Chapter 16
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Bella asked, sounding miserable.
We were a hell of a pair. Hungover and Heartbroken. Sisters in agony.
“I’m fine,” I said, even though my vision was blurring from my tears. I wasn’t fine at all. I felt as terrible as Cain had looked and he had looked like shit. Way more than he did on a usual morning after drinking from what I had seen. But he had probably slept. Or passed out, really. I had spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, wondering how I was going to return to Cambridge and just go on with my life.
Because I had to. I knew that. Which was shit. Sucky, lousy, cruddy, why the hell had I been so stupid as to go and fall for Cain? If there was a handbook for hookups, rule one would be don’t fall for him, you idiot. It’s all about the D. Or it should be.
I was driving fast. I wanted to get home and disappear into my bedroom and cry where no one could see me. I didn’t want to talk about this. I didn’t want anyone asking questions because I didn’t like the answers I would have to give.
“Don’t wreck this car, I’m begging you. I have enough issues in my life right now.”
“What issues do you have?” I asked, genuinely curious. I thought Bella had everything she had ever wanted.
“Nothing other than you seem determined to kill us and I have a headache the size of your tuition bill that Dad has to pay.”
Even though I was crying and driving and basically the most upset I had ever been, I still fought the urge to point out to Bella that a tuition bill isn’t a solid, and therefore not an apt comparison, but I contained myself. I was driving too fast and I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Dad doesn’t have to pay my tuition bill. He just chooses to do so. I’m sorry you have a headache.”
“I’m sorry Cain spilled beer on you.”
“He didn’t spill beer on me.” Well, he had but not on purpose. I knew I shouldn’t defend him though. But it wasn’t about the beer. “Honestly, it wasn’t that or the things he said. It’s that it showed how determined he is to wallow, you know what I mean?”
“Yes, I know what you mean. That really sucks. I know you like him and it sounds like the sex was amazing. But sex always complicates things.”
It had been amazing. So amazing that I wondered how I would ever have that again. I bit my lip and thought about hookups. It had never been one, even when we had thought it was. “I don’t think it was the sex that complicated things. The sex was eye-opening and intimate and beyond what I expected. But I think all of that was because we had a connection from the very beginning. We get each other.” I sounded like any girl I might despise. Like I was justifying. But I knew it was the truth. I knew it.
I also knew that lobster fisherman or not, Maine or Boston, if he wasn’t an alcoholic, I wanted to be with him. Forever.
But that he had rejected me in favor of the past.
“I think he is still angry, and doesn’t know how to move on,” I said. “I can’t blame him for that. Would you be able to forgive him if Bradley cheated on you?”
“I don’t know,” Bella said, and her voice caught. “I think I would be angry for a very, very long time.”
“I need a coffee,” I said abruptly. I wish it had occurred to me a week earlier that I might actually be stupid enough to attach to Cain. Then maybe I would have kept it at one night. Nothing more, nothing less. “Do you want anything? I can go through the drive-through.”
“I need a giant iced coffee and a do-over.”
“I can get you the coffee. I can’t get you the do-over.” I assumed she was talking about drinking herself sick. I eased up on the gas, focusing on the lines on either side of the road. Let the road roll under me. Let the car soothe me.
Bella raised her knees up and hugged herself, even with the seatbelt on. “Soph?”
“Yeah?”
“How do you know when you’re doing the right thing?” Her voice was soft.
My heart squeezed for her. Something was off about this wedding. Way off. And the change had happened very recently. I wasn’t the only Bigelow who was hurting. “I could tell you our brains are wired to process information so quickly that what we perceive as our gut instinct is really our brain grabbing on to everything it can in a microsecond and reaching a conclusion as to what we should do.”
Bella snorted.
“But I won’t.” I felt the tears well in my eyes again. It felt like a swell of hurt, just rising up inside me. “Because the brain, I am sadly forced to admit, doesn’t control the heart. I think that if you know what the right thing to do is, you’re lucky.”
“I’m feeling a little unlucky.”
“Cain told me there aren’t answers to a lot of questions. That’s really hard for me to accept because you know I like equations that have solutions. But I think he’s right.”
And it hurt to know that I would never experience what we could have been.
ONE MONTH LATER
There were so many times in my life that I wished I could think less. Feel more. Now I wanted neither. I felt like all I had done for thirty days straight was turn around and around my relationship with Cain. Every word. Every touch. Every smirk on his face and every flash of desire in those ice-blue eyes.
I couldn’t shake any of that.
But even worse, I couldn’t stop feeling. Feeling desire, longing, loneliness.
Love.
I didn’t expect to hear from Cain, but I was still disappointed when I didn’t. I spent a lot of nights in my apartment fighting an internal battle with myself as the temptation to text him grew stronger and stronger. At first, throwing myself into my schoolwork had been distracting enough. Numbers soothed me. Then I had decided to let my fixations just do their thing. I retraced my steps, I counted ceiling tiles endlessly, I monitored my neighbor’s TV volume, mentally noting when he took it up over 40. I grabbed onto any routine, any calculation that I could just to avoid thinking about Cain and how he had not even reached out to me once.
Nothing.
In my ever-present logic I had thought he would be quiet during the day but that I would hear from him at night, when he was drinking. That he would drunk-text me. I had frankly been counting on that.
When it never happened, I was shattered all over again. Rejected all over again.
At night, I lay awake trying to figure out how to let go. It wasn’t working. I had finally taken to working out after dinner to exhaust myself so I could fall asleep more readily. Me, working out. It was ridiculous. Nerd girl in the gym tested all my germophobia but I did it anyway because fixating on someone else’s sweat on an elliptical was actually preferable to fixating on Cain.
It also helped to quiet my aching desire. What a cruel irony that my sexual awakening at the hands of Cain meant that my lust was wide awake and looking to party and I was back to square one. Getting myself off in the shower. My water bill was going to be outrageous.
Even in my darkest moments I had debated joining a dating app but had the sense to realize you can’t chase the dragon. No one was going to give me what I needed right now.
One Saturday I found myself throwing on basketball shorts that I had bought to feel serious about exercise and decided to go for a walk. The walls of my apartment were closing in on me, and my friend Cassie had canceled our plans to go to lunch. I was grabbing my keys when there was a knock on my door.
When I looked through the peephole my heart almost stopped. It was Cain standing in the hallway. Looking sober, solemn. Sexy. God, he was so sexy. My heart squeezed and I tried to weigh the pros and cons of talking to him, reopening all those deep, painful wounds.
In the end, I couldn’t resist. There was no way. It was the pull of something so elemental there was no way the intellect could control the physical draw of my body to his. I slowly pulled the door open and tried to keep my expression neutral. I failed miserably, I was sure.
“Hi,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer that. He did rake his eyes over me, head to toe, his nostrils flaring. “You look beautiful, Soph. Just beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Puzzled, I studied him. I wanted to be angry and I was, but mostly I felt sadness for what we could have been. Or rather, what I had wanted us to be. The urge to touch him was profound. He looked different. There were no dark circles under his eyes. He had gained a few pounds of hard-packed muscle. He stood straight, not the slightly slumped shoulders he had when he was hungover. Mostly startling though was the clarity in his eyes. They were brighter, sharper. His voice sounded smoother, less gravelly.
“You look good,” I said, because it was true. I knew now why I hadn’t heard from him in thirty-one days. It was obvious. He’d been drying out. But would I have heard from him otherwise? I wanted to think now I would have if he had been able to.
We had left it at goodbye and I had avoided going anywhere in Camden where I might see him or his brother. Then I had returned home to my apartment and tried to resume my life as if he had never been.
Which had been impossible. He’d been in my dreams every night, making love to me, slowly, sensually. I had once told him I couldn’t spend the whole night with him, but in a way, I’d been spending every night with him since.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks. I’ve been in rehab. Learning to self-soothe. Without alcohol.”
My heart squeezed. He remembered our conversation that first night. And he had gotten help. That made me so happy for him. “What’s your pacifier?” I asked, curious. It couldn’t be easy to replace alcohol. It had been his best friend, his coping mechanism.
“Thinking about you.”
Tears instantly appeared in my eyes and I was mortified. I hadn’t meant to do that. But for him to say he had been thinking about me…it was overwhelming.
“I’m glad you decided to get help. Like I said, you look good,” I said. My throat felt tight, a myriad of emotions rushing over me.
“Thanks. Can I come in, just for a few minutes?”
I started and backed up. “Of course, yes. Come in. What are you doing in Cambridge?” I gestured for him to come in, my heart starting to race. He wasn’t just passing through. The only explanation was he had come to see me.
“I’m on a day pass. I have to go back to rehab. I’m doing a full ninety days because I think it’s pretty obvious I need it.” He stepped into my apartment, glancing around at his surroundings. “But I had to see you.”
“Come have a seat.” I felt nervous. My palms were sweating. Did Cain being sober change everything? Anything? I wasn’t sure. I pushed aside some books on the couch and sat down. I patted the cushion next to me. I wanted him near me. I wanted to touch him so bad. I wanted to feel his arms around me.
Cain kicked off his sneakers and padded in his socks over to the couch. He knew me and my shoe issue. It made me stupidly happy. I was about to ask him how he felt, what his plans were, when he cupped my cheeks without warning and kissed me.
It wasn’t soft, but it wasn’t angry. It was urgent, questing, possessive. I felt everything inside me rise up and welcome him. I felt passion, desire, a sense of rightness. I belonged in his kiss. When he finally broke away I gave a soft cry.
His pale blue eyes were so intense, so serious. His nostrils were flaring. “I’m sorry.”
“For kissing me?” I asked, leaning toward him. I put my hand on his arm because I didn’t want him to leave, shift out of my space. I could smell his familiar scent and I wanted to close my eyes and breathe him in. Keep him there, with me, forever. I hadn’t thought I would ever see him again. Tears rose again. I couldn’t stop them.
“No. I’m never sorry for kissing you.” He stroked the back of his hand over my cheek. “I’m sorry for the things I said to you that last night. For getting loaded and embarrassing and hurting you. With my words and my lack of concern for you.” He briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I wish I could make that up to you.”
“I forgive you,” I said, because I did. I knew he wouldn’t say those things if he had been sober. But I also knew half of my ability to forgive was rooted in the fact that I knew he was working on getting better. “But it hurt, because that’s my biggest fear, you know.”
“What is?”
“Not being wanted. My whole life I’ve been the outsider. My own mother is embarrassed of my quirks or whatever you want to call them. You said you didn’t want me. And it hurt. Really bad.”
Cain swore under his breath. “Baby, that was just me lashing out because I felt like I wasn’t good enough for you. It was disdain toward myself. Toward my brother. Ali. But honestly, mostly at myself. I was feeling like you weren’t answering me because I wasn’t good enough for you. And I was right—I wasn’t good enough for you. I may never be good enough for you.” He smoothed my hair back. “But I just had to let you know that you are hands down the best thing to ever happen to me. I think you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met and I cherish every second I got to spend with you.”
“I feel the same way. I’ve never met anyone who understood me the way you do.” I traced the lines of the tattoo of a boat on his forearm. It was a tiny little ship, heading out of the port. Into the open sea. The unknown.
“Have you…been with anyone since we were together?” he asked. His jaw was set. “Be honest. I can always count on you to be honest.”
I was pretty sure my mouth actually gaped. I started laughing. “Are you kidding? No. I have not been with anyone. I’ve been nonstop thinking about you. I haven’t even acknowledged the existence of any men other than you in the past thirty days.”
“Really?” He looked so relieved I thought it was adorable. “I mean, I would understand if you did…”
He didn’t sound like he meant that at all, but I appreciated the attempt to be fair. “You’re lying. You would be so angry. But trust me, it was not on my radar at all.”
Cain rolled his eyes. “Damn it. I forgot how smart you are. I can’t even pretend to not be jealous with you. You always call me out on my shit and it’s one of the things I love about you.”
“I do my best.” I wanted to know where this was going. I needed to know where this was going. Was he here to say goodbye for the second time? Sober and in control? Was I part of his twelve steps? “So tell me why it matters if I saw anyone else or not.”
“Because when I push you back on this couch and tell you I love you and I promise to be a better man, you won’t be conflicted because of some other douchebag. You’ll just be conflicted because maybe you don’t want to be with this douchebag.” He tapped his chest with his thumb.
I barely heard a word he said. All I really heard was love.
“I thought you were here to tell me you’re sorry as part of your program,” I said. My heart was racing. I needed just a little more. I wanted just a little more.
The past month had been horrible. For the first time in my entire life, I had struggled to focus, because my thoughts were preoccupied by a pair of blue eyes and a deep, gravelly laugh. I had missed him. I had wanted him. Now I felt like I was on the cusp of either something fabulous or yet another heartbreaking disappointment. Before I could say we weren’t together because of his drinking. But now? If we weren’t, I guess we weren’t meant to be.
But I thought about Bella’s question. When do you know it’s right?
The correct answer was science, rooted in the logic of the brain processes.
But the better answer was you knew when you felt it. In your heart.
“That’s part of it. An important part. But the other thing is this.” He pushed me back on the couch, his hard, muscular body covering mine.
Cain had a clean shave and a sexy smile. “I may not be a genius. But I have a big cock and a heart full of love for you. I’m offering you both.”
My own heart swelled. Good enough for me. He had been unexpected but he was everything I wanted. “In what order?”
He laughed. “Smart-ass. The love you have all the time. The cock whenever you want.”
I smiled up at him. “You have my heart too.” I touched his lips. “What if my first is my last?”
His eyes widened and his jaw set. For a second I thought I saw tears forming but then he had control of himself. “Then I would be the luckiest guy from Maine to Boston. And I would do everything I could to keep you satisfied. Very satisfied.”
“Now would be a good time to start.” I needed him inside me. I needed the physical reminder of our connection. I needed to touch him and feel him and hold on to him.
“I’m already on it.”
He was. Somehow his hand was already up my shirt and brushing over my nipple beneath my bra.
“You’re not wasting any time.”
“Not at all. I’ve been wanting to do this for thirty-one days. Actually, thirty-five. I hadn’t had sex with you in three days before that last night.”
I was well aware of that fact too. Even as I sighed into his touch, I asked, “Did you hear about Bella’s drama?”
He nodded. “Yes. But we can talk about that later. Right now my mouth is about to be busy.”
With that, he dropped his head down and started to kiss me. Everywhere. I closed my eyes and relaxed, a sense of giddiness filling me. This was real. This was forever.
I had been prepared for Sophie to tell me to fuck off and I wouldn’t have blamed her for that. But as I stripped off her T-shirt over her head, her hair falling around her bare shoulders, I had never been more grateful for a second chance. She was looking up at me with naked trust. With love.
Love I hadn’t earned. Yet. But I planned to work every day on deserving it.
“I missed you,” I told her. I had. She had been in my thoughts every night when I had been in my bed, fighting insomnia. Drying out brought many sleepless nights, and she was always there, crowding out all the other thoughts. Her smile. Her logic. Her open honesty. Her hot little body. When I had finally found sleep again, she had been in my dreams, moving on top of me, riding my cock.
“I missed you too.” She didn’t wait for me to take the lead. She just reached down and grabbed my cock.
I growled. “Damn, Soph.” She was such a guileless and sexy little piece of ass. She didn’t even understand how her being so damn straightforward was the world’s biggest turn-on. She would never lie to me.
And I planned to never let her down.
“Too soon?” she asked.
That made me laugh. Unlike before, my laugh was clear, my lungs clean. “God, you’re so cute. Take it out if you want it. I have zero objections.”
But before she could, I undid her bra. Then I yanked her basketball shorts down. A look I’d never seen her wear. Somehow I doubted she was shooting hoops. Maybe this was her Saturday casual.
I peeled her panties down and then I had to taste her. I had wanted nothing more than to be able to breathe in Sophie, to touch her skin, her sweet, tangy pussy. I didn’t take this for granted. I felt honored to be able to bring her pleasure. So I teased at her, massaging her, tasting every inch, listening for her moans, her cries of approval. There was a clarity now that had every taste, every touch, sharp and intense. Weeks without drinking or smoking had increased my sense of taste, of smell. My hands were steady. My thoughts were clear.
I had thought I had known Sophie’s body. But this was rediscovering her sober, and it was amazing. I knew she was going to shatter right before she did. Her thighs tensed. Her fingers dug in. Her cries paused, then she burst with a sharp exhalation. It was the best thing I’d ever heard.
“Cain,” she cried.
I loved the way she said my name. Like I was all that mattered to her. Like I was everything.
I stripped my jeans down past my hips, pulling the condom out of the pocket. I had felt like a complete asshole bringing a condom, but hey, I was optimistic. I didn’t want to get the green light and then not be able to do anything about it. I was learning to take responsibility for my behavior. I slapped that fucker on faster than I would have thought was humanly possible.
The second I sank into Sophie, I knew everything I had been through was worth it. Every damn hurt, every heartbreak. Every single glass of whiskey. Every nasty hungover morning bent over the side of the boat.
Because they had all led me to her.
This was the real happy hour. Two for one. Sexy and smart.
“Oh, my God,” she said.
Damn straight.
I moved inside her and held my breath. She was amazing and tight and so fucking wet.
It was different though. It was sweeter. I stared into her dark eyes and I was overcome with emotion. I had almost blown this. “I love you,” I murmured, because I had to. The words wouldn’t stay inside me.
Sophie had cried once before during sex. She did again now and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“I love you too.”
I’m not a romantic guy but I was pretty damn sure when I came inside her I could write a poem about it. She was that amazing.
For a minute we just lay there, panting. Then I shifted so that she was next to the inner cushions. I kissed her forehead.
“They say you’re not supposed to be in a relationship when you’re in recovery.” I caressed her arm, holding her snug against me in the spooning position. “But the truth is, you started my recovery. You saw past the damage.”
“I know you think that you’re the damaged one,” she whispered. “But you’ve saved me too. Because you’ve given me something no one else has—total acceptance. You don’t see my issues as issues.”
“No. I really don’t.” I never had. “I think you’re unique, but in the best way possible.” And it all just felt right.
Then I forced myself to get up to dispose of the condom, even though I wanted to lie next to her for hours. I said, “Am I interrupting your Saturday?”
“Yes, I’m very busy,” she said, rolling onto her back and stretching her arms over her head like a cat. “Can’t you tell?”
“You know exactly how hot you are when you do that, don’t you?”
Most girls would demur, fish for a compliment. Sophie just nodded. “I’ve been studying burlesque.”
And holy shit. “What do you mean? Is it something you can show me?” Please, God, let it be something she could show me. I decided not to think too hard about who the hell she had been studying that for because it clearly wasn’t me.
Sophie nodded. “It’s a sensual dance class. I started going because I felt like with you I started to discover a better connection with my body. I wanted to explore that further.”
“I completely support that.” More than she could ever understand.
“I think I need to dole it out in increments though. Keep the element of surprise in our relationship.”
I remembered very fondly her blow job lesson. “Keep me guessing, baby. I’m cool with that.”
Her apartment was clean, bordering on stark, but that didn’t surprise me. Sophie had that need to keep things tidy. What did surprise me was she had the world’s biggest computer monitor. Behind it was a dry erase board with all kinds of math shit on it. I honestly didn’t even know what it was. It was numbers and letters and symbols. Equations of some sort.
As I stood there naked I gestured to the wall. “You working on something?”
“Yes. Isn’t it beautiful?” She sighed, clearly at the pleasure math gave her.
I looked over at her. “Gorgeous. It’s gorgeous.”
Her gaze met mine and she blushed.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” she said.
“Of course. Anything.”
“Do you remember everything from before? From us?”
I wasn’t sure what she was asking. “What do you mean? Yeah.” Every moment with her was ingrained in my memory and it had sustained me for the last month.
“I wasn’t sure if, you know, the alcohol had affected your memory.”
I shook my head, slowly. “I remember every single thing. And you can test me on it.”
She smiled at me, with a sweetness I didn’t deserve. “What was the song playing when you made me dance with you downtown?”
I traced her inner thigh with my finger, happy to have the feel of her skin next to me again. “That’s easy. I wasn’t even really drunk then, first of all. Second of all, it was Bon Jovi, “Seat Next to You.” Listen to it, and you will be even more in love with me than you are now because I’m fucking romantic.”
Sophie stared up at me. “I think you’re the kind of romantic that works for me,” she said simply.
I did work for her. As much as she worked for me. I’m a guy of conviction, a man who goes all in. I was committed to being an alcoholic, and now I was committed to being sober. And with Sophie.
“Someday we’re going to tell that story of our song at our wedding,” I said, because I knew in my gut that she was it for me. The one.
My heart squeezed at Cain’s words. I had never imagined that love would appear like this, in this way, with this man. “That’s a very bold statement,” I told him. “And statistically improbable if you look at the reality of geography and our career paths.”
I said that because I wanted him to tell me it didn’t matter. I wanted reassurance that he didn’t care if I had to stay in Cambridge for another year. That he would wait and we would work it out and he would spend the time continuing to focus on his recovery.
“Fuck statistics,” he said. “You’re all mine, Red. If you want me to move here I will.”
I saw that he meant that and that meant everything to me. Though I couldn’t imagine him anywhere other than Camden, on a boat, in his work boots. But I knew we’d make it work somehow.
“You’re right,” I whispered. “You are fucking romantic.”