35. Melanie
melanie
My body is aching in the most delicious way as I curl myself around Cale. He’s on his back, one arm propped behind his head and the other curled around my neck, his fingers softly stroking my arm, leaving my skin tingling in his wake.
“So…you wanna talk about it now?” I ask, tracing small circles over his chest, one of my thighs resting over his. Underneath my cheek, his chest moves on a slow exhale.
“Talk about what?” he rumbles sleepily.
I make a low noise of amusement through my nose. It doesn’t surprise me at all that he’s already put it out of his head—multiple orgasms will do that to you, I guess—but we can’t brush this under the rug. It’s not something that will go away, especially if we’re not on the same page.
“The condom thing,” I say, pretending I don’t feel the tightening of his muscles under my head. He relaxes a second later, so I add, “The baby thing,” just to really make sure it hits home.
I lean up on an elbow, looking down at him, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “I know you’re fine with what happened,” he says gruffly. “But I am sorry, darlin’. It shouldn’t have gone down that way.”
“It’s okay.” Cale’s hand slides down my arm and hooks around my waist, his fingers digging in almost painfully. I take a deep breath, dropping my focus to where my hand is resting on his chest. “But I…” The words dry up before I can let them loose.
He rolls onto his side, his lashes fluttering open. I lie down beside him, our heads sharing a pillow, his minty breath brushing over my face.
“What is it?” He strokes a finger over my cheekbone, the faintest frown marring his brow.
“I don’t want more kids,” I blurt abruptly, grimacing. “I guess we should have talked about it earlier, and it’s…it’s not fair to ask you to give that up and I—”
My throat goes tight, my eyes stinging as reality crashes into me with all the force of a train hitting something at full speed. I’m surprised blood doesn’t actually splatter the walls.
“Melanie.”
I shake my head, forcing more words out. “If this changes things for you, I understand. I—”
“What the fuck?” His tone is aggravated and I flinch as he presses his hand against my mouth.
I glare at him, but he just lifts his eyebrows.
“Seemed to work well earlier. Now it’s my turn to talk, so you’re gonna shut up and listen.
” I’m spitting daggers at him with my eyes, but it only makes him chuckle.
“Good girl,” he croons, and I lift a hand, jabbing my finger into his chest. He gives an exaggerated wince, pouting at me. “That’s just mean, darlin’.”
I grab his wrist, shoving his hand down, aware that he lets me. “I’m being serious.”
Cale kisses my frown away, tongue teasing across the seam of my lips before he pulls back.
“I am too. You ready to listen?” I wave my hand, magnanimously gesturing for him to go ahead.
He narrows his eyes. “I didn’t sit around when I was younger, dreaming of a family.
I wasn’t the relationship guy, and that tied in with kids, too.
There was no drive pushing me to go out and knock someone up. No urge to spread my seed.”
“Spread your seed,” I echo dryly.
His eyes gleam with amusement. “Fact is, there’s no ticking clock in here.” He taps a finger to his temple.
I search his face for any sign that he’s lying or downplaying his feelings, but his expression is open and sincere. “You didn’t want children at all?”
“There was a thought that if I ended up in a relationship and she wanted kids…” He lifts a shoulder. “But being Lanie’s uncle was enough for me.”
The was feels significant, but I efficiently dodge it for now. “You must’ve been so happy when she and Jaz moved back.”
Cale flashes his teeth at me, eyes creasing. “Like you wouldn’t believe. Hate the reason for them needing to move back, but love that they’re here.” He takes a strand of my hair, curling it around his finger. “It’s your turn now.”
I hesitate but he just gave me honesty, and I need to give him the same.
“When Oak was younger, I wanted more kids,” I confess, my tone wistful.
“My parents were never bad people, but they had to work all the time, so I found myself alone more often than not. I guess that’s why Davis”—Cale tenses but doesn’t interrupt—“and I connected straight away. He grew up in the system and was alone more than I was.” He tugs at my hair, making me realize I’m staring at his chest. I lift my eyes to his, my smile weak.
“I sensed things were changing for him, even while I was pretending they weren’t.
It wasn’t overnight. Wasn’t weeks or months. He didn’t just turn into this bad guy.”
“They never do,” he murmurs. “It wasn’t on you to see it happening either. He owed you the truth, and he hid it from you. Maybe he even hid it from himself.”
“He was weak,” I mutter, inching closer to him until our bodies are aligned chest to knee, hiding my face in his neck, the rough bristles on his jaw scraping against my skin. “I won’t ever forgive him for that. I’m sure he would have all kinds of excuses if he were here, but—”
“You’re allowed to be angry,” Cale interrupts. “Him being dead doesn’t wipe away everything he put you through.” One hand is still tugging on my hair, and the other is smoothing down my back—all the way down until he’s cupping my ass, squeezing with a groan of pleasure. I smile against his neck.
“How can I be angry when I’m here with you?”
“Damn fucking straight.” He gives me another tight squeeze, and then his hand is sliding up into more neutral territory.
“I stopped imagining more children years ago,” I admit, getting back to the subject at hand. “Oakley is everything I need, and I didn’t want to mess that up. Now? I can’t imagine starting over with a baby.”
“Why would you?” Cale murmurs. “You already got the perfect kid.”
I grin at him. “I do, don’t I?”
He dips his chin, raising one brow. “Now there’s only one question…”
I squint at him suspiciously. “What’s that?”
The corner of his mouth tugs up into a crooked smile—one that would make my knees weak if I were standing. “Are you gonna share him with me?”
Oakley is subdued the next morning, his face barely moving and eyes staying dry when I carefully tell him that his father died last night.
His silence follows us through breakfast and then to the police station, where Detective Scott Jerome ushers us into a warmly lit room—a huge contrast to the bland interview room I was expecting.
He gestures for us to sit on the small couch against one wall, Cale and I flanking Oakley on either side.
He tucked his hand into mine when we left the car, and now his fingers squeeze me so tightly that it grinds my knuckles together.
I don’t flinch or complain, just holding him right back.
He hasn’t done this since he was about six, right when he decided that holding his mom’s hand was ‘lame’.
Jerome sits down across from us, a notepad on his lap and a solemn expression.
“Thank you for coming in today. I know this hasn’t been easy, especially for you, Oakley.
” My son shrugs, his chin dropped to his chest, and his eyes on the floor.
Jerome isn’t bothered by the lack of response.
His expression does not even flicker as he asks gently, “Do you know what happened after you left last night?”
Cale wraps an arm around Oakley’s shoulder, pressing him into me so he’s squeezed from either side. “My dad died,” Oakley mutters.
“That’s right. We know how that happened”—Jerome throws a look at Cale, who is completely unrepentant—“but I was hoping you could tell me what happened, starting from when your dad picked you up from school.”
“Everything?” Oakley looks up long enough to frown at him. “Even if I went to the bathroom?”
“Everything,” Jerome confirms, biting back a smile. “The thing is, you might be hiding some information in here.” He touches his head. “And it might be important, but you won’t know it’s important.”
“And you might.” He realizes.
The detective nods. “Exactly. So you tell me everything that happened, I write it down here,” he shows the pad in his hand, “and then we figure out what happens next.”
Oakley looks at me, searching for reassurance that I wish I didn’t have to give. My smile is wavering as I lean down, pressing my forehead to his.
“We got you,” I whisper. “Cale and me. We won’t leave you for a second, okay?”
“Okay.” His answer is so quiet, I almost don’t hear it.
“What’s the one thing you need to remember?” Cale says, scrubbing his hand through Oakley’s hair. “What did we talk about on the way over here?”
He doesn’t answer for the longest moment, and he doesn’t pull away from me, his eyes shutting before he admits, “Nothing that happened is my fault. I did everything right.”
Jerome smiles. “Exactly,” he says approvingly. “This is only about understanding what happened yesterday. We already know you did good.”
Oakley pulls away from me to ask him, “You don’t think I should’ve fought back? Or tried to get away?” I wince, surprised by the question.
Jerome isn’t. He leans forward, giving Oakley a considering look. “What would have happened, Oakley? If you had fought back?”
Oakley licks his lips. “Dad would have gotten angry,” he admits. “He was already angry, and I was scared he was going to hurt me.”
“That’s what we were scared about too,” the detective confides.
“And if you’d tried to get away, same thing.
He could have hurt you, or you could have gotten lost. You did the right thing, knowing that your—” He cuts himself off, throwing an uncertain look at Cale before saying, “Cale was coming to get you.”
The rest of the interview goes fairly smoothly after that, although, by the end of it, Oakley’s shoulders are slumping, his skin pale. Jerome flips his notepad closed, looking at us. “Well, I don’t have any more questions, and you all look like you’re ready to crawl back into bed.”
“Food first,” Oakley grumbles, already standing up, Cale and I following his lead.
He doesn’t wait around, heading straight for the door, and we all file out behind him, heading into the reception area of the police station.
The station receptionist, Keegan, looks up with a small smile of greeting, one finger pushing her glasses back up her nose.
I smile back at her just as Jerome clears his throat. “Melanie, I’d like a quick word, if you don’t mind. Just us.” He glances at Oakley meaningfully, and Cale tips his chin.
“We’ll wait for you outside.”
Oakley doesn’t protest, waving goodbye to Jerome and Keegan as Cale ushers him outside. The detective waits for the door to close before he turns to me, his expression severe.
“I have another update for you,” he says, keeping his voice quiet.
“I’m guessing Cale told you Marcy has been arrested.
” I nod. His expression is grim as he slides his hands into his pocket.
“We don’t know how often she left her daughter alone, so we’re working off the assumption that last night wasn’t the first time. ”
“Oakley says it didn’t happen when he was there,” I murmur. “If they did go out, they would leave him with Marcy’s mother.”
“The one who smells like feet?” he asks with reluctant amusement. “Clarissa said the same thing. Marcy will be charged with child endangerment and neglect, but we’ll be investigating further, so more charges are likely. I don’t think she’s as innocent as she claims in Davis’s dealings.”
I nod slowly. “What will happen to Clarissa?”
“Her father was granted an emergency custody order. He’ll need to go in front of a judge, but I believe he’ll try to get Marcy’s parenting rights terminated. That’s as much as I know.”
I glance at the doors of the police station, able to see Cale and Oakley standing together on the sidewalk. “I don’t know him. Cale does, but I…” I exhale heavily. “Will she be safe?”
Jerome lays a heavy hand on my shoulder, giving me a reassuring smile.
“She will be. I’ve never seen a father as worried as the one who came charging in here last night, roaring for his daughter.
Well, that’s not entirely true.” He follows my gaze outside, his tone pointed, “There was another father yesterday who would’ve done anything to get his kid back. ”
“Who did do anything.” I correct, blinking quickly to pretend my eyes aren’t watering. I clear my throat. “Thank you for your help with all this. And for being so gentle with Oakley this morning. He needed that, I think.”
“No problem.” He drops his hand, taking a step back. “Just give me a call if anything else comes out or if Oakley remembers something.”
I give him a nod, watching as he turns and walks away. I startle when Keegan calls my name softly, asking, “Are you okay?”
“No,” I admit a little too honestly, going off her startled expression. “But I will be.”
I wave goodbye before leaving the station, inhaling sharply as I step out into the crisp air.
Oakley and Cale turn in unison to face me, their eyes solemn.
I look between the two of them, knowing we need to wash this day off us.
The memories are going to stick like tar, but right now, we all need to remember the good in the world, that Oakley is safe, and that Davis can never hurt him again.
“Frothy Cakes,” I declare, forcing a bright smile onto my face. “Lemon cakes and coffees. I already messaged Jamie this morning, and she doubled her usual batch.”
Oakley’s mouth forms a small smile. “Swap my coffee for a hot chocolate,” he says seriously, “and you have a deal.”