2. Chapter 2 #2
The front door finally clicks open around two. I’ve long since given up on the sandwich and washed the dishes, and I’m sitting at the kitchen table with a lukewarm cup of tea, scrolling through job listings on my laptop.
“Hey,” Adam says, dropping his keys in the dish by the door. His voice sounds tired. “Sorry I’m late.”
“You said you’d be home by breakfast,” I say, not looking up from my screen. “It’s well past lunch.”
He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “I know. I’m sorry. Millie just really isn’t doing well.”
Of course. Millie. I close my laptop and finally look at him. There are dark circles under his eyes, and I notice he’s wearing the same clothes from yesterday. I swallow the angry words clamoring to come out.
“You should go shower and change. You hungry?”
“No,” he heads toward the bedroom. “I might try to sleep, though. Barely got any last night.”
I try not to imagine what he might have been doing last night. With Millie. “Yeah, get some sleep. You look exhausted. We’ll talk later.”
He gives me a wan smile and walks out of the room. A few minutes later, I hear the shower start.
It’s several hours later when Adam wanders into the kitchen. I’m busy putting the finishing touches on a creamy chicken pasta dish.
“Hey just in time,” I tell him with a smile. “Dinner is almost ready.”
“Hey,” he gives me a quick peck on the lips before heading to the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. “Smells great. I got a text from my mom. She asked me to run over to Millie’s and check on her and Rhonda. They insisted on going back home. I can grab something on the way.”
Millie. Of course, he’s running to Millie. I slam the lid back down on the pot and stalk out of the kitchen.
“C’mon, Caitlin, don’t be like that,” Adam says, following me. “We buried her dad yesterday.”
“Don’t be like what, Adam?” I ask, the angry words I kept back this morning bursting out of me. “I should just shut up and be quiet? Just say nothing when I had to spend all day yesterday watching while you played emotional support animal to another woman?”
His eyes widen. “Emotional support animal? Are you serious right now?”
“She was all over you,” I say, and there is no holding back now. “Hanging on your arm, crying on your shoulder. Your arms were around her. How would you feel if you had to spend an entire day watching me in the arms of another man?”
“She was grieving!”
“And you let her treat you like you were her fiancé, not mine!”
“She’s like my little sister! I’ve known her my entire life! Her father just died, for Christ’s sake!”
I snort. “A little sister that you used to date.”
“I cannot believe you are jealous of a woman who just buried her father!”
I cross my arms. “If she’s just a sister to you, then why can’t you set some boundaries?”
“Boundaries?” His voice rises. “What boundaries should I set while she’s sobbing over her father’s casket?”
“I’m not talking about the crying,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m talking about the hand-holding, the way she kept leaning into you, whispering in your ear. The way everyone looked at me like I was intruding.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“No, I’m really not. Was I not flat out told by your mother last night that I’m not family? She is, I’m not.”
“Jesus Christ. We were all a mess yesterday. I’m sorry my mother offended you while she was grieving the loss of a lifelong friend.”
At that, all the fight goes out of me, and guilt and shame twist in my gut. I take a deep breath. “Adam, if you have feelings for Millie, just be honest. Everyone in this town seems to think you two are destined to be together, anyway.”
His face goes rigid. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? I saw you with her yesterday, Adam. You and Millie looked like a lot more than just siblings.”
“I’m telling you, she’s practically a third sister!” he practically shouts, his face going red.
“I’m just not sure I believe that, Adam. Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’d rather be with her than with me.”
Adam stares at me for a long moment, his dark eyes unreadable. “I can’t believe you’re making this about you right now.”
The accusation stings. “I’m not—”
“Yeah whatever,” He grabs his keys from the dish. “I’m taking off. I can’t be around you right now.”
The door slams behind him, and I’m left standing in our apartment, the echo of our argument hanging in the air.
I slink back to the kitchen, angry tears pricking at my eyes.
I didn’t mean to pick a fight the day after a funeral, but the image of Millie’s hand on Adam’s chest, her eyes looking up at him with such naked need — it’s all been eating me alive.
Appetite gone, I pack the pasta up and put it in the fridge. Wash the pan and put it away.
When the kitchen is clean, I wander from room to room, straightening things that don’t really need it. Is he right? Am I being selfish? Insecure? Maybe. But something about the way Millie looks at Adam makes my skin crawl. It’s not sisterly. Not even close.
By the time the sun sets, my anger has cooled into a dull ache. I’ve curled up on the couch with a book I can’t focus on when I hear his key in the door again.
Adam walks in carrying a white plastic bag, and a savory fried food smell fills the room.
He holds it up like a peace offering. “I brought your favorite. Mongolian beef and lo mein.”
My stomach growls, betraying me. I’ve eaten exactly half of a sandwich today.
“There are also egg rolls.” Adam’s smile has just a hint of cajoling, and I finally smile back.
“I’m sorry,” he says, setting the bag on the coffee table and sitting beside me. “I shouldn’t have walked out like that.”
I mark my place in the book and set it aside. “I’m sorry too. I know Eric’s death hit you hard. And I know you care about Millie and her mom.”
He takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “Millie is family, Caitlin. Like a little sister, I’ve always looked out for. That’s it.”
“I know that’s how you see her,” I say carefully. “I’m not sure that’s how she sees you.”
Adam sighs. “She’s grieving. She’s reaching out to people who make her feel safe.”
“And that’s you.”
“One of many,” he says, but we both know that’s not true. I’ve seen how Millie orbits Adam, how her eyes track him across a room.
“I just…” I pause, trying to find the right words. “I need to know that we’re solid. That you and I come first.”
He leans in and gives me a lingering kiss. “We’re solid. You and me. I promise.”
I want to believe him. I do believe him. It’s just—
“Let’s eat before this gets cold,” he says, breaking into my thoughts. “And then maybe we can find some way to make up properly.” His dimples flash as he smiles, and I feel myself softening.
We eat Chinese takeout on the couch. The fight feels behind us, even if my concerns aren’t entirely put to rest.
The air between us crackles like electricity as we step into the bedroom. I go to start my nighttime routine, but Adam yanks me to him, and the hard length of his erection presses against me.
His eyes burn into mine, and I can feel his heart pounding between us.
Or maybe that’s mine, pounding out of control.
Then his lips are on mine and his hands all over me, one tangled in my hair, holding me still for the relentless assault of his mouth, the other cupping my ass, grinding me hard against him.
My hands aren’t idle either. I claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his hot skin.
He stops kissing me just long enough to help me pull the shirt over his head, and then his mouth is on mine again.
I sigh in relief as my hands skim his broad shoulders and toned chest. I want to drop to my knees and trace the little trail of hair leading down to the waist of his pants with my tongue, but his hands hold me in place.
I moan as he nips at my earlobe before running his tongue over the fluttering pulse in my throat. “God, you taste so good, babe,” he whispers before taking my mouth with his again.
Clothing gets flung haphazardly in every direction. Smiling wickedly, Adam pushes me onto the bed, drops to his knees, and yanks me to the edge.
At the first touch of his mouth, I gasp, my back arching off the bed. He licks and sucks me until I’m begging, body twisting and writhing on the sheets, desperate for relief.
When he presses his thumb to my clit and shoves two of his fingers inside me, I come hard, gratefully crying out my pleasure. He continues to move his fingers in and out of me, watching me ride out the waves of my orgasm.
When I quiet, he slides up the bed, lowering himself over me. His eyes never leave mine as he pushes inside. When he’s deeply seated, he pauses, his lips brushing against mine, his hand cupping my face.
“I love you, Caitlin. Only you. Never forget that. Please.” The intensity of his gaze takes my breath away.
“I won’t. I love you too” I reach up and pull his head down to mine. Our lips meet. He begins to move inside me, slowly at first and then faster, his hips moving in a rhythm that soon has me writhing again.
“Gonna come again for me, baby?” Adam asks, staring down at me, his face almost savage with desire.
I moan again as the pressure builds, my body coiling tighter and tighter, right on the edge of release. And then Adam reaches between us to thumb my clit again and I shatter, my pussy clenching around Adam’s cock.
“Fuck yes, baby,” Adam moans, and then he’s following me, his body jerking as he spills himself deep inside me. He buries his face in my neck, his chest heaving. I wrap my arms around him, stroking his hair.
Finally, with a groan, Adam rolls to the side, pulling me against him. In that moment, with Adam’s warmth wrapped around me, his fingers stroking through my hair. I can almost believe everything will be okay.
The next morning I’m getting ready to serve breakfast, humming to myself, when Adam’s phone rings. He glances at the screen, and something in his expression shifts.
“Hey, Rhonda,” he says, and my stomach drops. “No, no, it’s fine. What’s wrong?”
I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I can see Adam’s face changing, his brow furrowing with concern.
“I’ll be right there,” he says, already standing up. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
He hangs up and looks at me, apology written all over his face. “Millie’s having a hard time. I guess she barely slept last night and is refusing breakfast. I need to go see her.”
I nod, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Will you be back for lunch?”
“I’m not sure,” he says, already pulling on his shoes. “I’ll text you.”
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving his coffee steaming on the table and me standing in our kitchen, holding a pan of scrambled eggs, watching the door close behind him.