times the size of little Oliver, who suddenly seems tiny in comparison.
“Where was he last time I was here?”
“Probably napping.”
“The life of a cat,” I quip. “So, where is that coffee? You’re not exactly the perfect host I expected.”
He laughs. “Sorry, you’re distracting me. I’ll get right to it.”
I get lost in Lucifer’s eyes — they’re just as stunning as Caine’s. All encompassing, but not quite powerful enough to make me forget my problems.
"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," I admit to Caine, curling my legs under me. "Everything's falling apart. I’m so damn confused and stressed out.”
He hands me my coffee and listens without interrupting as I pour out everything that's been crushing me for weeks—the missing money that seemed to vanish into thin air, Reeves’s gambling habit that he swore he'd kicked years ago.
My words tumble out faster and faster. I tell him about finding the betting slips stuffed in the back of Reeves’s desk, about the late-night phone calls he takes in the garage, about the look in his eyes when I confronted him—defensive, then defeated, then desperate.
I explain how I feel like I'm drowning in quicksand, how every struggle just pulls me deeper, how I can't see any way out that doesn't involve losing everything we've built.
Through it all, Caine sits perfectly still, those intense green eyes fixed on mine, his expression serious but compassionate, not a single interruption passing his full lips.
"You definitely need a distraction. I wish I could make you forget everything.”
The thought of that makes me smile—a playful, flirty grin.
His expression matches my own. “Damn, girl. Stop doing that to me.”
“You’re doing it to me, too.”
He stands abruptly, remembering that this is to be a completely platonic evening.
“Let me play something for you," he says, reaching for one of the guitars hanging on his wall. It's a beautiful acoustic with inlaid mother-of-pearl. “We definitely both need the distraction.”
“Agreed.”
"I can't sing worth a damn, but the guitar I can handle," he warns, settling back on the sofa. He shoots me a playful wink. "We'll go with a Spanish theme tonight."
His fingers move expertly over the strings as he begins playing Despacito.
I can't help but smile.
Later, after two glasses of sangria and the most delicious paella I've ever tasted, I feel lighter than I have in weeks.
The rich saffron-infused rice, tender shrimp, and tasty vegetables have temporarily pushed away the weight of my problems — Caine ordered it from some upscale Spanish restaurant downtown.
The meal probably costs more than our weekly grocery budget. He'd arranged it all while I was lost in the skyline view, making calls in that slow, commanding voice of his that seems to make things magically appear.
The sangria buzzes pleasantly through my system, not enough to make me drunk, just enough to soften the sharp edges of my anxiety.
The fruity sweetness lingers on my tongue, reminding me of carefree summer days that feel so far removed from my current reality.
For just this moment, I'm not worrying about Reeves’s gambling, the pool hall's finances, or Liam.
"Oliver is so freaking adorable," I tell him. “Liam loves him so much.”
He smiles widely. "And about Reeves? I hope he wasn't too upset… I just thought the poor kid deserved a pet."
"He did. And Reeves was more than happy to have him when he saw the check attached. He likes him, too. I've caught them cuddling once or twice."
For a brief moment, as I get lost in the recollection of Reeves, heavy guilt creeps into my chest. I shake it off instantly. He's not ruining my vibe tonight. Fuck him.
I lean back against the plush leather cushions of Caine's sectional, my feet tucked beneath me, watching as he clears our plates with those elegant, deliberate movements that make even the most mundane tasks look purposeful.
In my yellow house with its perpetual clutter, meals are rushed affairs, often eaten without much conversation. Here, in this industrial-chic penthouse with its exposed pipes and perfect tidiness, time seems to slow down.
In the next two hours, Caine serenades me and makes me completely forget all my problems. Every look, every smile, every word hits me to my core.
Memories of him inside me fill my thoughts. I can almost feel his hands on my skin again, those long fingers tracing patterns only he could see. I want him again with an almost painful intensity, a deep, primal ache. I can't barely stand it.
Thank God I'm menstruating, and not ovulating, because my legs would not be tucked under my rear; they'd be spread across the sofa. I came here with the knowledge that we could keep things chaste tonight. I wanted to see him, to be with him. I never realized I'd also be physically aching for him.
He's sitting way too close, and I need a breather.
"Why don't we go hang out on the balcony for a bit?” I suggest.
He smiles. "Are you sure. It's probably pretty chilly out there."
"I want to look at the city," I tell him. "Let's put on our jackets and get out there."
He shrugs, not quite convinced. "Hell… why not. I don't spend enough time out there.”
As we sit side by side on his balcony, watching the city lights, he says quietly, out of the blue, "I'd like to meet Liam someday."
My stomach tightens. "I don't think that's a good idea. I already feel guilty being here without Reeves knowing."
“I love kids, and I love hearing about him," he explains. "But I get it… It would be inappropriate, I suppose."
"A little."
"Is Reeves a good dad?"
The question surprises me, and I ponder it for a long time before I finally manage to answer it. "He's… often absent, but when he's around, Liam adores being with him. He idolizes him, thinks he's so strong and powerful… like a superhero, I suppose."
Caine laughs. "A superhero with a gambling problem. He should wear an ace of spades on his chest."
I cock an annoyed brow. “Not funny."
"Sorry, that was kind of an asshole comment," he concedes. "I couldn't help myself. I just don't like the guy. He's a dick."
My eyes practically bulge out of my head. Caine Hall… so composed, so polite, so considerate, utters the words 'asshole' and ‘dick’ in the same breath.
"Wow… tell me how you really feel," I quip.
"I will," he starts. "I think you're way too good for him, and I wonder how he snagged you in the first place.
Yeah, it was probably the dangerous brooding looks, and the fact that he's about seven feet tall, and he's the kind of guy no one messes with…
I suppose that kind of thing is attractive to women. "
I just stare at him. I have no words. He's obviously thought about this a lot.
"He sounds selfish, and he treats you like shit."
"Go on…" I really want to know where this is going. Who knew Caine was so opinionated about Reeves.
"He makes you work at his dingy pool hall, on top of taking care of Liam."
"I'm helping out. It's our business, and he can't handle it on his own."
"Well, he should hire someone."
"We can't afford it!'"
"Well, maybe if he didn't gamble so much, you could afford it."
He's starting to really upset me, but I don't say a word. I won't. I desperately want to know what he really thinks of my life and my marriage.
"He gets away at conferences, leaving you to hold down the fort," he continues, clearly on a mission. "He shoots pool and hangs out at the tracks, while you clean the house and make him dinner almost every night."
"How do you know I make dinner almost every night?"
"You mentioned it," he points out. "Along with many other things. I have a good memory, Jenna. And I remember everything you've ever told me."
I'm speechless now.
"And he wouldn't let his kid have a pet when he clearly wanted one so badly. What kind of father is that?"
"Uh…" I have no words.
He buries his face in his palms and shakes his head. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to crap on your marriage, but I've been thinking about this a lot, and I just don't understand why you're with him."
"I… he's… Liam's Dad," I explain, as if he didn't know that already. "And we've been together for over seven years."
"Hey, if it's old and broken, and can't be fixed…"
A sudden strike of anger hits me, hot and fierce, like a lightning bolt straight to my chest. How dare he? How dare Caine sit here in his perfect penthouse with its spotless floors and expensive furnishings and judge my life, my marriage, my Reeves?
The anger builds inside me, making my hands tremble and my cheeks flush with heat.
"You don't get to do that," I tell him, my voice gaining strength with each word. "You don't get to sit in judgment of my life when you have no idea what we've been through together."
I stand up, needing to move, to put some distance between us.
"Reeves works himself to death trying to keep that pool hall going.
Do you know how many nights I've found him passed out at his desk, surrounded by bills and invoices?
Do you know how many times he's carried Liam to hospital appointments when Liam was a baby, when I was too exhausted and depressed to get out of bed? "
The words pour out of me now, unstoppable. "He's not perfect—God knows I'm not either—but he's been there. Through everything."
I turn back to face Caine, who's watching me with those intense green eyes, his expression unreadable in that slow, controlled way of his. Always so composed, so sure of himself and his place in the world.
"You see broken pieces because that's all you're looking for. You see what's convenient for you to see." My voice cracks slightly. "Our life might be messy and complicated, but it's ours. We built it together."
He reaches for my hand. "I'm sorry. I honestly just want the best for you. I want to see you happy. I love you, Jenna."
"Please don't say that," I beg, pulling away. "It only makes everything harder."
"You think I wanted to fall for a married woman… a married woman with a fucked up life. I've already got a million things on my mind. I barely sleep as it is, and now… I'm a zombie, Jenna. You keep saying that I've turned your life upside down… well, you've done the same to mine.”
I swallow hard. Things have clearly escalated really fast, and I realize I shouldn't even be here. I should be home with my child. "Well, I'm sorry too," I tell him. "I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you and your perfect life."
He blows out a long breath, clearly at a loss. I'm at a loss, too.
"I think it's time for you to go home."
I raise my chin in defiance and stare at the huge photograph on the wall, one of his amazing cityscapes. It's a stunning panoramic view of Portland's skyline at dusk, the lights of the buildings just beginning to twinkle against the darkening sky.
The photograph must be at least four feet wide, professionally mounted in a minimalist black frame that suits the industrial aesthetic of his penthouse. It's just one more reminder of his talent, his wealth, his perfectly curated life that I've stumbled into and disrupted.
"I agree. Yes… I should go. "
He leans over the glass coffee table and reaches for his phone. "I'm on it."
And with those words, he dismisses me and sends me on my way.
I reach our front door just after midnight, feeling like Cinderella rushing home before the spell breaks. The house is quiet—too quiet—no Reeves waiting up to interrogate me about where I've been. I exhale with relief, grateful for the reprieve.
Liza has fallen asleep on the sofa, and as I watch her sleep peacefully, I'm suddenly so thankful for her. She's the best friend a girl could ask for. Who else would drop everything to go look after someone's kid?
I let her be and go check on Liam.
I adjust his blanket just so and stroke his soft hair. He's sleeping with Oliver, who's decided Liam's bed is his favorite place in the house. The sight of them together makes my heart ache with love.
The front door bangs open just as I'm heading to my bedroom. I freeze, heart pounding.
"Reeves?" I call out, hurrying down the stairs.
He's slumped against the doorframe, face a bloody mess. One eye is swollen shut, his lip split, and blood has dried beneath his nose in a dark crust.
"Oh my God!" I rush to him as he staggers inside. "What happened?"
"Nothing," he mumbles, wincing as I help him to the couch. "Just a misunderstanding."
“A misunderstanding? You look like you've been hit by a truck!"