Chapter 19
MAEVE
Caleb pushes to his feet, running a hand through his hair. “I should probably go,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking to the front door as though staying still another second might break him entirely.
I don’t blame him. I did just detonate his entire reality.
“You don’t have to.” I stand abruptly, too fast, too desperate, almost tripping over my own feet.
My fingers twitch at my sides, and I ball them into fists to stop myself from reaching for him, from grabbing his sleeve, from saying something I’ll regret. The silence between us sours the air, clings to my skin like something foul.
I can’t let him go. Not now.
He rubs his forehead, wincing. “I don’t think?—”
“Stay another night.” The words tumble from my mouth, unflinching. “We’ll get takeout. Watch a movie if you want.” I lift a shoulder, biting down on my bottom lip.
Watch a movie? That’s the best I can come up with? It’s such a mundane suggestion, as if a ninety-minute distraction can glue back the splintered fractures in our psyche.
If only it was that easy.
But the thought of him walking out now, after everything, would be unbearable. The hollow in my chest caves in just thinking about the door clicking shut behind him. Of the echo it would leave behind.
The unspoken words between us wrap around my throat, and squeeze. Each creak of wood, each rattle of a window, sends a cold sweat racing down my spine.
I don’t just want Caleb to stay. I need him to. Because when I’m alone, the shadows creep closer, and there are more of them now, peeking through every window, hiding in every corner.
And when I’m with him, they disappear.
I can breathe.
Caleb stiffens, his throat working over a hard swallow. He clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides, the tendons popping under his skin.
Then slowly, like it physically pains him, he looks at me. Really looks at me. His shoulders stay stiff, tension locking him upright. But the hard edges of his expression falter, just enough to let something raw bleed through the cracks.
Vulnerability.
Guilt.
The kind of fear that doesn’t roar, but lingers, festering beneath the surface.
He exhales, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You’re not scared of me?” His voice is rough, almost tentative, like he doesn’t trust the words coming out of his own mouth. “After everything . . .” His voice trails off, and he drops his gaze to the ground at his feet.
The war raging inside him mirrors my own. But distance isn’t going to keep me safe. Isn’t going to protect either of us. Only the truth can do that.
I’m not afraid of him. Or of what’s inside of him. I’ve glimpsed it, sat beside it. I’m still here, breathing.
“I’m not.” I step closer, crossing my arms over my chest.
It’s meant to seem casual, but it ends up more like armour, a shield against the weight of what we both know. This . . . whatever this is between us, is inevitable.
My heart hammers against my ribcage. “I have blood on my hands too, Caleb.”
The words hang between us. Caleb lifts his head, slightly, his eyes meeting mine through his dark lashes.
The outside world falls away. It’s just me and him, two broken pieces of a mirror shattered long ago, somehow finding their way back together.
He doesn’t want to leave either. It’s there, in the way he looks at me, like we both lived through a war and came back carrying the same ghosts.
“Okay,” he says, his lips lifting in a small, almost hesitant smile. “I’ll ring Sarah, get her to close the clinic. Then I really need a shower. And food. I’m starving.”
A grin breaks out across my face. “Deal. You sort that out. I’ll order pizza.”
With that, he holds his keys up. “Just need to grab some clothes from my car.” He heads for the door, pausing with his hand on the handle, and glances over his shoulder. “If you order pineapple on the pizza, our friendship is over.”
I snort out a laugh, scrunching up my nose. “Fruit on pizza? No thanks.”
“Lucky for you.” Caleb smirks. “I was about to walk out and never come back.”
“Oh yeah?” I arch an eyebrow. “What kind of girl do you think I am, Caleb Blackwood?”
His smirk fades, and he drops his gaze to my mouth. Warmth spreads like a current under my skin. A second passes. Two.
Oh god, I can’t breathe.
Almost imperceptibly, his jaw tightens like he’s forcing himself to look away.
Is he flirting with me? And why do I want him to do it again?
Caleb’s lips part slightly, like he wants to say something else. I wait. With a slight shake of his head, he exhales sharply through his nose.
“I’ll be back.” He turns and heads out the door before I can react.
I slump back onto the couch, pressing my fingertips to my temples, rubbing gently.
What is happening to me? My life is spiralling quicker than I can keep up.
Murder investigation. Check.
Playing house with the murderer. Check.
Uncovering a multi-billion-dollar medical research corporation’s dirty secrets? Double check.
The walls close in, the windows too exposed. The hairs on my arms stand up, and I resist the urge to check my phone for new surveillance tapes.
I blow out a breath, slow and measured. If they’re watching, they already know. But what are they waiting for?
Caleb walks back inside, a small overnight bag slung over his shoulder. His presence fills the space differently now. Something has settled between us, shifting just enough to be noticed.
I show him to the shower, then sit cross-legged on the living room floor and order pizza.
Ten minutes later, Caleb reappears in the entryway to the living room, his hair still wet, and smelling like my body wash. It’s one heady combination. Vanilla and Caleb.
He closes the distance, running a hand through his damp hair. Small droplets of water drip onto the collar of his white T-shirt. I follow one, focusing on it as it soaks into the fabric.
“I fixed the loose tap for you,” he says, like it’s nothing. “Just needed a little tightening.” He drops onto the floor beside me, as casual as making a cup of coffee.
“Oh . . . thanks?” The word comes out like a question, but Caleb doesn’t seem to notice.
Or if he does, he doesn’t say anything.
He grabs my laptop, resting it on his thighs like he’s been here a thousand times already. Like he belongs here.
The sight of him makes my chest ache. For a second, it’s easy to imagine this is what normal looks like.
The things he went through at the orphanage . . .
He’s trapped in this endless war with himself, with Asher. And every day he wakes up and fights against himself. He chooses to be the light in a town full of darkness.
How he sees any light in the world at all, is beyond me.
Our pizza arrives, and we sit in the living room, eating and going over the files from Pinnacle and the USB Ethan gave me.
Hours pass, our eyes glued to the laptop screen.
The grandfather clock chimes.
Once.
Twice . . .
Ten times.
The pizza box is still open on the floor, the scent of melted cheese and garlic anchoring us in something real.
My laptop hums quietly from the coffee table, half-lit by the small lamp in the corner. Outside, the wind howls, but in here, it’s warm. Still. Like the eye of a storm.
So much for a movie night.
Caleb yawns, and leans back against the couch, stretching out his legs in front of him on the floor. His T-shirt rides up, exposing a strip of skin just above the waistband of his jeans.
I roll my neck over my shoulders, rubbing at the ache creeping along my spine.
Seconds skip by, no words needed. The small distance between us stretches, settling over us like a second skin. It’s not uncomfortable. Just there. Like the paint on the walls, the dishes in the sink.
Normal. Unsuspecting.
Caleb crosses his legs at the ankles, drumming his fingers on his thighs. His jaw tightens slightly, his gaze distant, like his mind is split between here and somewhere else entirely.
I can almost hear the gears turning in his brain.
“Maeve,” he murmurs, fiddling with a loose thread on his shirt. “Can I ask you something?”
Oh god.
If he wants me to relive the night I stabbed Dennis with a letter opener, it’s not happening. I’ve filed that moment away, buried it deep beneath all the other things I refuse to acknowledge—the things that fester if I allow them.
“I guess.” I pick at the already raw skin around my thumbnail. The sting grounds me.
“That first day, when you came into the clinic . . .” His eyes find mine, desperate, pleading. I tense up. “Why didn’t you tell me you grew up in the orphanage?”
Okay. Maybe I would have preferred to talk about stabbing Dennis.
But I can’t blame him for asking. He’s right to question me.
I exhale slowly, shrugging like it’s not of concern. “Would it have made a difference? It was obvious no matter what I said, you weren’t going to tell me anything.”
Caleb frowns, pinching his bottom lip between his fingers. “Yeah . . . maybe,” he mumbles. “It’s just, I’ve spent the last six months thinking I’m losing my mind.” His voice is hoarse, his expression stripped bare. “Do you know how lonely that is? How fucking depressing that is?”
Yes.
I reach for him. “Caleb?—”
He holds up a hand, stopping me cold. “Let me finish. Please, Maeve.”
I nod and drop my hands into my lap. Everything inside me wants to comfort him, to take his pain away.
But I’ve never been one to erase pain.
Just cause it.
Caleb groans, scrubbing a hand through his hair, tugging. “Shit . . . I’m sorry. But just knowing I had someone right in front of me, someone who understood what happened in that”—he gestures at nothing, his breath hitching—“. . . that place. It would have made all the difference.” His voice cracks, and so does something inside me.
My bottom lip trembles. “I’m so, so, so fucking sorry, Caleb.” The words spill out, unsteady.
I shake my head, a single tear escaping, carving a silent path down my cheek.
Caleb’s expression softens, and he reaches for me. “Hey—fuck. I’m sorry.” His hands find me like instinct, and he pulls me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me. “Don’t cry, baby. Please.”
His touch is fierce, protective, as if holding me tighter will somehow stop the past from ripping us both apart. I melt against him, pouring my guilt into his like water through sand.
His steady heartbeat anchors me, his warmth seeping into the cracks I didn’t realise had split open. My tears soak through his shirt, though he doesn’t seem to care.
“Maeve . . .” Caleb breathes my name like a prayer, like it’s the only thing tethering him to this moment.
Like I’m the only thing keeping him from fading into the darkness.
He lifts my chin, forcing me to look at him. His fingers twitch against my skin, hesitating. There’s that war waging again, behind those eyes—the fear, the want, the hesitation.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, a small, sad smile tugging at my lips. “I should have told you.”
Caleb swipes away my tears with his thumbs, gentle as though the simple act can erase the pain that caused them. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m a jackarse.” His voice is low, rough. “You told me I was a survivor. You were just doing the same, Maeve. Surviving. You didn’t owe me anything. You still don’t.”
My breath lodges in my throat.
I’m acutely aware of every detail about him.
The flecks of gold in his eyes, catching the dim light.
The faint scar above his left eyebrow—the one that matches mine.
The quiet way his chest rises and falls.
The gentle curve of his lips as he watches me with a quiet intensity.
He’s beautiful, that raw, haunted loneliness stealing my breath. It’s the kind that wrecks you, because something so haunted shouldn’t make your pulse race.
But it’s not just him. It’s Asher, too.
The way he made me feel, as though he’d burn the world down just to keep me safe. Like he’d hurt anyone who ever touched me.
That should terrify me more than it does.
And if I said that out loud, if I admitted that deep, twisted truth, would Caleb hate me for it?
“Why do you do that?” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Caleb raises an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“Act like everything is okay, when clearly it’s not.”
He doesn’t respond. Just stares, his head tilted slightly. Sighing, he slowly reaches for my hand, and guides it to his chest, just over his heart. It’s hammering, wild and erratic.
Just as mine is now.
“Nothing about the last few days is okay, Maeve. I’m not okay. Not sure I ever have been.” He exhales, his breath warm against my face. “But what’s the alternative? Every day I fight against Asher, the part of myself I’ve never wanted to acknowledge. Now”—he swallows hard, his throat bobbing—“I’m not so afraid of him because we have something in common.”
My eyes dart between his, my pulse skipping. “Wh-what’s that?”
He runs a thumb over my bottom lip, as though he’s memorising me. “Protecting you.”
A shiver races through me, my body betraying me as I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering closed. The heat intensifies between us, the magnetic pull that’s been building since the moment I stepped into his clinic, into his life, finally tightens, drawing us in.
It sparks. Crackles. Sears through the last remaining vestiges of my restraint.
I don’t think.
I don’t second-guess.
Instead, I grab hold of his shirt, my fingers curling into the fabric, and crush my lips to his. His response is soft, tentative at first, like he’s afraid I’ll shatter.
But I don’t want soft. I’m already shattered beyond repair.
I want to feel something other than the crushing weight of everything that’s happened. And certainly, more than the endless ache of everything I’ve lost.
Gripping his shirt tighter, I pull myself against him, harder, pouring every ounce of desperation and longing into this one moment. If I never get another, I’ll know what it is to taste him. To feel like the world isn’t so dark after all.
Caleb groans, sliding his hands to my waist, pulling me flush against his chest. A soft, broken sound escapes my throat as I cling to him. Climb inside him.
I’ve never felt anything like it. This need, this ache to be touched, to lose myself in someone else. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once, like standing on the edge of a cliff and daring gravity to take me.
And Caleb is the one holding me over it.
Then, just like that, I let myself fall over that cliff. Let myself forget the darkness that surrounds us. And I let myself want more than what I’ve been handed.
Caleb’s hands tighten on my hips. His fingers flex.
He pulls back.
Not much. Just enough to leave me breathless, my lips cold with the absence of his. But his hands stay where they are, his fingers gripping my waist.
“Maeve—” His voice breaks, and he drags in a breath, his forehead creasing.
His grip tightens, loosens, and tightens again as he finally exhales, surrendering to something I can’t see. “I . . . I can’t. Not like this. Not now.”
My stomach sinks. “You . . . don’t want me?”
Caleb runs a hand down his face, putting a little more distance between us. But not enough to completely reject me.
He stares down at me, his eyes filled with something unreadable. Guilt? Need? Both?
“I want you,” he says, voice cracking. “Fuck, Maeve, I want you so bad it scares me. But I can’t do this if it’s just because of everything we’ve been through. You need to be sure. Hell, I need to be sure.” His shoulders sag, his fingers twitching against my waist. “I want us to take it slow. I can’t mess this up. Not with you.”
It’s all I’ve ever wanted from anyone. It’s messy, aching, and quietly brave. The kind of truth I never got when I needed it most.
“Okay,” I say, grabbing one of his hands and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “You’re right. We’ll take it slow.”
He’s not leaving, though.
Right?
I bite down on my bottom lip, hard enough to sting.
This changes everything. He needs space. Can I give it to him?
Sighing, Caleb tugs my lip from between my teeth with his thumb. “You’re making it really hard for me to take this slow, Maeve.” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s a tightness to it, a restraint that’s at snapping point. “Whatever it is, just ask me.”
How does he know I want to ask him something? And why does he have to look at me like that?
Like he can see all my secrets?
My stomach twists.
“Will you sleep with me tonight?” I say, twisting my fingers together. “In my room, I mean.”
Caleb crushes his lips to mine once again, this kiss rougher. A promise. A yes.
“Shit,” he mutters against my mouth. “What about Asher? What if he hurts you? If I hurt you? Maybe it’s not such a great idea.”
I pull back, cupping his face, brushing my thumbs over the stubble on his cheeks. “He won’t hurt me. You’ve been here the past two nights, and he hasn’t shown himself.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not here”—Caleb taps his temple—“waiting. I know him, Maeve.”
My eyes dart between his. “I’ll stop him,” I say, my voice softer. “If I have to.”
The words sound braver than I feel, but some part of me believes them. Has to believe them.
Caleb’s expression tightens, the rawness and pain of this moment seeping into the silence. My chest aches for him.
“I can’t control him, Maeve,” he says, tucking a loose hair behind my ear. “Once I’m asleep, and he takes over, I’m just a passenger. I’m useless.”
This changes nothing. Bethany’s ghost is still out there, her secrets still buried underneath the orphanage. And Asher could very well know where.
I need to confront him, even if it means risking the one man I’m falling for.
“I know,” I say, a tight smile on my lips. “But he might have the answers I need. We need. If he was going to hurt me, don’t you think he would have by now? Twice, he’s sat right next to me. I’m still here.”
Caleb groans, throwing his head back against the cushion. “You’re really killing me here.” He scrubs his hands over his face. “Fine. But be careful. He’s an arsehole, and not the good kind.”
“There’s a good kind?” I raise an eyebrow, pressing my lips together to stop a smirk.
Caleb flicks the tip of my nose. “Funny. I’m serious.” He shakes his head. “He’s a manipulator, Maeve. He’ll tell you anything you want to hear just to get his own way.”
“He doesn’t scare me, Caleb. I’ll be fine. I promise.” The lie burns like acid in my mouth.
Caleb stares at me for a moment, assessing. Waiting for me to change my mind.
Finally, he exhales. “Well . . . if he shows up, tell him he owes me three hundred bucks.” He pauses, rubbing the dark stubble on his jaw, something darker settling on his face. “Fucking prick.”