Chapter 29
Calvin
The sweat drips down my body, my heart still racing as I walk through the entrance of the hotel from the beach side.
I ran until it felt as if my legs were going to give way, but the frustration that has been building inside fueled my movements to the very end. My body aches, heat radiating off it but I am finally feeling calmer. It’s fascinating how getting your heart rate up ends up leaving you with a satisfaction that has the power to calm you.
I grab my shirt from my shorts and pull it over my sweaty body. They have a no-shirtless policy in the lobby of the hotel and I respect the rules. I nod to the security by the entrance, my attention getting caught by the sound of laughter that I immediately recognize coming from the restaurant to my right.
I look over to find Nikita and Britney throwing themselves forward, their laughing fit taking over their bodies.
What in the world is going on and why does it feel as if I have entered an alternate reality? Britney’s head turns in my direction, noticing me before she waves.
“Oh! Calvin, yahoo!” Britney shouts, still laughing. “Get over here!”
Apprehensively, I turn and make my way through the restaurant. I stop by their table, still trying to get a good read of this new found friendship.
Nikita straightens up, but struggles to stay that way since her laughter won’t stop. I have never seen her laugh so hard.
It suits her.
“What in the world are you two laughing at?” I ask.
A fresh round of laughter bubbles from them and Nikita shakes her head and responds “You had to be there!”
“Oh, that is too much!” Britney runs a single finger under her eye, wiping away her tears, “Your girlfriend is hilarious!”
This sudden friendship leaves me feeling uneasy. Britney is Violet’s best friend - what the hell is she doing with Nikita?
“She is?” I pose it as a playful question as I walk around to where Nikita sits, dropping down onto my haunches next to her chair.
“She is,” Nikita answers, her head falling to the side to look at me, her big eyes meeting mine. The corners of her lips pull into a smile.
Fuck, she is gorgeous.
And tipsy. Maybe even a little more than tipsy. Those shiny eyes and the empty champagne glasses on the table confirm that there is definitely alcohol in her system. I swear she came down here for breakfast.
She reaches out and pokes my cheek. “Are you done being Mr Grumpy?”
I exhale a laugh, glancing to the side where Britney is trying to hold back her laughter. Britney opens her mouth to say something but the sound of Kenneth’s voice cuts through the conversation.
“There you are, babe!” He shouts as he approaches the table, leaning down and planting a fat one on Britney, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I turn back to Nikita who is still looking at me, her eyes questioning me.
“What?”
“I asked you a question.”
“That grumpy question was real?”
“I asked it out loud, didn’t I? Must mean it’s real.”
There is a particular way in which her words slur - it’s so slight that most people will not have even noticed, but Nikita is usually very articulate.
“Did you have breakfast?” I ask.
She nods and reaches for her empty glass, showing it to me, “This was my breakfast and it was mighty delicious.”
Taking the glass from her, I place it back on the table. “I thought as much.” I stand up straight, the burn in my legs begging for mercy. “Come on, time to go.”
“No!” Britney protests, “We’re not done.”
Kenneth pulls out the chair next to Britney and drops onto it, grabbing the menu on the table. “Have a drink, Rhode-kill.”
I hate that nickname, but Kenneth adopted it years ago while he was drunk at a party and never referred to me as Calvin again.
“Nikita needs to eat.”
“So, order her something. This is a restaurant, right?” Britney asks, her tone patronizing.
Nikita on the other hand thinks she is hilarious and bursts out laughing again, pointing at Britney, “You’re so smart!”
My patience is being tested. I take a deep breath in, willing myself to remember that dealing with people who are intoxicated, on any level, will always be a trying task.
I feel Nikita pull at my hand, returning my attention back to her. “Won’t you order me something, babe?” She drops her chin, her eyes peering up at me from behind those long eyelashes, “Your girlfriend needs food.”
Her exaggerated emphasis on those particular words has me side-eyeing Britney and Kenneth, but, thankfully, they are engrossed in their own conversation about what to order, paying no mind to us.
I lean closer to Nikita, my back turned towards them. “Nikita, I think you’re drunk.”
“I think you’re drunk.”
“No, I’m very sober.” I take her chin between my thumb and index finger, watching as she eyes my fingers, her bottom lip pulling between her teeth, making me wish I was the one doing that. “You, on the other hand, only have champagne in your system.”
I release her chin, fighting to keep my eyes on hers as opposed to checking out her inviting lips.
“You don’t like champagne,” she says.
“No, I don’t.”
“I do. It makes me horn-”
“Okay, princess, time to go,” I jump in, stopping that mouth of hers from running wild. “Come with me. I know just what you need.”
This time there is no protest as Nikita jumps to her feet, pushing her chair back. She points to the laptop on the table, “I need that.”
I grab her laptop and slip it into the cover that is inside the handbag she had this morning. The waiter arrives to take Kenneth’s order as I pull cash from my wallet, dropping it on the table.
“That should cover Nikita’s drinks. We’ll see you guys later.”
“BOOOOOO!” Britney groans, but I keep my attention on Nikita, ignoring the protests.
With her handbag now over my shoulder, I rest my hand on the small of her back, guiding her towards the exit, “Careful now.”
Her stumbling is only in a few small steps, but I keep her steady with my hand, moving it to wrap around her waist, keeping her against me. There are a couple of layers between the two of us thanks to our clothes, but I can feel the heat from her body. This isn’t helpful in any way since all it does is reignite whatever fire was inside of me that I worked hard to extinguish during my run.
Now, I’m back to square one.
“When you said you were going to have breakfast, I thought that meant food,” I comment, dryly.
“Oranges are technically food.”
“You had orange juice.”
“And where do you think orange juice comes from?” Her hands rest on her hips as we stop by the elevators, waiting for one of them to arrive. She turns her body towards me with no regard for any personal space and tilts her head back, her eyes meeting mine. “Why are you so sweaty?”
“I went for a run.”
“You need a shower.”
“I’m aware.”
She pokes my chest, “I didn’t say you smelled bad, cause you don’t. Not sure how that’s possible.”
A smile threatens to form on my lips as I watch a tipsy Nikita try and navigate her thoughts. One of the elevator doors opened with a ding, diverting our attention. I guide her into the empty cart, stepping inside next to her, careful to keep my arm around her. The doors close shortly after that, no one else joins us on the way up.
“I didn’t expect you to be day-drinking with Britney,” I comment.
“I like her.”
“Oh, you do now?”
She nods, “She’s different.”
This is an odd observation since I find Britney to be a copy-paste of exactly what you’d expect from someone with a background of privilege and ignorance of the real world.
“Like you,” Nikita said.
I look down to meet her eyes, “Me?”
“Yes.”
For a moment, we say nothing and that silence allows for tension to seep in between us. My mind is running rampant with a bombardment of thoughts of what it would be like to slam her up against the wall of this elevator and get a taste of her.
My cock jumps to life at the thought.
Logic makes enough of an appearance to have me avert my gaze forward, clearing my throat in the process as I snap the eye contact we had. I can still feel her eyes on me, but I know that if I look at her again there is a strong possibility that I will not have enough self-control to stop myself from kissing her.
“This elevator takes too long,” she complains.
“Mm-hmm.”
“You know, I got stuck in an elevator once. I went out with some colleagues for drinks when we were in Dubai and after meeting this guy at the club, we headed back to his apartment and boom! Well, the elevator didn’t go boom, but it just stopped and we were stuck.” She rambles on more than usual with her story, and I am fine listening to her speak until the mention of her with some random guy.
“You left with some guy you just met?” I cut in, looking at her with a questioning gaze.
Her arms fold across her chest, “Is that judgment in your eyes?” Her expression turns unimpressed. “As if you haven’t hooked up with someone you just met.”
“I haven’t.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m really not.”
She gawks at me. “You’ve NEVER hooked up with someone?”
With the way she is looking at me, you can swear I had done something way more surprising than admitting to having never hooked up with someone I hadn’t known for longer than a few hours.
“I didn’t say I’ve never hooked up,” I correct, “I’ve just always known said person for longer than a few hours.”
I am aware of the hook-up culture that exists in the world, but that was never something that was of interest to me. It’s not that I didn’t have the opportunity, I just always feel that I have to have a connection - a real connection - with someone before I fuck them. I know that could be deemed unconventional in society, but that is my way of operating and always has been.
The elevator finally comes to a stop, opening up onto our floor. I step out, I can still feel Nikita’s eyes on me as she does the same.
“What?” I turn to her, careful to stay close as she proceeds to crab-walk across the hall.
“I’m surprised. I would have expected someone as hot as you to have hooked up more frequently.”
Her words settle over me, boosting my ego.
Nikita thinks I’m hot.
If there’s one thing she has always been vocal about, it’s the fact that she’s not attracted to me. She is never shy to share that I’m not her type and never will be. Something I, too, have always reiterated, but I’d be lying if I said I am not insanely attracted to her now.
She quickens her pace towards our room, dismissing our conversation as she rambles on about something I can’t hear. I speed up to meet her, my hands resting on either side of her waist to guide her straight to the door, “Those drinks really did a number on you. I wonder if you’ll remember this conversation later.”
“I remember everything.” She turns into me. “This brain-” Her finger taps the side of her head, “It’s great, and it remembers things.”
A smile plays on my lips at her tipsy antics, “We’ll see.”
I managed to get her inside the hotel room without her falling over. She walks over to the couch dropping down on it and giving it a judgmental, horrified look almost instantly. “This isn’t a couch.”
I place her handbag down on the counter, observing her from where I stand. “I told you it’s a concrete slab.”
She gets back up, shaking her head. “That’s bad.”
Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge for her, I walk over to where she stands . “Now imagine trying to sleep on that.”
Her eyes widen as she takes the bottle from me. “Oh, no.”
“Indeed.”
The bottle rests between her lips as she tilts her head back slightly, allowing the water to flow into her mouth. I try my best to keep my eyes on hers.
“You want to share a bed?” she asks.
“Now you want to share a bed?” My eyes narrow, a playful questioning look heading her way. “What happened to you exiling me to the couch?”
“Maybe I feel bad.” She places the cap back on the bottle, twisting it closed and giving it back to me. She is definitely intoxicated, but she also seems incredibly alert. I’m not sure how to get a good read on her. Her eyes are peering up at me with something deeper in them - something I can’t quite place just yet. “It’s just a bed and we’ll just sleep…right?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer as she walks past me, moving towards the balcony. I follow her outside. The sun is above us but the placement of the building and the clouds filling the sky keeps it from shining over the balcony just yet. The shade is welcomed since my body still feels warm from the run.
“I think we should revisit this conversation when you’re sober,” I say, earning a glare over Nikita’s shoulder before she turns around to face me.
“You think I’m not sober?” Her arms folded across her chest. It turns out that intoxicated Nikita argues just as much as sober Nikita does.
“I know for a fact you’re not.”
“But I’m not drunk.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure about that?”
“I’m not. Have you ever seen me drunk?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know that’s what I am right now?” Her hands rest on her hips, her eyebrows furrow as she looks at me,”I think you’re just trying to make me mad again. It’s what you do.”
Her delivery has me fighting to hold back my laughter, but I am finding her incredibly amusing. “Is that what I do?”
Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you having trouble hearing me? Why are you repeating what I’m saying?”
“I have to make sure you know what you’re saying. Wouldn’t want you to confess a deep dark secret.” I step closer to her. “You’ll be mad at yourself.”
“What makes you think I have a deep dark secret?” She challenges me.
“Everyone does.” I remove the lid and hand her the bottle of water again, “Drink.”
“You’re bossy.” She eyes the bottle in my hand, but takes it from me. “Do you have one?”
“One what?”
“A deep dark secret?”
Yes, but I don’t say that out loud.
My father’s incarceration isn’t a topic I bring up, ever. In fact, I didn’t even tell Violet about that. I shared the version of the story that I wanted to and as far as she’s concerned, my father left when I was younger and I don’t know what happened to him. She doesn’t know the resentment and anger I’ve carried around with me, far longer than I should have.
My dad loved money and he didn’t care how he got it. When I was ten years old, he moved us out of the one and a half bedroom flat I had grown up in. I could still see his face when he showed us the house he purchased that was triple the size of what we were used to. Nothing was out of reach for him anymore and it consumed him. Unfortunately, his illegal activities came full circle and on a rainy Sunday when I was thirteen, I watched the police rip through our house, forcefully sending my father to the ground after they disarmed him. He dabbled in a little bit of everything and when they came to get him, there were ten charges against him including aggravated assault, fraud, extortion and possession. I could still hear my mother’s screams as she watched them drag away the love of her life. Two years later, she would succumb to the pneumonia she caught. The day he was arrested was the day our family died.
And I blame him.
I have developed a concrete resentment towards him that I fight with on the daily. It’s the very feeling that fuels my every decision, ensuring I do everything I can to never end up with the same fate.
“Like I said, everyone does,” I say, turning and heading back inside, making sure that this conversation doesn’t go any further. I should have known better.
“That’s a yes,” Nikita’s voice comes from behind me as she follows me inside.
I turn, catching her off-guard by not realizing how close she is to me. There’s barely any personal space between us, her natural scent invading my senses again. She doesn’t wait for me to say anything before she spills her own secret. “I’m terrified that I’m a disappointment to my parents,” she admits, her confession swiping at my heart. “I feel so… lost in this life.”
“Nikita…”
“It doesn’t matter what I do, I just can’t seem to get anything right. And that’s difficult when you have a sibling that has always been the opposite.” She continues and I watch her disappear into her mind. “Jay never had this problem, he always knew what he wanted and my parents did everything they could to help make his dreams come true.”
Everyone who knows Jay knows about his first love.
“They both worked tirelessly, working full-time jobs, but they still made sure he got to and from practice, doing whatever they could to give him the chance to achieve his dream.” She shakes her head. “I know they didn’t intentionally make me an after-thought, but when it came to Jay’s career - something that would change all our lives if he got it right - it meant that I, inevitably, took the backseat.”
I listen intently to her, watching as layers of her unfold before my eyes.
“I never brought it up because I always felt so selfish. He had a calling, I didn’t, so how could I be mad? I waited to see if I would ever find my calling but nope, still nothing.” A small laugh falls from her, but it’s one of self-deprecation. “There were often moments growing up where I remember being so jealous of my brother. He had it all, he knew it all and there I was, living in his shadow. It wasn’t his fault, but I didn’t know any better when I was younger. I found myself wishing that he would get an injury or something, because I was desperate to find ways to get my parent’s attention and the only way to do that was to make sure that Jay didn’t already have it.”
My stomach sinks as she speaks and there is a tug in my chest from her confession. Her vulnerability makes me feel protective.
“You can imagine how awful I felt when years later my brother lost a leg.” Her eyes filled with tears.
I take a step closer to her, my hands cupping either side of her face, the need to comfort her fueling my movements. “Please tell me you know that had nothing to do with you. It was just a terrible accident.”
“I know,” her voice cracks, “But younger me didn’t and I still feel guilty about it when I think about it.”
I feel for her. I have only ever known Jay’s side of things and they look vastly different from his lenses. I didn’t know what it must have been like for Nikita growing up in his shadow and while I didn’t expect her to share so much, I find myself glad that she did.
“I knew my brother was the favorite, and I tried to emulate everything he did. If I was more like him, maybe I’d also be… seen. Eventually I stopped trying. It was too tiring and I couldn’t be him.”
“You’re not meant to be your brother, Nikita.” My voice is a soft whisper, “You’re exactly who you’re supposed to be.”
I didn’t know that beneath this woman’s confident exterior is a vulnerable, insecure little girl that deserves so much better than to feel that way she does.
“I try, you know. In life, but I just can’t seem to make anything work.” Her eyes dip before moving to meet my eyes, realization flashing in them. “I-why did I tell you all that?” She steps back, removing herself from my personal space to an internal protest. “Forget I said anything, please.”
I reach for her wrist as she tries to move past me. Her head is still shaking as she turns back to me, avoiding my eyes.
“My father’s been in prison since I was thirteen and I haven’t spoken to him since he was arrested.”
I let out the biggest metaphorical exhale in that moment from finally releasing myself from the feeling of having that over me without the correct acknowledgement. There is something freeing about saying that out loud. For a moment, I feel free from working so hard to keep that buried deep in a place that I never visit.
I wait for her eyes to widen or fill with judgment, but instead, they do the opposite. They soften with compassion, her eyes offering me comfort. I hope that she has enough alcohol in her system to blur this out because I have never openly spoken about that part of my life. But there is something about Nikita that makes me believe I can share this without judgment.
“I’m sorry.”
I shrug, my throat unexpectedly tightening with emotion. I drop her arm, clearing my throat trying to shake it off, “It’s okay.”
Stepping closer to me, her hand reaches for mine, “Is it alright if I asked what he did?”
“The shorter list would be what he didn’t do.” Resentment drips from my words, “It doesn’t matter. The point is that his choices meant that I grew up without my parents.”
After she takes a beat, her voice is small but filled with sincerity, “I’m really sorry, Cal.”
I am sorry too. I am sorry that my reality is a product of my father’s poor decisions. Don’t get me wrong, I am not unhappy with my life but I know that I am who I am because I had to adapt. If he had never been arrested, maybe I would still have had both my parents in my life, but what good is it to live in the past?
“Do you miss him?” she asks, surprising me by her question.
I want to say no. I want to say that I hate him and a part of me does. The part that is filled with resentment however there is no way I can pretend that it doesn’t take small stabs at my heart everytime I think of what could have been, had different decisions been made.
I shrug, “I don’t know.”
Her hand slips into mine, her fingers intertwining with mine as she gives it a squeeze, “I think you do, and that’s okay.”
Something deeper passes between us. A mutual respect and empathy for each other. Dealing with the deeper trauma caused by your parents is something you will spend your entire life trying to deal with. It’s difficult to think of where to begin to wean yourself from their decisions that got you to this point and influenced the person you are - whether it was intentional or not.
“I don’t talk to anyone about my father,” I admit, embracing the vulnerability I’m feeling, knowing it will take more energy to fight it off. It is just her and I here anyway. “I dated Violet for three years and never told her the truth about him.”
Her eyes lift to mine, emotion swimming in them, “Why’d you tell me?”
“You told me your secret.” I give her hand a squeeze, “And maybe I just trust that you’d keep this between us.”
“I’d never share anything you tell me.”
“Neither would I.”
For a moment, we stand in a welcomed silence. Our hands are still intertwined, neither of us wanting to stop this. Whatever it is passing between us, my chest warmes at that feeling.
But it also terrifies the fuck out of me.
Which is why I take a step back, removing my hand from hers knowing that I need to return to reality. In this reality, I avoid - as best as possible - sharing too much about myself out of the fear that it will be used to define who I am and I’d be rejected because of it. Rejection is a sore spot for me.
I hand the water bottle back to Nikita, “Drink up. I’m going to get you food.”
I don’t wait for her response before I head out the room.