Chapter Eleven
When Jane woke up, she was sober.
She hadn’t been this sober for a few days. As she lay awake in the dark, turning her head to see the snow falling in the light of the streetlamps outside her window, she knew why she’d been avoiding this feeling.
Reality pressed on her like a heavy stone.
There was a hole in the world where Sam had been. Not just in her life, but in the world. That’s how bright and beautiful and alive her sister had been.
The sister who was left was only a shadow. She was dull and gray and weak and tired, and she would have drunk herself into a stupor—or worse—if Caleb hadn’t come along.
Caleb.
Having him around, even pissing her off and bossing her around, had been wonderful. And now he was gone, heading for Australia, and she’d probably never see him again.
She squeezed her eyes closed, but it was too late to stop the tears that leaked out, slipping down her cheeks like the drip, drip, drip of melting ice.
Having him here had reminded her she could still feel.
He’d made her take a bath. He’d made her drink tea and eat hot buttered toast.
Now he was gone, and she hadn’t thanked him. She hadn’t said one nice thing to him.
She rolled over onto her stomach and cried into her pillow. She cried for Sam, for all the things she wished she could tell her. I’m sorry I was jealous of you. I love you. I miss you. She cried because Caleb was gone, and for the things she hadn’t told him. Thank you for trying to help me. Be safe. I love you.
She spent her life surrounded by words. Millions upon millions of words, books spanning centuries. And yet, when it really counted—for the people who really counted—she couldn’t manage to say the simplest, truest things.
After a while, she stopped crying. Not because she felt better, but because there couldn’t be any more tears left in the universe.
She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. They felt sore and swollen, and she wanted to go to the bathroom and splash her face.
But if she got out of bed, she’d feel the emptiness of her apartment without Caleb in it. He’d been like a fire crackling on a hearth, giving out life and heat that could warm anyone—even her.
And now he was gone, and she hadn’t thanked him. She was selfish and sad and small and weak, and she hadn’t thanked Caleb or wished him a safe journey.
Stay safe, Caleb. I love you.
Loneliness and regret spilled out of her heart and into the empty apartment, echoing in the stillness and silence around her. The only thing that could drive it away was alcohol, and Caleb had dumped hers down the drain.
It was too late for that, anyway. Caleb had pulled her out of that morass, and she knew that however tempted she might feel, she wouldn’t slide back into it.
She took a deep breath. What was there left to do now but put one foot in front of the other and go through the necessities of being alive?
She might as well start by going to the bathroom.
Another deep breath, and then she got out of bed. The floor was cold under her feet, and she felt a moment’s resentment for the loss of her alcohol haze. With vodka in her veins she hadn’t felt the cold.
She crossed the room to her bedroom door, noticing for the first time that it was closed.
Which was weird. When you lived alone, you didn’t bother to close your bedroom door.
She turned the knob and pushed the door open, and then she froze.
Caleb was sleeping on her sofa.
For just one second, she wondered if she’d lost her grip on reality. During the first hours after learning about Sam, she’d pushed away the truth so hard she felt like a character in Somewhere in Time, wishing herself into the past with enough force to make it happen.
It hadn’t happened, of course. She hadn’t gone back into the past to undo Sam’s death.
She closed her eyes and opened them again.
The silence wasn’t only in her apartment. It was outside, too, the snow falling in a still night without wind, soft and quiet and blanketing the world.
The thick flakes made the streetlights seem diffuse. A faint, almost eerie glow came into her apartment through the blinds Caleb had opened yesterday.
She took a step forward, and then another. She hadn’t wished Caleb into existence. He was really here, snoring on her sofa with her extra blanket covering him.
After she’d finished her tea and toast he’d put her to bed, assuring her he would leave as promised. Instead, he’d slept on her couch to make sure she was okay.
It took seven more steps to reach him. She sat down on the coffee table, staring down at his face as he slept.
His hair was rumpled against the sofa cushion, and his skin looked paler than usual in the dim light of the snowstorm. His jaw was stubbled, but the lines of it—and the lines of his mouth—were softer in sleep than when he was awake.
She reached out a hand and cupped the side of his face.
It happened so suddenly she didn’t even have time to gasp. Caleb surged up to a sitting position and grabbed her wrist so hard it hurt, staring at her with wide eyes.
Everything stopped, including her breath.
Feeling and sensation swept through her. Her whole body felt like a frozen limb coming back to life, the blood tingling and smarting as it returned.
Longing and desire were a sudden fever inside her. She felt so alive it hurt, a glorious agony of being, of wanting.
Of wanting Caleb.
Every lustful thought she’d pushed deep into her subconscious came rushing to the surface, every wave of desire, every tremble, every quiver she’d ever felt when he flashed his lazy grin or tugged on her braid.
Her heart was pounding so hard it shook her body.
She had to get away. But the moment she tried to break his hold, he grabbed her other wrist just as hard.
His hands were like iron. What was happening? Caleb, always so calm and imperturbable, looked like he was in the grip of something he couldn’t handle. Something stronger than he was.
She hadn’t known anything was stronger than he was.
Seeing the maelstrom in his eyes was more terrifying than feeling it herself.
She tried to pull away again, but she might as well have tried to break handcuffs.
Neither of them spoke. They were surrounded by silence, three-in-the-morning silence and snow-falling-on-snow silence, and the only people in the whole world were her and Caleb.
She’d never realized how much his eyes concealed. She knew it now because whatever he’d hidden behind was gone. She could see everything. Old feelings and new feelings, grief and loneliness and raw, naked hunger.
It wasn’t too late to stop this. All she had to do was speak, and order would be restored to the universe. All this emotion would sink back down where it belonged.
I’m sorry I woke you up. I didn’t realize you were still here.
That’s all she had to do. Say something normal, something rational. Any words could dispel this charged silence, this utter stillness, and the madness that lay coiled within it.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Only her breath, ragged and shallow.
A deep breath would stop this. A deep breath would calm her, restore her, pull her back from the brink.
But there was a weight on her chest, squeezing her lungs. Short breaths, shallow breaths, were all she could manage.
Her heart would burst through the vise that held her. It was pounding so hard she could hear it, a wild drumbeat in her veins, a tide of blood rushing in her ears.
Maybe she would pass out. Between her racing heart and her stunted breath, maybe she could just lose consciousness and escape that way.
She’d been trying to escape for so long.
Caleb’s grip on her wrists didn’t loosen. Under his T-shirt, his chest and arms were as rigid as iron.
She couldn’t speak, but maybe he could. His words would have the same power hers did, to shatter this moment and restore them to what should be.
Jesus, darlin’. You scared the crap out of me.
But he didn’t say anything.
Instead, slowly, he began to pull her toward him.
Tell me I scared the crap out of you. Tell me to go back to bed. Tell me you’ll see me in the morning.
Her thoughts became frantic, as frantic as her heart thudding against her ribs.
Tell me . . . tell me . . .
Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me I’m dreaming. Tell me you’re not here and I’m not here and none of this is real.
Tell me you and I are nothing more than friends.
But he didn’t speak. He pulled her off the coffee table and onto the couch, and then onto him, her knees finding space on either side of his hips.
Stillness all around them, so profound it seemed like a new element. Earth, air, fire, water, silence.
And Caleb was as distinct and elemental as any of those.
The only light in the room was the eerie glow of snow and streetlamps, but she felt as though she’d never seen Caleb so clearly. His soft brown hair, the skeptical quirk of his brows, his strong nose and harsh cheekbones and stubbled jaw. The faint sheen of perspiration on his upper lip, the glitter of his pupils, the almost imperceptible twitch of his facial muscles as he stared up at her.
His chest rose and fell with every harsh breath. His hands still gripped her wrists. It seemed like they stayed that way forever, frozen in the stillness and surrounded by a city muffled in snow.
Her knees sank into the cushions on either side of his hips, bringing them closer. Heat coiled into her belly from the place where their bodies touched, the hard ridge of him pressing against her until the urge to move, to surge into him, was so strong she was afraid of it.
She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t. They hadn’t done anything yet, and it wasn’t too late to stop this.
Tell me nothing is different between us. Tell me we’re still the same people we used to be. Tell me . . . tell me . . .
Tell me Sam’s still alive.
Oh God.
The echo of Sam’s name in her mind filled her with sudden rage. Rage that her sister was dead, rage at herself for being alive, rage that the universe was so screwed up it had taken Sam and left her behind.
And rage at Caleb for coming to her apartment and making her feel so much, after she’d worked so hard to feel nothing.
Caleb was making her want things and hunger for things and—
No. Not things.
Him.
She wanted him.
For the first time in weeks she wanted something she could actually have.
She started to tremble. And then, suddenly, Caleb let go of her wrists.
“You’re crying. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his eyes with a shaking hand. “God, I’m so sorry.”
He’d spoken. Wasn’t that what she’d wanted? One of them to speak and break the spell?
She hadn’t realized she was crying. Now she brought her fingers to her cheek and felt the wetness there.
There was a crack in her heart. A fault line. And if a single drop of water got into that space, she would break apart.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
A flash of pain across his face. They were both in pain, and that was good.
It would be evil to feel anything but pain when Sam was dead. The only other choice was to feel nothing at all.
But Caleb had made that impossible. He’d come here and made her feel.
“I hate you,” she said again. Her voice was louder this time. “I hate you.”
Every time she spoke the words it was like a whiplash, but she wasn’t sure who was struck by it.
“I hate you. I hate you. I—”
Caleb surged upward, grabbing her shoulders and twisting their bodies with a single savage motion.
And then she was on her back, the weight of Caleb pressing her into the sofa and the blanket tangled around both their legs. The word hate was still a breath in her lungs when he kissed her.
His mouth was hard, his lips soft.
She wanted him to kiss her harder. She wanted her mouth bruised, her lips cut and split by his teeth. She slid her arms around his neck and pulled herself into him. He urged her lips apart and thrust his tongue against hers, the taste of him salty and feverish and desperate.
A thousand tiny shocks prickled her skin. His stubble scraped her cheeks, and the sensation sent a restless surge through her body.
He jerked away from her. She stared up at him in confusion and then realized with a horrified jolt that she’d slid her hands under his T-shirt and raked his back with her nails.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m—”
He grabbed her pajama top and pulled it over her head, cutting off her words. Cool air puckered her bare nipples as Caleb reared back for an instant, tugging off his own shirt, and then they were pressed together skin to skin.
The hard muscles of his chest crushed her breasts flat as he kissed her again.
Hunger was an electric current between them. Their hips thrust together, but there were things in the way: his boxers and her pajama bottoms and the tangled blanket.
And then they were struggling, squirming and twisting to shed their clothes and the blanket without breaking their kiss.
Somehow they succeeded. The last thing to go were her pajamas, and when she was finally free of them she wrapped her legs around Caleb’s hips and tried to pull him down to her.
He was too strong.
“Protection,” he gasped, his body rigid as he held himself a few inches away, his eyes wild as he looked down at her.
“IUD,” she said, trying to make it into a sentence. “I have an IUD.” She dug her heels into his lower back and her nails into the thick muscles between his shoulder blades, fierce and desperate and savage.
But she might have been a kitten swatting at a big dog for all the good it did. Caleb stayed exactly where he was, his arms on either side of her shoulders as he looked into her eyes.
Something in his expression made her go still.
And then, slowly, he found her center and slid inside.
He was so big it should have hurt, but she was so wet it didn’t. She stared up at him and tried to breathe, every muscle in her body yearning for him even as their bodies joined.
His face was tense with an ecstasy she’d never seen in another human being. Inch by inch he sank into her, and it felt so good and so perfect and so exactly what she wanted that she felt the sting of tears in her nose and her throat and behind her eyes.
He stopped moving. “Am I hurting you?”
“No. No.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because you feel so good.”
He rested his forehead against hers.
“Say that again,” he whispered, and she felt the breath of his words on her lips.
“You feel so good.”
He was trembling. She could feel the tremors running through both their bodies.
“Are you all right?”
He nodded. “I’m just . . . trying not to move. I’m afraid I’m going to come.” He raised his head again and looked her in the eyes. “I don’t want to come yet. I want this to last forever.”
Something pierced her heart—a lance of sweetness and pain.
“Nothing lasts forever,” she said.
She arched her back to bring them closer, and he groaned.
When he pulled out and thrust back in, the pleasure tightened in her belly, and when he did it again, and again, she felt herself losing control.
When the explosion crashed over her, she cried out, and in that instant she wanted the same thing Caleb did.
She wanted this moment to last forever.
But even in the grip of ecstasy, she knew that it wouldn’t.