25. Twenty-five Kaleb
Twenty-five: Kaleb
“ W hat do you mean, you can't trace the call?” I snapped with gritted teeth into my phone, causing my chief to sigh from his end of the line, taking no more than a second to respond.
“We don't deal with personal matters, Kaleb,” he said with little to no expression. “Somebody's father doing a runner isn't our problem. It's not a case we're working on. The police are aware of it and will apply their resources without needing our help.”
I resisted the urge to berate him, but there was clearly no changing his frigid mind.
“Any more on Will?” he asked me, changing the subject, and I internally groaned.
“No.” I scratched the back of my neck as I leaned up against the wall, my eyes travelling to the photos of my sister hanging on the wall. I ran my tongue along the front of my teeth, my jaw aching from having it clenched for so long.
“When will you next be heading over there?”
“Tonight,” I responded coldly.
“Let me know how it goes.”
I cut off the call, running a hand down my face as I glared out of the condensation-covered window. The weather outside reflected my mood. Shit.
The anniversary of Brie's death was fast approaching, and no matter how much I prepared myself, whenever the date swung around, I found myself battling intensely with my inner demons.
My mother often spiralled around this time of year, but since her good friend had moved in and had been keeping her company, she’d been distracted. It was a good thing, but I was concerned that the grief was going to hit her full force on the day.
Annoyance flowed through my veins, but I pushed it aside to make my way upstairs to knock on Freya's bedroom door.
“Just a second,” she called from the other side, and I waited with my arms folded and my shoulder leaning against the wooden doorframe.
She yanked her door open, gazing up at me with surprise, her face slightly flustered.
“Call in sick to college today. I'll be waiting downstairs,” I told her, descending the stairs.
“What?” She swung her arms over the landing railing, and I arched my brow at her, my face stern.
“Just call in sick, Freya.” My tone left no room for argument.
I was going to take her out. She hadn't been herself all weekend because the police claimed they couldn’t trace her father's call. Couldn’t and wouldn’t were two very different matters, though, and something wasn’t right.
Now that Monday had rolled around, Freya was having to force herself to head to college and plaster her usual contagious smile onto her face in an attempt to fool everyone into thinking that she was okay. In reality, she was struggling, and I hated it. I’d do anything to take the pain away from her. I didn’t care what it was.
I waited three minutes before she came barrelling down the stairs in a rush, her face full of concern. “What's going on?”
I chuckled at her lack of faith in me. “We're going out.”
“And I have no say in this?”
“If you'd rather sit in a classroom full of pretentious art students who all believe they possess an ounce of the talent you do, then be my guest, sweetheart, but I doubt your lecturer will be teaching you anything today that you don't already know.” She shivered at my words as I took a step closer, and her ears tinged red, making me smile. “Let's go. I'm driving.”
We didn't speak much during the ride. I could tell that Freya had a lot on her mind, and whenever she dropped her happy fa?ade, her eyes would glaze over, and she would sink back into her state of overthinking and anguish.
I hated that there was nothing I could do for her regarding her father. The police were doing jack shit, and my chief had declined my request to trace the call—there wasn’t anyone in the organisation that worked in the necessary department I could ask that wouldn’t report back to him.
“We're here.” I opened up Freya's door for her, and her eyes expanded at the sight of the pottery studio in front of us. “I thought this might cheer you up, but if you're not in the mood for it, we can give it a miss.”
Art and I weren't the best of friends. I’d never had much interest in it—besides tattoos—but Freya was good. Too good for the people she was surrounded by at college. I’d dug deeper when I’d got Zach kicked out and had done some research on the students in her class. Their pieces were mediocre at best. They lacked passion, originality and charm.
But there was something about Freya's work that drew people in. Even my mother had spotted her sketch pad that she’d left open on the table the other day and had commented that her drawings looked like something you would see selling for thousands of dollars. My little artist just lacked faith in herself sometimes when it came to her talent.
“Kaleb,” she breathed, shaking her head and smiling up at me. “This is perfect.”
The lady behind the studio desk got us all set up—the fact that I had to wear a stupid oversized apron made me groan. But I was willing to do it for Freya. I’d do anything she wanted me to do, no matter how ridiculous it made me look. If it would make her smile, it was worth it.
“What are you going to make?” she asked me as she whirled her clay around using the pedal connected to the potter’s wheel, her hands effortlessly moulding it into a long tube. I was surprised by how easy she made it look.
“I don’t know. Have you ever done this before?” I questioned her, and she shook her head sheepishly.
Of course, she hadn't, but like I’d expected, she took to it like a duck to water.
“What got you into art?” My thigh brushed her own, her body relaxing.
She hummed in response, stealing a glance at me before turning her attention to her perfect-looking vase. “Um, I guess it was the one thing I had control of when I was younger. My mom and dad fought a lot when he wasn't working, and I knew there was nothing I could do to stop them from arguing. But when I drew or painted, everything was my choice. The colour. The shape. The emotion the piece portrayed. I had control. A lot of my artwork revolved around anger when I was a child. It was the one thing my mom noticed. It was usually red or contained fire.”
I bit down on my bottom lip, feeling frustrated by Freya's admittance. Art had been her comfort growing up—it had allowed her to escape from a family that battled one another. She hadn’t felt heard in her own home, and that was deathly wrong.
“I don’t have any siblings either.” She shrugged. “It was hard to find something to do. My mom wanted more kids, but my dad didn't. Apparently, it took him a lot of convincing just to have me.”
I nodded in understanding, my head snapping up once Freya released a loud laugh, her eyes focused on my vase. Well, what was supposed to be a vase. It actually looked more like some kind of deflated elephant penis.
“Do you want some help?” she asked, moving off her stool and gesturing for me to shuffle up, perching on the edge of mine. Her body was so close, and I could feel her breath on the side of my neck as she took over the pedal of the potter's wheel.
My jaw was solid as she took hold of my wrists, moving my hands around the clay slowly, shaping it into a model similar to hers. It caused my skin to tingle. She was so soft. Tentative. Delicate. I wondered if she'd be as gentle when touching—
“Kaleb, you need to concentrate,” Freya complained, shaking her head and frowning at the collapsed clay.
“You're making it very hard for me to do that, sweetheart.”
We called it a day after around thirty minutes of whirling my pottery around—admitting that I just didn't possess the natural talent that Freya did when it came to moulding shapes—and left the pottery studio to head home.
We organised to pick up our masterpieces in a few days once they’d been cooked in the furnace, and I was glad that it gave Freya something to look forward to. She had smiled today. Not her phoney beam that she’d been putting on all weekend whenever someone spoke to her, but a genuine smile that caused the sides of her eyes to crease and her nostrils to flare.
“Thank you,” she told me as we made it back into the house. “I really enjoyed that.”
“Of course.”
Freya clicked her tongue as she rocked back and forth on her feet. “I was working on some potential submissions for my college work. Would I be able to get your opinion on them? I just can’t tell what they’re missing.”
I didn’t even hesitate. “Lead the way.”
She released a small laugh before nodding at me to follow her upstairs, where she rummaged through her bag and pulled out her sketchpad, handing it to me on the landing.
I hummed in approval as I flicked through the pages.
The drawings lacked colour and energy, looking dreary yet still extraordinary. Freya had something special. She could pour her emotions out onto a page and influence those who viewed them. Despair rocketed right through me just looking at them, the multiple shades of sorrowful blue she’d used leaping off the page and hitting me square in the chest.
“They’re incredible,” I said, furrowing my eyebrows, handing the pad back to her. “But they’re sad.”
It caused her to shrug, and her eyes flickered with hopelessness again—the same they’d looked all weekend.
I sighed. “About your father. My chief wants nothing to do with it for the moment, but I'll try again.”
Her dark brown eyes rounded, and she plastered a small smile onto her face and nodded.
“You don't need to do that with me, Freya.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you're not hurting. It's not necessary to put on a fake smile for me.” I moved towards her, picking up on how her grip tightened around her pad as she gazed up at me.
“I know.” She swallowed, and I saw a flash of something behind her eyes.
Need. Want. Desire.
My cock tightened, and I hooked my finger under her chin, allowing myself to lose all train of thought as I pressed my lips to hers greedily, backing her up against the wall. She moaned into my mouth, wrapping her arms around my neck as she pushed her body flush against mine, my hands gripping the sides of her waist.
I lifted her up in my arms, and she gasped, her back arching against me. Her head lolled back, and it gave me perfect access to her neck, allowing me to press hungry kisses to her hot and burning flesh.
“Kaleb,” Freya moaned loudly. “Touch me. Please.”
My breath hitched in my throat at her request, and I wasted no time kicking the door to my bedroom open and dropping her down on my bed, standing at the foot of it. She was breathless, her chest rising and falling as she took in deep gulps of oxygen as if she were a fish out of water.
I knelt down in front of her, seizing her legs and pulling them closer to the edge, my fingers trailing over the button of her jeans as I tipped my head to the side. “Is this what you want?” I asked huskily, dipping my fingers in to play with the lace of her lilac underwear.
The sexual tension between us was unmatched—I'd felt it the second I first laid eyes on her. But it was more than lust with Freya. I wanted to please her. To make her happy. I despised the idea of her being anything other than content with life, and I wanted to be the person to give that to her.
“Yes. Please, Kaleb.”
“If it's what you want, then it's yours.” I pulled down her jeans, throwing them to the side and parting her legs, giving me access to her core. My dick twitched at the sight of how wet she was for me, the fabric of her underwear darker from her arousal. She whined as I dipped my fingers into the material, feeling her moisture, causing her to arch her back and moan.
Breathing heavily, I plunged two of my fingers into her, working my way in and out slowly as my thumb circled her clit at a torturous pace. My fierce eyes watched her as she gripped the sheets underneath her. My sheets. She was dripping all over my sheets. Mine .
“Fuck, Freya, you're so tight,” I grunted as I pulled her underwear all the way to the side, giving me a view that had me biting down on the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from devouring her.
“Kaleb, faster,” she mumbled, and I chuckled, shaking my head, a smirk toying at my lips.
“No can do, my little artist.” I continued to work her pussy at a slower pace, moving on top of her and briefly pressing my lips to hers. “I've been wanting to punish you ever since you played out your little teasing operation on me in your tiny shorts and sports bra.”
Freya's eyes widened, and she released another moan. “You—you knew?”
I raised my eyebrows like it was obvious. “You don't run, darling.”
I’d humoured her by allowing her to think I was completely unaware of the fact that she was trying to get a rise out of me that day. Seeing her dressed in her skimpy gym attire had ignited something inside me, though. She was absolute perfection.
Slowing my pace down even more, the sound of Freya's wetness and gasps filled the room, and she bunched up the front of my T-shirt in her fist. I pushed her cardigan up, my eyes roaming over her lace-covered breasts, and I reached into her bra to roll her nipple between my finger and thumb, squeezing it.
“Kaleb! Are you here?”
Shit.
I groaned under my breath at the sound of my mother's voice outside my door, and I sent Freya a warning look as I continued to pleasure her, leaning down. “Stay quiet.” My order was hushed. “Yeah?” I called out so my mom could hear me while Freya wiggled underneath me, clamping a hand over her mouth to silence her sounds of bliss.
“Do you know if Freya is here? Her sketch pad is out here on the floor.”
“Fuck, Kaleb,” Freya muttered into my chest, shaking underneath me, and I knew she was reaching her peak.
“I know, baby, I know,” I whispered huskily. “No, I don't think she's home!” My voice was thick as I addressed my mom.
And I definitely don't have my fingers buried deep inside of her right now.
“Alright, I'll put it in her room.” My mom moved away from my door, and I felt Freya's pussy tighten around my fingers as I sped up, her hands scratching at my back as she released underneath me. Curse words fell from her mouth as she cried out into my chest, and I swore along with her, watching her as she came undone. Both the sight and sound were mesmerising.
Her glassy eyes. Her blushed cheeks. Her parted lips. Her scrunched-up eyebrows.
Fuck. The image was going to be etched into my brain for the rest of eternity.
However, Freya and I were now in water waist-deep, and it was going to be a hell of a problem when the waves finally hit.