Chapter Twenty-One
Caleb
Rage had clouded my vision and my judgment.
The second I saw Jeremy’s hands on Zadie, my first instinct had been to protect her, even if she didn’t want or need me to. But that anger had twisted into something more primal. Something I had even less control over.
The urge to claim her. To make her mine. Now and for-fucking-ever.
As I stared at her profile in the dim light of Zane’s porch—beautiful, overwhelmed and barely holding herself together—another instinct hit me. The need to get her the hell out of here.
I took her hand and pulled her back through the house, sidestepping a couple of drunks in the hallway. She kept pace, her fingers tight around mine, her body close enough for me to feel her trembling.
The November night hit us a second time as we stepped through the front door. Stars scattered across a black sky, the first hints of frost sharpening the air. The party still raged behind us, but the rest of town felt dead asleep, like the world had narrowed down to just the two of us.
I didn’t let go of her hand. Not when we reached my truck. Not when I opened her door. Not until she was in the passenger seat and I had to walk around to my side.
The engine turned over, heat spilling through the vents. Zadie leaned her head against the window, her breath fogging the glass, and I kept my eyes on the road while every nerve in my body stayed locked on her.
“Chantel disappeared with a man tonight,” she said quietly, like she still couldn’t make sense of it.
“I know.”
“She looked different with him. Submissive, somehow. Not at all like herself.”
“Maybe that’s what she wants.” I reached across the console and took her hand again, relishing the feel of her skin against mine. “Or maybe it’s something she needs—to not be in charge all the time.”
We made the rest of the drive in silence, our hands still connected, my body still humming with pent-up desire.
When I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, Zadie unbuckled her seatbelt but didn’t move to get out. “This has been a crazy night.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Thank you. For dealing with Jeremy. For…” She gestured between us. “Everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that.”
“Still. I want to.”
We sat in the dark, the engine ticking as the heat began fading around us.
“Are you going to kiss me again?” she whispered, her eyes on the house.
I looked at her mouth and nearly lost the fight right there. “I want to do a hell of a lot more than kiss you.” So much fucking more. “But not tonight.”
She turned to face me. “Why not?”
“Because you’re exhausted, and you’ve been throwing up all night. And because when I take you to bed, I want you fully present. Not running on fumes.”
Her eyes widened, lips parting softly, but she didn’t say a word.
“Come on.” I got out, rounded the truck, and opened her door. She took my hand immediately, like she’d already decided she wasn’t letting go either.
The front door was unlocked. Again.
One day, I was going to tie a goddamn key around Chantel’s neck.
Inside, the house was dark and quiet, the kind of silence that made every small sound feel intimate. I locked the door behind us and led her toward my room.
When she tried to keep walking down the hall, I tugged her back against my side. “In here.”
“You want me to sleep in your room?”
A week ago, her question would’ve been loaded with hesitation and fear. But tonight, she wasn’t looking for a way out. She was looking for an excuse to stay.
I pulled her into the room, closing the door behind us. “Yes. I want you next to me.” No way in hell was I letting her go now.
“Caleb —”
“Zadie, we’ve done this before. You, me, and a bed.” I grabbed a T-shirt and sweats from my dresser and held them out to her. “And sleep. Nothing more.”
She took the clothes and held them to her chest, her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth.
Fuck, she was beautiful. And way too enticing.
I turned and stripped out of my shirt and jeans, pulling on sweats and a fresh tee. Behind me, I heard her moving, and I gave her the space she needed without being asked.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m decent now.”
Finally, I looked back at her.
My T-shirt hit an inch above her knees. The sweatpants hung unused from her hand, and her thick, bare thighs beneath the hem made my mouth go dry.
“Maybe it would be better if I just slept in my own room.”
“Get in my bed, Zadie.”
Her mouth twitched, her breath held, and then she walked to the bed and climbed in.
When I got in beside her, she pressed to the far edge of the mattress, putting as much space between us as the bed allowed. I lay on my back, one arm behind my head, and let the silence settle.
But she was too fucking far away. “Come here.”
The mattress dipped as she inched toward me, like she was negotiating with herself the entire way. Tired of waiting, I hooked my arm around her waist and pulled her in.
She gasped. But her head found my chest, her hand flattened over my ribs, and her bare thighs pressed against mine. The way she fit against me was utter goddamn perfection.
“Cal?” she whispered. “The things you said tonight. About the baby. About wanting me. Did you mean it?”
“Every word.”
“Even the miracle part?”
I tightened my arms around her. “Especially the miracle part.”
She exhaled a long, shaky breath, her body finally relaxing against mine—the tension she’d been carrying for weeks, maybe months, releasing in one breath.
I held her through it, running my hand up her spine and back down, tracing the curve of her waist, the dip above her hip. Memorizing every inch.
She shifted closer, her thigh moving higher up my leg, her breasts crushing to my side. Her head titled up, and she grazed her lips over my neck.
My body responded. There was no hiding it. “Go to sleep, Zadie.”
“What if I don’t want to?” Her voice was a sultry promise. But her exhaustion was still obvious around the edges.
“Then I’ll hold you until you do. Either way, I already told you…we’re just sleeping tonight.”
“You’re much bossier than you used to be.”
“Get used to it.”
She laughed—quiet, tired, and so goddamn beautiful against my chest. Her hand slid under my shirt to the bare skin above my waistband, her fingers tracing lazy circles that were going to kill me if she didn’t stop.
But her movements started to slow, her body growing heavier against mine. Until finally, her fingers went slack and her breath evened into the steady rhythm of sleep.
I lay in the dark with her weight on my chest and her scent in my lungs. She hadn’t said yes. Hadn’t promised me a damn thing.
But she was here. In my bed. In my arms. Her hand on my skin and her guard all the way down.
And if this was what surrender looked like on Zadie Fisher, then every wall I’d climbed and every rejection I’d swallowed had been worth it.
I pressed my mouth to the top of her head and let myself follow her into sleep.
Tomorrow would bring its own battles. But tonight, she was mine.