Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
CADE
Orange glows through my closed eyelids. Sheets rustle. The scent of warm citrus fills my nose, worn cotton soft against my cheek. A steady thump-thump beats beneath the gentle rise and fall of my pillow…
My eyes snap open.
Blinding sunlight reflects off a line of golden trophies displayed on a floating shelf above a meticulously organized desk. A few evenly spaced posters of boring country singers and football players mid-catch decorate the walls. There’s not even a spec of dust in here. I push up on an elbow—
Oh fuck.
That’s a drool puddle.
My drool puddle.
And it’s not on a pillow.
I’m torn between launching myself out the window and licking it up. The result is the same: going splat on the gravel driveway. Maybe if I’m quick enough—
My pillow stretches with a groan. “Hey.”
Goddamn, Sebastian’s morning voice is the shit of wet dreams. It’s rough and raspy and tickling something in my brain that’s releasing all of the happy chemicals. I need to record it so I can fuck myself to it later.
“Cade?”
There’s a small mole just below his collarbone next to some freckles. It’s like a constellation naturally tattooed on his skin. I want to paint it. I haven’t painted anything consciously in years. I brace myself for her to berate me.
All I hear are the birds bickering in the tree outside.
“She’s quiet.”
The quilt puddles around Sebastian’s hips as he props himself up, his callused palm rough against my cheek. I nuzzle into it.
“You feeling more like… yourself?” he asks.
I bite my lip. I want to lie to keep this version of him.
The one that holds these fractured pieces of me together.
Who fills in the cracks with sidelong glances when he thinks I’m not looking and reassuring words whispered in the refrigerator light.
I’m not ready to be discarded yet. What I should do is leave before he tells me to get the fuck out, but I’m incapable of moving.
Not while he’s touching me. Not when my mind is my own again.
“For now.”
He removes his hand and shifts a few inches away. “That’s good.”
It sounds more like a question. I pick at the sheets. Denim blue.
“I hate the color blue.”
“Like you hate water?”
My eyes dart to his. “How do you know that?”
A line forms between his brows. “You told me. Last night.”
“Oh.”
He rolls onto his side, crushing a pillow with his bicep. I wanna be in bicep jail.
“Can I ask you something?”
“I’d rather you not.”
He levels a stern look at me. It’s sexy. I hate it.
“Fine.”
“Do you…” Pink tints the tops of his cheeks. Is he… blushing? He watches me pinch the sheets and clears his throat. “Do you remember… showering?”
It’s a fever dream in shades of yellow and orange.
I nod.
He nods too.
“You said some things.”
I should’ve left. “If I made you uncomfortable—”
His hand suddenly covers mine. “You didn’t.” I look up. Those eyes are so damn earnest. His gaze drops to our hands. “I’m just… worried about you.”
My stomach sinks. He doesn’t like me. He pities me.
“Of course you are,” I scoff and start to pull away.
His fingers wrap around my wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m not on drugs, so you can save the intervention speech.”
I yank my arm. It’s useless.
He arches a brow. “I never said you were.”
“You asked me what I took last night. I remember that much.”
He blows out an exasperated breath. “Would you stop being so difficult and lay down?”
I eye him skeptically. His cross pendant glints at me like a middle finger— a stark contrast to the pleading look in his eyes. After an interminably long minute, I reluctantly flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling.
His grip loosens, but he doesn’t let go.
My stupid heart skips a beat.
I’m fucking insufferable even to myself.
“I have to go to a fundraiser tonight,” he says. Immediately, I’m doing mental gymnastics again. There’s a deadline looming over my head. A countdown to madness.
“Cool. And?”
Can he hear the fear beneath my sass? Because I sure as fuck can.
“And.” His pointer finger traces a circle around my knuckle. “I want you to text me while I’m there.”
Oh shit. Those are definitely butterflies in my stomach. I’m fucked, I’m fucked, I’m fucked.
“To make sure I don’t lose my shit again?”
He weaves our fingers together. I’m so dizzy, I’m gonna throw up.
“To make sure you know you’re not alone.”
My eyes burn. I turn my head away. Doesn’t he know this only goes one way? Spiraling. Down. I’m not salvageable. I’m corrupted. He has to know.
Two fingers touch my chin and guide my face to his searching eyes. But I can’t do it. Looking into them will reveal me.
“I mean it,” he murmurs.
And I cave— I cave like a fool. Because I’m desperate. Because I’m scared. Because he’s telling the truth. It’s written in every line of his stupidly perfect face.
“Ok,” I whisper.
A ghost of a smile appears on his lips. “Good boy.”
As if I didn’t already have morning wood… now I’m rock solid.
“Don’t do that.”
His head tilts. “Do what?”
I roll away. “Tease me.”
The mattress creaks. Heat burns into my back as a heavy hand lands in the dip of my waist. Humid breath ghosts my ear. My body hums to life— every sense cranked into overdrive.
“Payback, darlin.”
I shiver. “For what?”
The tip of his nose drags up my neck and into my hair. He inhales deeply. His fingers flex as he murmurs something I can’t make out. Then his palm smoothes to my stomach. Fingertips toy with the sliver of exposed skin where my hoodie has ridden up.
His hoodie.
Shit, my heart is racing. Is this what it feels like to be a girl in a Lifetime movie?
“Fucking hell, you’re gonna be the end of me,” he sighs. Featherlight touches skim under the waistband of my shorts. “I’m not meant to have you.”
You already do.
A loud buzz. My phone rotates on the nightstand with another incoming message.
His exploration stops.
Motherfuckingfuckfuck. I groan. “Ignore it.”
His mouth presses into my shoulder— not kissing exactly, but I melt anyway. We stay like that for a bit, quietly soaking in what he insists is impossible.
It won’t last.
I catalogue every detail of this rare sliver of peace with him as my eyelids flutter shut.
When they open again, Sebastian is gone.
And she’s back.