Chapter 22
CALEB
The bell above the clinic door chimes. I glance up from the folder in my hands, and over my black trainers perched on Sarah’s desk. It’s rare I get to man the clinic solo.
But when my receptionist came in coughing up a lung this morning, I couldn’t get her out of here quick enough. Besides, I need a break from her curious eyes. She hasn’t downright asked me, but I’m pretty sure she suspects something untoward is going on.
Maeve stumbles in, her red-rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks stopping me dead. She looks broken, raw. Like she’s carrying the weight of something unbearable. I hate how easily I recognise that kind of pain.
My gut twists.
Wait. I know that look. It was the same one she wore when she told me she stabbed Dennis McCosky to death. Christ, no. Please don’t tell me she’s killed someone else.
Between Asher and Maeve racking up bodies, it’s only a matter of time before my head goes with them.
Maybe I should start a tally. See who racks up the highest body count before someone gets caught. And when I say someone, I mean me. Asher may pull the strings, but it’s my hands that ultimately land the final blow.
My chest tightens at the sight of her. I drop the folder onto the reception desk and cross the room in two strides.
“Maeve?” I keep my voice low, gentle, as though she’s a frightened animal ready to bolt. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, biting down on her trembling bottom lip. I rub her upper arms, soothing her, coaxing her to open up.
“I just . . . I couldn’t go home,” she finally says, her voice cracking. She sniffs and swipes at her tears with the back of her hand.
“Shit. Come here.” I pull her against my chest, holding the back of her head.
Her hands fist the front of my shirt, her body shaking against mine. “Everything’s so messed up,” she mumbles, her voice muffled by the fabric.
I rest my chin on top of her head, running a soothing hand over her back. “Want to talk about it?” I say, even though I’m not entirely sure I want to hear it. Ever so slightly, she shakes her head. “That’s okay. Whenever you’re ready.”
“I didn’t know where else to go.” She pulls away, sniffing, those tear-filled eyes piercing straight through me.
I cup the side of her neck, rubbing my thumb over her soft skin. Is it to comfort her, or myself? Probably both.
“You can always come to me,” I say softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Come to my place tonight?” I pause, frowning. “We can talk. Or not. Whatever you need.” The words tumble out before I’ve had a chance to really think about what I’m asking.
Silence fills the space between us, squeezing my chest tight.
Fuck. I shouldn’t have asked her to come over. It’s too much. Too soon. She’ll run. I just know it.
Instead, she nods, her shoulders sagging. “Okay. I’d like that.” Her voice is quiet, but there’s something in it. Relief, maybe. Or surrender. “But we have to pick up Teddy first.”
Ah, yes. Teddy and I have been through some shit these last couple of weeks.
The drive to Maeve’s house is heavy with the weight of whatever it is she’s holding inside. She keeps her focus out the passenger side window, tracing invisible shapes on her thigh. Now and then, her breath catches, and my grip on the steering wheel tightens.
I’d give anything to fix this, to ease whatever storm is tearing through her right now. But I can’t help her if she won’t tell me what’s wrong.
We pick up Teddy, and the small dog settles in Maeve’s lap, licking her hand as if he knows she needs comfort. Dogs always know when something’s wrong. They really are man’s best friend. Maeve strokes his fur absentmindedly, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Back at my place, I show her around the small living room to distract her from whatever dark thoughts are clawing at her.
I gesture to the three-seater for her to sit. “Would you like a drink? I have beer, wine. Something stronger?”
I inwardly slap myself. Great job, idiot. She’ll think I’m just trying to get her drunk. When really, I’m nervous as hell. I’ve never had a woman inside my house before.
And I’m fucking terrified.
Maeve nods and places Teddy down onto the tiles. He darts off, tail wagging as he makes his way around the room, sniffing every inch.
She gives me a tight smile. “A glass of wine would be great.”
I nod. “Excellent choice.”
Jesus. Excellent choice?
Before I embarrass myself further, I head into the adjoining open plan kitchen, and hide myself there for a few long seconds. I’m a grown man. Not a child.
Maeve and I are both consenting adults, so why does it feel like I’ve kidnapped her, forced her to be here, when she really doesn’t want to be?
A low hum weaves its way around my brain. Great. This is all I need. Asher. Of course he’s lingering in the corner of my mind, waiting for the moment I screw everything up. He’d love nothing more than to see me fail completely.
“Get it together . You’re making us look bad. ”
“Shut up,” I whisper, snatching up a bottle of wine and two glasses from a shelf.
Christ, I’m trying too hard. She’ll see it, see right through my bullshit.
“Pathetic,” Asher murmurs. “Amusing, though .”
I twist the corkscrew into the cork with a little too much effort. It splits. Fuck. “What would you do, then?”
Not that I want to know the details. But I’ll entertain him for a moment.
“She’s a wreck, ” he says, his voice low and mocking. “I could make her forget all about it.”
I clench my molars and yank the cork from the bottle. “Real smooth, arsehole,” I mutter under my breath. “Now’s not the time.”
“Why not?” He laughs, darkness curling through my thoughts like smoke. “She’s ripe for the taking, Caleb. You’re just too weak to seize the moment. But I’m not.” My hand jerks all on its own accord, wine spilling onto the kitchen counter. “Maybe you should let me take over for a little while.”
My grip tightens around the bottle. Tighter. Tighter.
I’m in control. Not him.
“Caleb?” Maeve calls out from the living room. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s . . . fine,” I call back, swiping a hand towel from the counter and cleaning up the spilled mess.
Just dealing with the bastard in my head. You know, normal.
“I can hear your thoughts, dickhead .”
I grin. “How unfortunate.”
A low growl stirs in the back of my mind, a shadow of Asher’s presence. So serious. He has no room for humour. Only cold-blooded murder.
But I’m determined to stay grounded in this moment with Maeve. I’m not about to take advantage of her. I’m not Asher.
I like her . . . a lot. And I think she likes me too. We’ve shown our insides, the ugliest parts of ourselves. Despite that, we keep coming back. Like magnets. Like we’re tethered by something invisible.
I pour the wine, stealing glances at Maeve as Teddy gnaws a squeaky toy. Every high-pitched chirp earns the faintest smile from her.
“Here you go.” I hand her the glass of wine, our fingers brushing momentarily.
Warmth spreads through me, but Maeve quickly withdraws her hand, wrapping both around the glass.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, taking a small sip.
I rub the back of my neck, trying to appear casual even as my heart hammers in my chest. “How about dinner?”
Maeve nods, her eyes darting between mine. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
The silence stretches between us, but not necessarily uncomfortable. There’s this strange tension, as if an invisible wall has been built up between us. She wants to say something, I can see it swirling behind those dark eyes of hers.
It’s in moments like these, I wish I could be like Asher and linger in her brain. At least then I’d know what she’s thinking.
I clear my throat, desperate to break through the fog clouding my mind. “I’ll get to it then.” I dart off back into the kitchen and grab the ingredients from the pantry and fridge. “Pasta okay?”
She nods, her lips quirking up into the barest hint of a smile. “Pasta sounds perfect,” she says, her smile growing a little wider.
It’s slight, but it’s something. Progress is good. I’ll take it.
I chop an onion, some garlic and thyme, and throw them into the hot pan. The comforting scent hits me, making my mouth water.
As I work, Maeve climbs from the couch and sits on the other side of the counter, her glass of wine cradled between her hands. The intensity of her stare sends a rush of warmth up my chest.
Just those eyes are enough to bring me to my knees. Fuck. I’ve needed no-one like this. Not even close.
“You’re good at this,” she says softly, oblivious to my inner turmoil.
Perfect timing, really. I couldn’t be more fucked if I tried.
I glance at her, raising an eyebrow. “At what?”—pretending I’m not on the verge of a complete meltdown—“Cooking?”
She nods, taking a sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving mine. “It’s comforting. Watching you.”
That’s good to know. At least one of us is comfortable right now.
I chuckle as I stir the sauce in with the herbs. “Well, I aim to please.”
Her smile fades, and she looks down at her glass, silence enveloping us once again.
It’s not just the weight of everything we’ve been through lingering in the air, but also the memory of our kiss—at least for me. I know what her lips feel like against mine, what she tastes like.
I set our plates on the dining table and take my seat across from Maeve. The light above us highlights the delicate curve of her cheekbones, the soft fullness of her lower lip. She’s achingly beautiful, yet something about her feels just out of reach.
“More wine?” I say, reaching for the bottle, attempting to ease the silence.
Maeve nods, holding out her glass. I pour, a slight tremor in her hand making the glass shake.
She sighs and runs her finger around the rim. “I found out something today.” Her eyes meet mine. “About my mother . . . and Pinnacle.”
Is this what’s been eating at her all night? This is the first time she’s ever mentioned her mother. Probably for the same reason I’ve never mentioned my parents. It’s too painful.
I pause, my hand tightening around the bottle. “What did you find?”
She picks up her fork, and as we eat, she tells me everything—about the photograph, the connection to James Lockhart, the truth about her mother. Her voice wavers, and tears well up in her eyes, but she keeps going, spilling out every detail.
What can I say to fix her pain? Nothing. What can you say to someone who’s just uncovered that kind of horror?
Sorry, I’m sure he still loves you?
No number of words will fill the ache in her chest, so, I do the only thing I can.
I listen.
When she finishes, she places her fork down on the plate, and lifts the wine glass to her lips, her hand trembling as she knocks back the rest of its contents.
She sets the glass down and finally looks at me. “I feel like I’m losing myself, Caleb,” she says, eyes glassy. “Like everything I thought I knew about my life is a lie. I don’t even know who I am anymore. All I wanted to do was find out what happened to my friend. And now . . .” Her words trail off as she shakes her head, exhaling sharply.
I reach across the table, covering her hand with mine. “You’re not losing yourself, Maeve. You’re finding the truth. And I’m here for you. Always. But what are you going to do? About Pinnacle, I mean.”
“I don’t know.” She lifts a shoulder. “I’m not ready to expose them. I don’t have all the information, and to be honest, I feel like we’re past that. Like it doesn’t matter what I do, it’ll never be enough. We’ll never get our lives back from our time there.”
She’s right. We’re far beyond some exposé. This is life-altering information, and she needs time to process. If anyone is going to understand that, it’s going to be me.
Her chin trembles, and she links her fingers with mine, squeezing my hand like it’s the only thing keeping her tied to this moment. Much the same way as I use her touch to ground me.
She stares at our linked fingers, tracing my veins with her other hand, her lip caught between her teeth. Her gaze slowly drifts up to mine, and she lifts our interlocked hands, pressing a kiss against each of my knuckles.
Goddamn.
The air shifts. Electrifies. Hums with everything we’re not saying.
Slowly, Maeve stands, her fingers still linking with mine. Without a word, she steps around the small table, her movements graceful but tentative. Like I might bolt.
I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.
With each step she takes, my heart punches the inside of my ribs. I swallow and wipe my free hand on my pants.
In one fluid motion, she slides onto my lap, straddling me, her thighs squeezing against my hips.
My breath hitches. Every muscle in my body goes still. Oh, shit. What’s happening?
Maeve runs her fingertips over my jaw, her touch slow, warm, her eyes assessing. Probing.
“Caleb.” Her voice breaks. “I need you.”
She needs me.
I cup her face in my hands, brushing my thumbs across her flushed cheeks. “Are you sure?” I say, searching her eyes for any sign that this is a bad idea.
Nodding, she threads her fingers through my hair, and tugs gently. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
That’s all I need to hear. I’m done fighting whatever this is between us. It’s messy, filled with blood, secrets, broken promises. But it’s ours. It’s us. Me, Maeve, and the shadows we both carry.
I stand, lifting her effortlessly, and she wraps her legs around my waist, closing the distance between us, her lips finding mine. They’re soft, yet insistent, the sweetness of the wine lingering on her tongue. I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her closer and returning the kiss with equal need.
Or more like desperation.
A soft moan escapes her, the vibration coiling deep in my chest. I trace the curve of her back, the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her blouse urging me on.
Our lips never stray as I carry her to the bedroom and lay her on the bed. She releases me, her breath fanning my face as I hover above her, taking in the sight of her sprawled beneath me.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I murmur, trailing kisses along her jaw and down her neck. I find the hem of her blouse, and pause, glancing up. “May I?”
Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and she nods.
Exhaling, I lift the fabric with shaking hands, revealing her soft skin inch by inch. Maeve shivers beneath my touch, my hands smoothing over her stomach, her ribs. I take my time, mapping every curve and hollow, and storing them in my memory.
When she’s bare before me, I admire her. “Perfection.”
And she is. Fucking perfect. Every inch of her, like she was made purely for my eyes.
Maeve reaches for me, tugging at my shirt. “Your turn,” she says with a small smile.
No need to ask me twice. I strip my clothes from my body, dropping them onto the carpet by the end of the bed. Her eyes track down my chest, my stomach. Lower.
Her lips part. Her chest rises.
She likes what she sees.
I settle over her, skin against skin. The heat between us crackles like a live wire. Her cheeks flush.
“Tell me what you want,” I say, pressing a soft kiss against her throat.
“You,” Maeve says, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. “I want you, Caleb.”
I groan at her admission, my body igniting as I trail kisses down her neck, savouring the rapid flutter of her pulse. With each press of my lips to her soft skin, I trace a path down her body, each pause drawing another breathy whimper from her.
Her skin heats beneath my lips, and I dip my tongue into her navel, swirling it around, then travel lower. She squirms beneath me, gripping the sheets, and thrusting her hips upwards.
I could lose myself in this. In her.
I’ve never had someone give themselves to me like this. Never had someone quake under my hands like she’s safe. Home. It makes me feel like more than a man. Like maybe I’m something worth saving, too.
She’s not thinking of Asher. Not thinking of monsters. Just me.
And that might be the most terrifying thing of all.
I swallow hard. It’s been a long time since I’ve touched anyone like this. But with Maeve? My hands remember exactly what to do.
“Please, Caleb,” she whispers, her voice trembling as her fingers tighten in my hair.
It’s like she knows exactly how to make me lose control. And I almost do. But I can’t. Even though I could fall apart from that sound alone. Her voice, pleading for me. Not him.
My breath brushes her skin. “Patience, beautiful.”
I half-expect Asher to butt in, to demand a piece of this. To remind me he’s always watching.
But he doesn’t. He’s quiet.
Maybe he knows I need this more than he does.
With a flick of my tongue, it finally meets her sensitive flesh. She gasps, the sound wrapping around me, making my pulse trip over itself. I explore her slowly, alternating between soft, broad strokes and firmer flicks against her clit, drawing her higher and higher.
And for a moment, it’s just us. Just the warmth of her skin, the heat between us, the sound of her breath quickening in the silence. The rest of the world doesn’t matter. Not Asher. Not the mess of our past. Just Maeve, unravelling beneath my hands, my mouth.
“You taste incredible.” I close my lips around her clit and suck gently, slipping two fingers inside her, curling them just right.
Her cries echo, raw and unrestrained as she writhes beneath me, perfect and undone. The way she grips me like I’m her lifeline—it’s everything I never knew I needed.
“That’s it,” I whisper against her slick flesh. “Let go for me, baby. I want to feel you shatter.”
Her release comes on like a tidal wave, her body bowing off the bed. My name falls from her lips, over and over, and I hold her through it. Through the force of it.
I’ve seen her break in grief. In fear. From fury. But this? This is surrender without pain. This is what it means to fall without shattering.
This is trust.
And I’ll die before I ever break it.
She collapses back onto the mattress, her breathing heavy, her body limp. I kiss my way back up her heated skin, the taste of her lingering on my tongue.
It’s too much, and not enough all at once.
I can’t stop now.
Maeve shivers, running a finger over my bottom lip, her eyes darting between mine. “I need all of you, Caleb.”
I pause, my gaze locking with hers. “Are you sure?” My voice is rough, raw, like I can’t quite believe she’s allowing me to see her like this. “I need to know you’re sure.”
She nods, cupping my face, and pulls me closer. “I’m sure.” She kisses the tip of my nose and presses her forehead to mine.
I close my eyes, breathing her in. Her scent. The heat of her body winding around me until I don’t know where I end, and she begins.
My muscles shake as I position myself between her legs, gripping a thigh. Ever so slowly, I push inside her, the heat of her slickness enveloping me inch by inch.
Her gasp mingles with my groan, and I sink into her fully. Holy fuck. This is . . .
So. Fucking. Good.
I pause, giving her time to adjust, and plant soft kisses along her jaw, down her neck.
I want to claim her, keep her here forever. But I know at some point, this little bubble we’ve surrounded ourselves in, is going to burst. For now, I’ll savour each moment.
Maeve wraps her legs around me, forcing me deeper. I move, setting a rhythm that has us both panting. Every thrust is deliberate, every brush of our bodies igniting sparks that race through my veins.
“Fuck.”
Maeve clings to me, her nails raking down my back, her breath hot against my neck. Her whispered pleas and soft cries are a symphony, urging me to push us both higher.
I shift slightly, angling to hit that perfect spot inside her.
“Oh god . . . yes.” Maeve arches her back, squeezing her eyes shut as her mouth forms the perfect O.
“That’s it,” I say, circling her clit with my thumb as I thrust deeper. “I’ve got you, baby.”
With one final moan, Maeve falls apart beneath me, her body clenching around mine. Her cries—my name—ripple through the room like a confession.
I can’t breathe, can’t think. The sound of her breaking is both an end and a beginning. Every moan, every tremor in her body shatters me.
I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her scent as my release builds. I’m falling apart too, spiralling into the dark, everything inside me pulling tight, only for one beautiful moment, to let go.
And when I come, it’s not just release. It’s reverence. Like I’ve finally touched something holy, and it touched me back.
I gather Maeve into my arms, pressing soft kisses to her temple. Her breathing is slow and even, her body fitting perfectly against mine.
The world is still spinning, but in this moment, it doesn’t matter. I can’t feel anything except the warmth of her skin against mine, the soft rise and fall of her chest, and the silent promise in the way she holds onto me.
This is what matters. Not the chaos. Not the damage. Just us, right here, in the quiet aftermath.
“That was . . .” Maeve says, her voice trailing off as she glances up, a soft smile on her lips.
“Incredible,” I finish for her, tucking her hair behind her ear.
We lay together in the quiet of the room, the only sound our breathing and the occasional rustle of sheets. I close my eyes, the storm inside me calming for the first time in years.
Asher’s satisfaction thrums through the inside of my skull like a predator circling its prey. But he doesn’t haunt me like he usually does.
“She’s perfect, Caleb,” he murmurs. “You’ll see. She’s just like us.”
I don’t know what scares me more. How right he might be. Or how much I want it to be true.