Chapter 12 #2
As if a dam is breaking, we collide again.
My arms wrap around his neck, and he once again pulls me closer.
His hand finds my waist, then creeps beneath my shirt, the warmth of his hand now a scorching brand against my waist. He tugs me closer, his other hand, possessive and strong, snaking around my neck.
Cal is kissing me as if he is a man starved. A man who has dreamed about this.
Thirsting for it.
Wanting it.
Like a man who is in love.
This one thought forces me to break our connection. We rest our foreheads together, catching our breath in the silent stillness.
Cal starts to chuckle. “I warned you.”
My chest heaves trying to process what in the heck that was. “See?” I manage through shallow breaths. “Told you it would work.”
As we sit unmoving (well, he sits), not wanting to break apart, something stirs within me. A desire. A desire to know what he meant when I overheard him talking to Denny in his office.
“Cal, I need to ask you something.”
Our foreheads break apart, and he runs his hand down my hair, twisting the end strand. “I’ll tell you anything.”
“When you were on the phone with Denny earlier, what did you mean when you said that it took you months to get over something? What were you talking about?”
He chortles in disbelief as he teases me, tickling my side. “I knew you were eavesdropping.”
A small giggle ripples through me. God, I love this playful version of Cal. “The walls are like tissue paper in that place. That’s not my fault.”
His laugh is short, but the sound fades as his expression shifts, growing serious. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“It will change everything.” His palm trails up my arm and rests on my bare collarbone.
I know it will. And I don’t give a crap. If he is about to say what I suspect he is, then nothing will ever be the same. A man only kisses a woman like that if it means …
“It took me months to get over you. Because when we worked together”—he sighs, then locks eyes with me—“I fell in love with you.”
Yep, there it is.
But I still have questions. “That night, though, when we went out for drinks, and we almost kissed, you—”
“Stopped it.” His mouth twitches. “Worst mistake of my whole life. I should have claimed you right then and there.”
“But why? Why did you stop it?” I ask as I trace his eyebrow with my thumb. His eyes slide shut at the contact.
“I was trying to be professional. Plus," he pauses, “I heard about Niko.”
“But I wasn’t dating Niko then. We were only talking.”
“I didn’t know how serious things were,” he explains quietly. “I saw a few of the texts, yeah, but I didn’t want to interfere."
“Wait. You saw some of my texts? Cal …” I draw his name out in exasperation and pull back slightly. This is a huge invasion of privacy.
“I know! I know! I’m sorry. You left your phone out and yes, I looked. I’m not proud of it, and it’s something that won’t happen again, I can promise you that. I was just drunk on jealousy, which isn’t an excuse. But it is the truth."
I chew on my bottom lip, stalling. thinking. Deciding. I mean, I would be lying if I said that I haven't done some pretty shady stuff in the name of love. And jealousy.
Probably both.
Am I willing to let whatever this is, slip through my fingers? And for what? A lapse in judgement?
No. No, I'm not.
I meet his eyes and he looks like he wants to vomit. He's probably saying a silent prayer hoping he didn’t just ruin this before it even started.
I slap him on the chest, playfully. “You’re lucky I like you.”
The breath he lets out sounds like it’s been locked inside him for days. “Oh, thank God.”
He leans in and kisses me. It's soft, careful, and apologetic, like he’s testing the ground after an earthquake.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against my lips.
I pull back just enough to grin. “You’re forgiven.”
His brows lift. A slow, sly smile breaks through. “Wait. You like me?”
“Don’t get carried away,” I tease. “Only a little.”
He laughs, shaking his head, eyes still searching mine.
“You can continue,” I add, folding my arms like I’m giving him the floor—because I am.
And he does. “Like I was saying, you deserved to find out for yourself if Niko was what you wanted—without me making it harder.”
“So you were trying to be a gentleman.”
He nods.
“But don’t you see? You took away my right to make that decision for myself. Because, Cal ...” Now it’s my turn to confess. “I wanted to keep kissing you that night. My choice would have been you. Yes, I was talking to Niko. But when we were together, and only working, I felt so safe. So comfor—”
The confession stops; my mind whirls with more questions. “But why push me away the weeks after, and start arguments with me? I thought I had done something wrong that night. If anything, you propelled me to Niko. He showed up that night, right after you left.”
He exhales slowly. “I didn’t know that.” His hands find my back, firm and deliberate, tugging me closer to him. “I’ll say it again,” he murmurs low, “worst mistake of my life.”
Our breathing quickens, matching heartbeats. Please kiss me again.
He doesn’t. Instead, he continues to explain as his words brush against my skin. “I pushed you away because being near you—being around you—was unbearable. It still is. Not being able to touch you, kiss you, or run my fingers through your hair…” He breaks slightly. “It’s its own kind of hell.”
His Adam’s apple rolls as he swallows hard before he continues.
My attention stays on him. “But over time, as we worked together, I learned to love what I could get when I was with you. My heart beating faster when our shoulders would brush, your sharp retorts at me when we would bicker.” I chuckle.
He pauses, the silence stretching as he gathers his thoughts. “A few months after you were done shadowing me, I finally realized how badly I’d messed up,” he says quietly. “I decided to call you. But Niko answered.” His jaw tightens. “He told me you were in the shower.”
My heart stops beating. "Y-you called me?" he nobs. "Niko never told me about that phone call."
"Are you surprised?"
"What? That you called or that he didn't tell me?"
Cal shrugs. "Both, I guess."
I snuggle in closer to him. "No, I'm not surprised he didn't tell me. Yes, I'm shocked you called." He smiles. "I really wish I would have answered the phone."
He drifts away, brow furrowing as the memory drags him back. “Right then, I knew I’d lost you. I had already lost myself when we were together.”
“Are you still lost?”
His fingertips dig into my flesh. “I’m just waiting for you to find me.”
I reach for him, my palms cupping his face, the manly scrape of stubble rough against my skin.
“Hey,” I whisper, forcing his attention on me.
He locks his gaze with mine. “I found you. In your office, at this hotel, in the room, then the storage closet, at the ball. And now here. I’ll always find you. Please don’t lose me again.”
He pecks my lips. “I won’t.”
I smile. “Good. Now that’s out of the way, I do have one more question.”
He laughs. “My girl is so curious.”
“When it comes to you, yes, I am.”
“Sure. You can ask in a second.” His hand cups my head, and he pulls my lips to his, kissing me again. Warmth spreads through me, soft and steady, until all I can feel is him. His closeness, his calm, the quiet promise hidden in the way he holds me.
It’s all so perfect.
He pulls back. “Okay, now you can ask.”
Not sure how I’m going to talk because there’s no air left in my lungs.
Lord, can this man kiss.
Wait. What did I want? Oh yeah, a question. I pull in a breath. “What about the picture frame on your desk that you threw into the drawer? I got the impression you didn’t want me to see it.”
“I knew you were going to ask me that.” He grimaces through a chuckle. “That was a picture of us. Remember, Denny took it the first week. Before—”
“—before you pushed me away and treated me like crap.” I wince at my accusation. He chuckles, unfazed, then runs his hand up my arm slowly. Deliberately. I stop breathing. “Why did you keep it?” I implore, the curiosity killing me.
For an entire year, that picture sat on his desk. He didn’t forget me.
Us.
He tilts his head, and our eyes meet. “I wanted to remember you. Every day, I would look at it and start my day with you. I tried to move on and date other people, but then I would come into work, and there you would be. On slow days, I would sit and stare at it, curious about what you were doing. Who you were kissing. Wondering if it was still Niko. Hoping you were happy.” He pauses and swallows.
“I know it wasn’t healthy and just a picture, but I wanted more, and if that was all I could ever get, well … ”
His words trail off. Then, a faint crease forms on his brow, uncertainty dashing into those steady green eyes. “Do you still want him? Niko,” he asks, raw and vulnerable. His fingers find my back again and tighten, bracing for my answer.
“I’m not kissing him right now, am I?” I quip back as I inch closer, silently begging him to take my mouth again.
A low laugh slips out, and he leans away enough to separate us. “No,” he admits. “You’re not. But you still haven’t answered my question, Rose.” He pauses. “And I need an answer.”
Yesterday, I might have hesitated. There was a time I would’ve let Niko weave his way back into my life, convincing myself there was still something left to salvage. But not now. Not after today.
Not after Cal’s steady presence.
His careful touch.
Or knowing stares.
Not after holding him.
And definitely not after that kiss.
Cal is my future.
“No, I don’t want him.” I’ve never been so certain of anything.
I soak him in, the spark of his skin chasing away any lingering thought of Niko. “There’s only you. Cal. Only. You.”
His chest rises and falls, the uncertainty leaving him in a quiet rush of relief and exhaustion. “You bring me to my knees, Rose Sheridan. And I hope I never stand again.”
Then he pauses. “The storm we breathe.”
I chuckle. “What?” A memory floods my head. “Wait, the neon sign in your office above the door.” He nods. “Why are you saying that now?”
His arms encase me. “It’s there to remind me of what I’ve endured to get to where I am in life. And how I've made it out on the other side. Sometimes you need to experience the storms of life, and breathe them in, in order to make it out alive.”
He holds my gaze as he speaks, his voice steady.
It slides under my skin and stays there.
“People can be our storms too,” he says softly.
“But the good kind. The ones that shake us, challenge us. Love isn’t about avoiding conflict, Rose.
It’s about choosing to stay—right in the middle of it—together.
You face the chaos, breathe it in, and find strength in it. ”
Something inside me cracks open.
We connect.
We ache.
We breathe.
His words settle between us, warm and grounding. “You’re my storm, Rose,” he whispers. “Things are rough now, but we’ll stand together. We’ll find our calm inside the chaos.”
My hands lift to his face, my thumbs brushing the line of his jaw. “And you’re mine.”
Our lips collide. It’s a rush that feels inevitable, wild, and right. The world falls away, leaving only the thunder of our hearts and the storm we’ve chosen to survive together.