Chapter Twenty
Zadie
We need to talk. PLEASE call me.
My finger hovered over the send button. Hesitating. Hesitating.
The bathroom counter dug into my lower back. The bass from Zane’s sound system pulsed through the walls and mixed with my pounding heartbeat.
I still didn’t know if texting Sean was the right move. I’d talked myself in and out of contacting him at least a million times, searching for my backbone while trying to figure out why this was so hard.
Why did I literally want to vomit when I imagined his reaction?
Fuck.
I shoved my phone in my pocket and made it to the toilet just in time.
Throwing up had become something of a specialty. I’d gotten disturbingly efficient at it, too. Unfortunately, the skill was completely useless and disgusting. And I was doing it in Zane’s bathroom while a party raged on the other side of the door.
Then again, I probably wasn’t the first person to puke in this toilet tonight. Probably wouldn’t be the last, either.
Shame crept in as I stood over the bowl, waiting to see if my stomach had finished its rebellion. Despite being a coward, the rational part of me knew contacting Sean was the right thing. I needed to face him. Needed to get it over with.
That part of me was ready to move on to the next stage of whatever this was. The stage where I stopped hiding from reality and started dealing with my shit.
Chantel had been harsh, but she’d been right. The avoidance had done nothing except build a wall of guilt and anxiety almost too tall to climb.
Although the guilt over not telling Sean was minor compared to the other regret consuming me.
The crushing, debilitating, life-altering remorse.
I couldn’t believe what had happened with Caleb. My conscience—or maybe my hormones—would never let me look at a bathtub the same way again.
But God, it was so fucking good.
Except, the way I’d treated him afterward…The way I’d used him and then shut him out…
He’d told me he had cancer. And I’d brushed it off, too consumed by my own spiral. Too busy chasing an orgasm to stop and honor the kind of trust it took to say those words out loud.
Cancer.
I didn’t even ask if he was okay. If it was something he’d beaten or something still lurking. Was it even possible to be free of it? Was it something a person ever really left behind?
Everything we’d talked about—people’s pity, his impulsiveness, not wanting to miss out on life, the way he treated every second like it mattered—all of it made so much more sense now.
I couldn’t imagine the fear he’d lived through or the strength it took to come out the other side and still be this relentlessly, stubbornly hopeful.
How the fuck was he so optimistic all the time?
I had no idea. But I needed to fix things between us. I’d let everything get out of control so fast I hadn’t stopped to understand what he was actually offering me.
And it was so much more than what had happened in that bathtub.
Holy shit, that orgasm, though.
I’d never experienced anything like it. The rumble of his voice in my ear as he’d urged me to let go.
His focus, absolute and unwavering, locked on my pleasure like nothing else existed.
The way he’d read my body like he’d been studying me for years.
The combination of tender and commanding and filthy had sent me into orbit.
Still. The fucking guilt was overwhelming.
“You okay in there, cocotte?” Chantel’s voice came through the bathroom door.
We were speaking again. Sort of. The fight had left a bruise neither of us had acknowledged, but her way of mending things was to pretend they’d never broken.
So here I was, at one of Zane’s parties, drinking water while she drank wine with a couple of nurses from the hospital. And Caleb.
The whole thing was Chantel’s idea, and even though I’d used every excuse in my arsenal, she’d refused to hear any of them.
“If you consider throwing up everything I’ve eaten today okay, then yes. I’m terrific.”
“Good.” She ignored my sarcasm entirely. “Get your ass out here, drink some water, and let’s have some fun.”
I rinsed my mouth, splashed water on my face, and opened the door. She was leaning against the hallway wall, holding a bottle of water in one hand and a miniature bottle of mouthwash in the other.
“Where did you get mouthwash when I was in the bathroom?”
“Really, Zadie, do you even need to ask? My resourcefulness shouldn’t surprise you.”
It didn’t. Nothing about my best friend surprised me anymore. Except maybe her continued refusal to acknowledge the enormous secret she’d been keeping. It was so closely guarded, I’d started wondering if I’d made the whole thing up.
“Hand it over.” I took the mouthwash and swished thoroughly while she watched like a sentinel.
“I don’t think I’m up for any more dancing.” I spit into the bathroom sink one last time. “I’ll get dehydrated.”
“Nonsense.” She thrust the water bottle at me. “Just stop flailing around out there and you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t flail.”
“You absolutely flail.”
I was about to argue some more when someone else caught her attention. A man with messy, golden-blond hair was standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, watching her.
She flushed pink, which was something I’d never seen from Chantel Cotê.
“Sorry, cocotte.” She was already moving, like he’d thrown a rope and was reeling her in. “You’ll need to go find another friend. And when I say friend, I mean Caleb. I’ll be a while. Actually, I probably won’t be back, so don’t wait up.”
Without a second glance, she raced down the hall toward him.
He watched her approach with an intensity that made the air around them feel charged.
His gaze was demanding, almost accusatory, and I felt like I was in trouble just for existing in his vicinity.
Even his smile was fierce. It was devious and blinding white, like he was ecstatic to see her and furious about it at the same time.
The closer Chantel got, the more heated he became. And my bold, outspoken, takes-no-shit-from-anyone best friend transformed into someone I didn’t recognize.
When she reached him, she waited. Let him make the first move.
For a moment, he did nothing. Just looked at her with an expression that lived somewhere between lust and reverence. Then he spoke, or maybe he demanded, and Chantel visibly shuddered.
When he bent his head to her, she tilted up to meet him like she was answering a prayer. And when he roughly grasped her chin, she opened for him.
He devoured her in one long, consuming kiss.
His hand fisting into her hair, the other digging into her hip, pulling her against him with a possessiveness that bordered on violence. She melted into it. Into him. Like she’d been waiting for this exact moment and had finally been given permission to stop pretending she hadn’t.
I was stunned. And maybe more than a little turned on.
They finally broke away from each other, then disappeared into the crowd, hand in hand. And I was left standing alone in the middle of a party I’d never wanted to come to in the first place.
I guzzled my water and tried to make my way to the quieter part of the house, but Zane’s place was packed. People were everywhere—dancing, drinking, spilling out of every doorway. The path around the living room was blocked, so I cut straight through the middle.
It was too warm. Too many bodies crammed into one space, the heat inescapable. It didn’t help that Chantel and her mystery man’s display had already overheated me.
I’d made it to the center of the room when someone grabbed me from behind.
Rough, clammy hands dug into my hips, yanking me back against a wall of sweaty, alcohol-soaked man.
“Where are you going?” a coarse voice demanded in my ear, his stale breath on my neck.
“Jeremy.” I wedged my elbow into his gut. “I didn’t realize you were invited.”
“I don’t need an invitation.” His grip didn’t loosen, his mouth still too close to my ear. “Come on, Zee. One dance.”
“You’re drunk, and I’m not interested.”
This was how it happened. How men like him got away with assault in a crowd. My voice was barely audible over the music, and the way he was holding me looked no different than half the couples around us.
“Why you gotta be so cold?” His fingers dug deeper into my sides. “It’s just a dance.”
“Take your fucking hands off her.”
Cal. His voice landed like a physical force behind me.
Then he was there. Right there. Close enough that Jeremy would have to go through him to keep hold of me.
But this was not the Caleb I knew. Not the one who smiled easily, teased me, and tortured me with devotion.
This version of him was someone else entirely.
Jaw locked, veins raised in his neck, shoulders strained with barely contained fury.
His blue eyes burned through the dark waves falling across his face with the kind of intensity that made you want to reconsider every life choice that had led you to this moment.
He was terrifying. He was glorious.
“She’s mine,” he growled. “And she said no. So what’s it going to be?”
Jeremy’s grip went slack. I drove my elbow into his stomach one final time for good measure and pulled free.
Caleb’s arm locked around me, his body angling between me and Jeremy. He didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t check in. He just moved me through the crowd like I belonged to him, his height and his solid frame cutting a path to the back porch.
The chilly night air hit my flushed skin. The noise fell away. And his arm stayed exactly where it was.
“I’m fine,” I said, turning to face him, pressing my palm to his chest. “Thank you for not punching him.”
“The only hands I want on you are mine.” His voice was rough. His words were a raw, possessive truth. And I was done for.
I should have pulled away. Should have reminded him it wasn’t his call to make.
But I couldn’t. God, I didn’t want to.
Instead, I stepped into him until there was no space left, wrapped my arms around his middle, and held on like he was the only solid thing in my world.
His mouth found the top of my head. And his arousal, hard and unmistakable, pressed against my stomach.
We stood there, hearts hammering against each other, neither of us willing to let go.
“Let me take you on a real date,” he murmured. “With talking and hand holding and maybe a kiss at the end of the night.”
“A kiss at the end of which night?”
“Don’t tempt me.” He squeezed me tighter. “I’m still trying to do this right.”
“Cal, we—”
His mouth found mine before I could finish.
Hot and urgent and better than I remembered, which shouldn’t have been possible.
For a moment—one reckless, blazing moment—I forgot the crowded house behind us.
Forgot everything except the way his need amplified mine until I couldn’t tell where his hunger ended and mine began.
Then a door slammed somewhere inside the house, and the noise of the party flooded back in. I tore my mouth from his, breathless, my entire body aching for more.
His arm tightened, refusing to let me go. “I can taste how much you want this. And I know you can feel how much I do. So stop pretending.”
I groaned, my forehead hitting his chest.
But he was relentless.
His finger snaked under my chin, guiding my eyes back up to meet his. “You know what this is, Zadie. You’ve known since the bathtub. Fuck, probably before. And I can guarantee, it’s not friends.”
“Friends is all I can handle.”
“No. Friends is all you’re willing to trust.” His thumb brushed under my bottom lip. “I get it. You’ve been fucked over. But I’m not like him.”
“I know you’re not.” Because of course I did. He was nothing like Sean. Everything about Caleb screamed safe, real, and so goddamn wonderful it made me ache.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I’m pregnant,” I whispered. “That’s the problem.”
“That’s not a problem.” His hands framed my face, holding me steady, his eyes fierce and unwavering. “It’s a goddamn miracle. And it changes nothing. I still want you. All of you.”
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to kiss him again and forget every miserable thing. But the nausea was back, and with the heat, the hormones, and everything else, I was fading.
“I can’t think right now.” I pulled out of his arms and pressed my back against the porch railing, the cold wood biting through my sweater. “This place is making me sick.”