Chapter 9
APRIL - LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
Now playing: False God - Taylor Swift
The silence in the penthouse was heavier than the roar of seventy thousand people.
It was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest, filling the massive, marble floored living room with a suffocating kind of quiet. I sat on the edge of the white leather couch, still wearing my street clothes, staring at a blank television screen.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table. Messages from Evan. Messages from random numbers congratulating me. Probably a text from my dad, though I didn’t have the stomach to check.
When we walked through the curtain, battered and victorious, clutching that briefcase, Maverick and Scott had offered to take me to dinner. They wanted to go to some steakhouse in West Hollywood, to sit swap war stories and “celebrate.”
I couldn’t do it.
I told them my back was seized up, which wasn’t a lie, and that I needed to ice it. I told them to go without me.
I told Cal to go with his family, to enjoy the love that radiated off the Donovans like heat from a fire.
So, I was here. Alone.
I stood up, my right hip protesting with a sharp throb, and walked to the sliding glass door.
I looked out at the LA skyline. It was beautiful and indifferent.
I had just jumped off a fifteen-foot ladder.
I had just won the biggest match of my life.
I had just cemented the Reed legacy for another generation.
And I felt completely hollow.
I needed to wash the night off. I needed to scrub the sweat, the table varnish, and the lingering feeling of my father’s critical gaze off my skin.
I grabbed my toiletry bag and limped into the master bathroom.
It was a sanctuary. White stone, gold fixtures, and a shower that was essentially a room of its own, enclosed in seamless glass.
I stripped out of my clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. My body was a map of the match. A massive, purple bruise was already blooming on my hip. My lower back was red and angry. There were scrapes on my forearms from the ladder rungs.
I turned the water on as hot as I could stand it. Steam instantly filled the space, curling around the mirrors.
I stepped in, hissing as the scalding spray hit my battered skin. I braced my hands against the cool tile of the wall, ducking my head under the stream.
I stood there for a long time. Five minutes. Ten.
I tried to empty my mind, but the thoughts were intrusive, sharp little daggers finding the cracks in my armor.
I thought about Cindy Donovan hugging me.
I thought about Maverick critiquing my chin tuck.
I thought about the envy that had clawed at my throat when I saw Cal with his sisters, that easy, unconditional love that I had been starving for my entire life.
My chest hitched. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting it.
Don’t cry. Do not fucking cry.
I was a Reed. We didn’t cry over wins. We didn’t cry over bruises.
But my composure cracked. A sob tore its way out of my throat, harsh and jagged. I pressed my forehead against the tile, my shoulders shaking.
I didn’t hear the hotel door open. I didn’t even know what time it was. I had left the bathroom door open, not really caring, but also not expecting anyone to come back.
“Si?” Cal’s voice drifted through the suite.
I froze, panic spiking. I cleared my throat, trying to hide the waver.
“In the shower.”
His footsteps echoed on the marble, getting closer, then stopped abruptly at the threshold of the bathroom.
I turned my head slightly, looking through the steam fogged glass. Cal was standing in the doorway, but his back was turned to me. He was staring pointedly at the wall, refusing to invade my privacy.
“Didn’t think you’d be here,” Cal said, his voice bouncing softly off the tile. “Thought you were going out with your dad and uncle.”
I let out a shaky breath, swiping at my eyes, though the water masked the tears. “I didn’t go anywhere. And… you can come in here.”
Cal hesitated, then stepped fully into the bathroom. He kept his back to the glass shower wall, leaning against the vanity counter, arms crossed over his chest.
“You didn’t go spend time with your dad and uncle?” he asked, though the tone said he already knew the answer.
I shook my head, fighting a fresh wave of tears. “Nope. Came back here.”
Cal went silent. He didn’t need to see my face to know what was happening. He could hear it in the thick, wet raggedness of my breathing. He could feel the heaviness in the air.
“I would’ve asked you to come out with my family had I known,” Cal said quietly.
I managed a halfhearted, broken smile at his back. “It’s fine, Cal. Really.”
He saw right through it. He always did.
Cal turned his head slightly, catching my reflection in the mirror, but still not looking directly at the glass. A small, sad smirk touched his lips.
“If you wanted,” he started, his voice dropping an octave, “I think we could both be in that shower.”
He let the offer hang there. No pressure. Just an option. I looked at his broad back, at the way his shoulders were set. It wasn’t a look of lust or desire on my face; it was pure need. I was starving for affection, for a touch that didn’t demand anything from me.
“I wouldn’t mind,” I whispered honestly.
Cal nodded. He turned around then, moving with efficient speed. He stripped out of his black jeans and T shirt, kicking them aside.
He opened the glass door. Cool air rushed in, swirling with the steam. He stepped inside, naked, glorious, and unapologetic. He finally looked at me, and his eyes softened instantly. He saw the red rims of my eyes, the way my chest heaved.
He reached for me.
He stepped into my space and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, the wet skin slippery and warm against my cheek.
He held me. Just held me. And that broke me.
The sob I had been holding back exploded out of me.
I clutched his wet shoulders, my fingers digging into his skin, and I cried.
I cried for the little boy who just wanted his dad to be proud.
I cried for the teenager who had to watch his uncle relapse.
I cried for the pressure, the fear, the exhaustion.
“I’ve got you,” Cal murmured, his hand stroking down my wet back, over the spine, soothing the tension. “I’ve got you, Si. Let it out.”
“I wish I could just let it all go,” I choked out, my voice ragged.
“Let what go?” Cal asked, his lips brushing my wet hair.
“All this fucking anger,” I confessed, the words tumbling out.
“Towards Maverick. Towards Scott. I wish it was just gone. I want to have a relationship with them that’s more than surface.
I want to be able to talk about Maverick in conversation and refer to him as my fucking dad without it feeling weird. I want to be able to move the fuck on.”
I shook against him, the water mixing with the tears on my face.
“You’ve been sitting up here upset like this all night?” Cal asked, pulling back slightly to look at me.
I nodded into his shoulder. “Being around them after that… it just felt more like a gut punch than a victory lap.”
Cal placed his hands on my cheeks, tilting my head up. His thumbs wiped away the water under my eyes.
“Why don’t we get out of here?” he suggested gently. “We can sit and watch a movie. Hang out on the balcony. Relax. Just enjoy the fact that we did something amazing tonight. Just us.”
I sniffled, nodding. The idea of just existing with him, away from the expectations of the world, sounded like heaven.
He stretched up and kissed me. It was soft. Reassuring. A promise.
We shut the water off a few minutes later. We dried off in the humid warmth of the bathroom, moving around each other in a domestic dance that felt surprisingly natural. I pulled on a clean pair of boxer briefs, feeling the exhaustion settle into my bones, but the sharp edge of the pain was gone.
Cal was standing at the sink, running a brush through his damp hair.
I watched him. The muscles of his back shifting. The ink telling stories on his skin.
Something switched in me. The sadness was receding, replaced by a hollow ache that felt different. I didn’t want to just exist near him. I wanted to be consumed by him. I wanted to disappear into him so completely that I forgot who Silas Reed was.
Without a second thought, I walked up behind him. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my chest against his naked back. I buried my face in the curve of his neck and pressed a kiss to the pulse point there.
Cal groaned, a low vibration in his chest.
He was naked. And I felt his muscles tense, felt the shift in his breathing.
He turned around in my arms, and in one smooth motion, he spun us, reversing our positions until my back hit the edge of the vanity counter.
He framed my face with his hands and kissed me, deep, devouring, tasting of toothpaste and desire.
My hands dropped to his ass, pulling him closer.
His hands tangled in my damp hair, tilting my head back to deepen the angle.
He pulled away briefly, his forehead resting against mine, his breathing ragged.
I knew what he was going to say.
We don’t have to do anything.
He was about to give me the out. He was about to be the “Good Guy” and protect me from myself.
I didn’t want to be protected.
“Please fuck me…”
The words left my lips in a whisper, but in the quiet bathroom, they sounded like a shout.
Cal froze. He pulled back inches, his eyes searching mine, shocked. “What…?”
I looked at him, my eyes heavy lidded but clear.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Yes,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I want to. Please.”
Cal swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to my mouth, then back up. “I don’t have—”
“There’s condoms and lube in my bag.”
Cal’s eyes widened. The shock on his face was genuine, his hands freezing on my waist.