Caleb

THE PUFF OF AIR that follows the slide of the automatic door threatens to spark anxiety buried deep in my psyche. I push it aside and walk into the hospital anyway. This place can’t bring me down. Not today. I won’t let it.

I’ve been brimming with positive energy. I’m still intoxicated by the memory of Zadie’s hand, clutched tightly to mine as we discovered a miracle.

A heartbeat. It’s so simple. Yet, so complex.

Terrifying and wonderful.

Seeing and hearing the proof of life expanded my heart. I know Zadie’s responsible for bringing that into this world, but somehow, I felt part of it.

Holding onto my Zadie-induced high, I move forward through the hospital corridors. I move forward on the path I’d originally intended. Today, I’m going to help a sick kid. At least, I’m going to try.

“Hey, Renee,” I greet, walking into the volunteer office.

“Caleb!” She beams. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Thanks, me too.” The words are automatic, but I realize I mean them. Despite my fear, I’m determined. A steadfast resistance building in my soul.

“Great!” Renee practically bounds out of her chair. “There’s someone I’d like to introduce to you. A child who could use a friend. Would you like to meet her?”

Agreeing, she motions for me to follow her out of the office and down the hall. As we walk toward the children’s wing, Renee tells me more about the child I’m going to meet. “Abbi’s twelve-years-old. She’s a sweet girl, but she’s alone more than she should be. Her poor mother tries, but she’s single, with three other children. It’s difficult for her. So, our staff try to fill the gaps.”

“How long has she been here?”

“Not long. But this isn’t her first time.” Renee’s bubbly personality slips. “She’s having a stem cell transplant.”

The air stalls in my lungs, my muscles painfully constricting. Can I really do this?

Doubt threatens to flood my system, but I turn my thoughts back to the sound of life. I think about that heartbeat. I remind myself that miracles are possible.

“Ready?” Renee asks when we reach Abbi’s room.

With a block of fear in my throat, I nod my head in agreement.

This room is much bigger than the one I occupied in the North Bay hospital. The window is wide, allowing the bright fall sun to filter in. The overhead fluorescents aren’t even needed.

That was always the one of the things I hated most about being in the hospital—the glare of the goddamn white lights. It never felt natural and it always made me crave the sun.

Yet, it’s the little girl—pale and fragile—who lights up this room. She’s sporting the biggest grin I’ve ever seen. I’m glad to see both Abbi and her room looking cheerful.

“Ladies, this is Caleb. He’s the volunteer I was telling you about,” Renee introduces. “Caleb, this is Abbi and her mother Melanie.”

Melanie looks tired, greeting me with a forced smile.

“Nice to meet you both,” I say, offering to shake first Melanie’s and then Abbi’s hand. I’m both surprised and a little worried when I realize Abbi’s grip is stronger than her mother’s.

“You don’t look sick,” Abbi blurts.

“Abigail,” her mother scorns in a harsh whisper.

“It’s okay,” I tell them both. “I’m not sick.”

“But I thought you have the same thing as me?” Abbi looks to Renee in confusion.

“Caleb had the same type of cancer you do, Abbi,” Renee explains patiently. “But he had treatments, like the one you’ll be having.”

“It made you better?” Abbi asks, her hands grasping tightly to the blanket covering her lap. Melanie moves her hand to cover her daughter’s.

“Yes,” I tell her. “It did.”

“The doctor said I’m gonna lose my hair again. It’s already started falling out and I was worried it might not grow back as nice as it was before. But you’ve got lots of hair, so I guess it can grow back healthy, right?”

Smiling at her I agree, “It’ll take a while, but it’ll grow back.”

Sighing she looks wistfully at me. “You’ve got really nice hair. How’d you get it so shiny?”

Renee and I both laugh, but Melanie looks like she’s close to tears.

“What do you say we give your mom a break?” I suggest. “Melanie, would it be okay if I hang out with Abbi? You could go get a coffee or something?”

Melanie looks doubtful but Renee encourages her by offering to go with her to the cafeteria. With a bit of sweet-talk and the promise to keep it brief, she agrees to go for a walk.

“Is this weird?” Abbi asks.

“Is what weird?”

“Hanging out here, in a hospital, with me. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be.”

“What would you be doing instead?”

“Me? I’d be stuck in school, but I’d at least get to hang out with my friends. Maybe playing soccer.”

“You like soccer? That’s a fun sport—lots of running, though. I was never very good at that part.”

“Do you like sports?”

I tell her about skateboarding. About the freedom it gives me. About the pain it gives me too. She’s just a little girl, but I don’t lie to her.

For once, I don’t pretend.

We talk about what it really means to be a survivor. I let her know how being better doesn’t mean being the same as before. I tell her how scary it is to live a new life, but how grateful I am for having it.

“Does it hurt?” she asks.

“The transplant? Not too much,” I reassure. “The doctors will make sure you get all the right medicines.”

“What about after? Does it hurt then?”

“It might. But, Abbi, I can honestly tell you, it gets easier every day.”

Her smile is still wide, but I can tell she’s wearing down.

“So, listen,” I say. “I’ve got this family thing I need to go to, but do you think I could come back and visit you another time? Since you’re stuck in here anyway.”

“Like I’m going to say no.” She laughs. “I like you, Caleb. You’re the first person here that hasn’t talked to me like I’m five. These people forget I’m practically a teenager. I’m not dumb. You get that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I smile.

“Can I ask you something before you go?” she asks shyly.

“Of course.”

“Do you think maybe you could teach me how to skateboard? You know... when I’m better.”

“It would be my absolute pleasure,” I tell her. I want nothing more than to give her something to look forward to. Something to think about, other than illness and pain. But as the words leave my mouth an unexpected feeling takes hold. Enthusiastic anticipation.

I guess Abbi’s given me something to look forward to as well.

“Just one more thing,” she insists. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Choking back my shocked laughter I tell her, “I know a girl. She’s a friend.”

“Does she like your hair so long? You know, it kind of makes you look like a girl.”

“Trust me, Abbi, she likes it just fine.”

***

Action de Grâce isn’t a holiday widely celebrated in Montreal. It came and went and I didn’t even notice. American Thanksgiving, on the other hand, is a big deal for my family. My Uncle Bill—Chante’s dad—moved from Maine when he was young, but held onto his traditions. Thanksgiving was his favorite.

So, even though he passed away when Chante was just a girl, we still celebrate it, in honor of Bill.

This year, my whole family’s attending. My mother loves to bring people together for any celebration, but this one feels like a convenient excuse for her to check in on me. I’d be insulted by her lack of confidence in my independence, only right now I’m looking forward to seeing everyone. Time without them has helped put some of my feelings into perspective. I’m still happy with my decision to leave home, but it’s not without some sadness. I miss having them in my day to day life.

Pushing my skateboard a little harder, I plow toward the Coté home. The exertion feels good. My bones and muscles protest only slightly with the effort, my lungs and heart working hard to keep me going. I’m disappointed when I reach busier streets and am forced to the cobble stone sidewalk. I hate leaving the comforting glide of my board, but walking the remaining five blocks gives my body time to cool. It also gives my mind more time to process the hospital and Abbi.

It’s hard to think of such a sweet girl going through the same kind of trauma I did. Her transplant is different—advancements in medicine amaze me—but she’ll still face the same risks in recovery. The same possibility it won’t work. There’s also the chance that, like me, it’ll save her life but leave her permanently altered. Still, I prefer damaged living over the alternative, and I’ve got faith in Abbi’s bright future.

I reach my Aunt’s home. I haven’t been here for a few years but it’s exactly as I remember. The curved driveway leads to what most would consider an estate, but my family refers to as a cottage. It’s a beautiful old home, with a small but heavily landscaped yard.

My steps slow when I realize there’s only two vehicles in the drive. My Aunt’s old Cadillac and Eric’s new family-sized SUV sit side-by-side. My parent’s and my other siblings aren’t here.

Unease pumps nervous adrenaline through my system, speeding my steps and my breath. My fist slams hard and worried against the old steel door.

“What took you so fucking long?” Eric asks when he opens the door. His tall, broad shouldered frame fills the narrow doorway. He looks and sounds relaxed, reducing some of my anxiety.

“What’s going on?”

“I was starting to wonder the same thing. You’re almost an hour late. And you’re empty handed. Most people show up with food, or flowers, or some shit like that.”

“I got caught up with something. Where’s Mom and Dad, and everyone else?”

Crossing his arms over his wide, muscled chest, Eric scowls down at me, blocking me from entering. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look off.”

“Dude! I’m fucking fine. Will you answer my question?”

His eyebrows raise in shock at my outburst. Dropping his arms to his sides, he moves back into the foyer, finally letting me step inside.

“Mom and Celeste both have the flu. Marc canceled a week ago—something about his kids’ choir or some shit—I don’t know. It was a lame excuse if you ask me.”

“I didn’t know.” How did I not know?

“Yeah, well, Mom just got sick this morning. No one knew. It might be a good thing, though. You know if she saw you with that, she’d have a meltdown.” He points at my cherished board, still in my hand.

“Uncy Caleb!” Brooklyn squeals. Rounding the corner, she runs at me full force, crashing solidly into my legs.

Handing my skateboard to Eric, I lift my niece in a tight hug. She squeals some more as I spin her around. “Hey there, munchkin. Where’s your sister?”

“I missed you,” she says, ignoring my question about Mia.

“I missed you, too,” I tell her, spinning her in another circle. Her wild giggles make me smile. They make me forget anything that happened before I walked through this door.

“You make me tired,” Eric says—to me or his daughter, I’m not sure.

“We’re just getting started,” I warn, bending forward, dipping Brooklyn upside down. “Aren’t we, munchkin?” Her laughter’s the best answer in the world.

Standing us upright, I stumble with a head rush and the unexpected sight of Zadie. She’s wide-eyed and gorgeous, standing on the other side of the foyer. Mia’s at her side, firmly attached to Zadie’s leg.

Eric’s hand lands solidly on my back, deftly steadying me. “Come here, Brooks. Give your sister a turn.” As he gently pulls her free from my grasp, he whispers in my ear. “Remember—don’t be a pussy.”

“You a pussy cat, Uncy Caleb?” Brooklyn giggles wildly.

Choking down a laugh, I look back to Zadie. Her eyes are sparkling, her mouth quirking in reposed humor. Evidently, my brother isn’t as discreet as he thinks he is.  

“Mia, say hello to your Uncle,” Eric urges.

She looks up at Zadie, almost reluctantly, before letting go of her leg and toddling toward me. Meeting her halfway, I crouch down and gather her in my arms. She squirms at first. She doesn’t want to be restrained, now that she’s finally learned to walk. But when I start peppering her with noisy kisses, she settles into my hold.

“Where do you think you’re going, monster?” I tease.

Clutching my face in her chubby little hands, she laughs and tries to copy me. Returning my love, she covers me with messy smooches of her own.

“All right, kissy monster Mia,” Eric calls. “Let’s go help Tante Sol set the table.”

Reluctantly, I let Mia go, smiling as she tries to catch up to her father’s long stride. I somehow miss them even more, now that they’re here.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” I tell Zadie as I stand to face her.

She’s wearing a ruby dress, the material’s tight to her breast but flows freely around her waist and legs. The color compliments the highlights of her hair—auburn tresses that hang in ringlets over her bare shoulders. Her brown eyes are rimmed light blue, her lips brushed a pale pink.

I could stare at her forever.

“Well, I didn’t know any of you were going to be here. Chante failed to mention her entire family was coming.”

“Hope it’s not a problem—me being here.”

She drops her gaze to the floor, hanging her head slightly, her curls tumbling softly forward. “I was worrying I was the odd man out in this scenario.”

Listening to Eric’s advice, I don’t delay and I don’t hold back. Stepping toward her, I don’t stop when she raises her eyes, shaking her head in protest. I don’t slow down when she takes a single step backward. I don’t let up when a panicked, grief-stricken look crosses her face. I keep walking forward until we’re toe-to-toe, and I have my hands wrapped around her waist. I refuse to pretend I’m unaffected by her. I can’t live in a world of make-believe forever.

“What are you doing,” she asks, her breath hitching.

“Apologizing.”

“You —”

I interrupt her planned protest with my lips.

My mouth fuses with hers, hotly melded like two parts of a whole. The connection sparks a desire within me—so deep, so consuming—I want nothing more than to take her, here and now. It’s an urge so basely instinctual, I’ve no way to discern its origin. It’s just there.

Growing. Wanting. Needing.

Despite that urge, I break the kiss, her lips chasing mine briefly before she opens her eyes to meet mine.

“I needed to apologize in advance,” I smirk. “For kissing you without permission. Again.”

Laughing, she tells me, “You’ve got a lot of making up to do if you’re going to apologize that way. I foresee a vicious circle.”

“Guess I should stop while I’m ahead. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m only after one thing.”

“Cal, if you only wanted sex we’d have finished this dance a long time ago. I know you want more.” Her shoulders rise and fall with her deep sigh. “I know you want commitment. You want the fairy tale, and I... I’m afraid I can’t give you that.”

“You’re wrong,” I tell her. “Fairy tales are just stories. What I want is something more, something real. The only kind of fairy tale I’ll accept is one we make together.”

“I’m afraid it might not have a happy ending.”

“Never know until you try, Zadie.”

She’s unconvinced. I can tell from the way she looks at me. The corners of her mouth are drawn down, and her jaw is pressed tight as she grinds her teeth together.

“Don’t decide anything now,” I urge. “Just think about it. Have dinner with us, get to know my brother and his family, get to know the other side of me, and just really think about it. Please.”

Her response is more silence, but her features seem to soften. Her eyes move over my face, hesitating at my mouth. I’m tempted to kiss her again, but suddenly her hand is on my lips, rubbing lightly.

“You’ve borrowed some of my lipstick,” she explains. “Wouldn’t want you to sit through dinner like that—your nieces might get some ideas about makeovers and dress up.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Okay,” she says when she’s finished fixing me. “Let’s go eat. Solange made her garlic mashed potatoes. Those things are to die for.”

“She’s a great cook,” I agree.

“Yes, she is. I just hope I can keep it all down. I don’t want to barf turkey dinner.”

“Well, if you do, I’ll be around to help clean you up.” I wink as her cheeks heat in embarrassment. “Besides, Tante Sol always cooks enough to feed twenty, I’m sure she’ll be sending us home with leftovers. You can look forward to throwing it up all over again.”

She stares at me funny for a couple of minutes, the smile growing on her lips gives me hope I’ve maybe won her over. Maybe she’s willing to really do as I’ve asked and think about things. Think about us.

Because I definitely want there to be an us. All three of us.

***

Zadie

THIS IS MY SECOND year celebrating Thanksgiving with Chante and her mother. Last year, when Solange heard I was new in town and on my own, she went out of her way to ensure I was included. She tried to recreate what she assumed was my traditional holiday, even though she and Chante observe it on a different day than most Canadians.

Solange is a talented cook. Assisting her in the kitchen while she whipped up a five-course meal from scratch was amazing. I felt out of place, truthfully. Like a child playing dress up. But after all her hard work, I didn’t want to let on that I’d never cooked a meal like it before. I didn’t want to burst her bubble of Pilgrim pride.

Reality is, most years, my family couldn’t afford a big meal. The first proper turkey we had was one I bought. I was fifteen and had decided it would be a nice treat to spend some of my new part-time paycheck on a decent meal. That was the year my parents nearly killed each other over the last scoop of instant potatoes. After Jenni’s threat of death by butter knife, both she and my dad stormed off. Leaving me alone with a half-carved bird.

That was one of the better years.

But Solange Coté doesn’t need to know any of that. She only needs to know that hers is the best damn turkey dinner I’ve ever had. Morning sickness be damned, this year will be no different than the last.

Except for the added company, of course.  

Chante came straight from work, making it just in time for dinner to be served. I haven’t seen her since she ditched me for my ultrasound. We spoke only briefly through text. Her apology left a lot to be desired and made me question who my true best friend might be. I still love her, but emotionally she’s been replaced. When I need someone I can trust, someone I can rely on, it’s Cal who comes to mind first.

Even though I’m angry with Chante, I’d already agreed to be here, so I wouldn’t let Solange down. In fact, I showed up early to give her a hand in the kitchen. I was shocked to find a strange SUV in the driveway and a handsome, dark-haired man answering the door.

“Welcome to the mad house,” he greeted. The sound of rambunctious children blared in the background. “Is that a pie?” His deep voice and achingly familiar green eyes had rendered me mute.

I’d never met him, but I’d immediately known he was one of Caleb’s brothers. Sure, he’s taller and broader. His hair’s short and his face unshaven. He’s also a lot older, sounds a lot harder, and is missing Caleb’s enthusiastic glow. But I knew they’re related. The resemblance is unmistakable.

“They don’t bite, I promise,” he said, referring to the children. “We just got here and they’ve been cooped up in the car for hours. They’ll wear themselves out in a minute. You’re Zadie?”

“Yes, hi,” I’d answered, snapping out of my shock. “Are you Eric or Marc?”

“Eric, and if that’s lemon meringue you’ve got there, you and I are going to get along just fine.”

“Actually, it’s apple.”

“That’ll do.”

He welcomed me into Solange’s home where his two adorable little girls had taken over. Like crazy wild-things, they raced back and forth from the kitchen to the front door. But their antics were only a backdrop to the gorgeous woman who chased after them. Her mane of silky blond perfection, sparkling ice blue eyes, healthy, glowing complexion... and her large, perfectly rounded, pregnant belly—shocked me to my core.

Was the universe rubbing her flawlessness in my face? All my imperfections and fears of ineptitude seemed magnified as I watched a pregnant goddess float around Solange Coté’s living room.

Now, I’m sitting across the dinner table from her and Eric. With Caleb beside me, I’m questioning a lot more than my capacity for motherhood. Despite the friendly dinner conversation. Or the cuteness of Mia, shoveling handfuls of corn and peas into her mouth. My head’s stuck back in the front hall, replaying Caleb’s plea for me to give him a chance.

Just think about it, he’d asked.

Wish fucking granted—it’s the only thing I can think about. Well, that and his kiss—another earth-shattering scorcher that ended far too soon. Why is it, every time he kisses me, my world lights up and I want to forgo all reason? And how does a sweet and simple kiss—he didn’t even use tongue—make my panties damp?

“Is Hunter sick too?” Caleb asks before taking a giant bite of turkey. I watch his mouth as he chews. His throat as he swallows. His hands holding the knife and fork. Everything about him is turning me on, even the simple task of eating.

“No,” Jamie answers. “He’s with his dad.”

“Who’s Hunter?” I ask, trying to clear my mind of all its lustful thoughts.

“He’s my son,” she tells me.

“Our son,” Eric corrects.

A look passes between them, something so complex I’m not certain what it is. Jamie drops her fork, moving her hand to cover her husband’s. They stare at each other briefly, before he leans forward and kisses her head.

“Yes, our son,” she agrees softly.

Then it hits me—that look, those gestures, the strange feeling that I’m intruding on something private... this is a couple, deeply in love.

Real love. True fucking love.

“Hunter is technically Jamie’s son,” Caleb explains. “But Eric sort of adopted him when they got together.”

“I wish I could adopt him for real,” Eric grumbles. “Unfortunately, Dylan—his father—is still in the picture and won’t allow it.”

“Hunter’s sixteen, so it won’t make much of a difference in a couple of years from now,” Jamie soothes. “Besides, you’re the one he lives with—the reliable one who’s been there when it’s counted. Dylan’s just got a title, nothing more.”

Silverware clatters loudly on china as Chante pushes abruptly away from the table. “Excuse me,” she apologizes. Her tone, anything but sorry. “I’m suddenly feeling ill.”

Throwing her napkin down on the table she turns to leave.

“Chantal,” Solange calls after her.

They speak in heated French, too fast and heavily accented for me to understand. However, it’s clear from their tone they’re not happy with each other.

“I need some air,” Chante states blandly, before walking away.

“Maybe I should go check on her,” I suggest.

Caleb’s hand lands on my knee. “I think she just needs some time alone. She’s been working a lot of long hours lately,” he offers in explanation for her rude behavior.

Other than Solange’s masked concern, everyone seems unaffected by Chante’s outburst. Jamie and Eric are still staring longingly at each other and their daughters are both fixated with their food. Mia looks like she might succumb to turkey coma at any minute.

And Caleb...

His hand is still attached to my knee, his thumb sweeping softly back and forth. His expression is wary. The slight shake of his head and the cut of his eyes toward his brother, warns me not question it further.

“So, Caleb,” Solange cuts in, her voice tight. “Chante told me you’re volunteering at the hospital.”

With his head still turned toward me, Solange can’t see his reaction. But I can. His eyes close tightly, as though in pain, his breath drawing in sharp and fast.

“You’re doing what?” Eric barks.

“It’s nothing,” Caleb answers, turning back to address the table.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it nothing,” Solange continues in ignorance. “Chante said you’re spending time in the pediatric oncology ward, volunteering three times a week? I’d say that’s significant.”

“Oh, Caleb!” Jamie sighs, sounding concerned.

“Sounds rather significant to me, too,” Eric says, his eyes zeroed in on his brother.

A strange feeling of protectiveness comes over me. Caleb’s a grown man and can handle himself. But something about Eric’s tone makes me want to wrap Caleb in my arms and shield him from it.

What’s the problem with volunteering? And how dare Eric look at him with such condemnation.

“Well, I think it’s great,” I speak up. “This society doesn’t have enough people willing to give their time.”

Caleb’s soft hold of my leg turns to a death grip. His entire body fills with tension as he continues his staring match with his brother.

Jamie, senses the escalating testosterone. Wrapping her arm over Eric’s shoulder, she tugs him toward her. “This baby is making it impossible to enjoy a big meal these days. Solange, the food is terrific, but I think I need to lie down for a moment. Eric, baby, will you help me to the couch, please?”

Finally, coerced by his wife, Eric breaks his disapproving glare. “Of course, beautiful, whatever you need.” Looking to his aunt he says, “Thank you, Tante Sol. I’ll be sure to tell Mom your stuffing and potatoes are still better than hers.”

“Merci, Eric. Why don’t you take your wife to the guest room, I’ll take care of the girls. This one looks like she could use a nap as well. Right, Cheri?” she coos to Mia.

Chairs are moved, dishes piled. Jamie attempts to clean up some of the plates before she’s shooed away by Solange.

“Caleb and I can clean up,” I offer.

“No,” she insists. “My daughter can do it when she’s done acting insolent.”

Everyone slowly clears the room, except for me and Caleb. Neither of us move. With just the two of us, sitting quiet and still, the house feels peaceful. For the first time today, I feel relaxed. The only sound is a tap running somewhere, and Caleb’s gentle breathing.

Slowly, he turns in his seat, his entire body shifting to face me. I do the same, tucking my legs under my chair. His legs are so long, they take up the space between us, his shins pressing lightly against my knees.

“And that is my family,” he laughs. “Well, part of it. Believe it or not, they’re the easy ones.”

“They’re a hell of a lot better than mine,” I tell him.

He looks at me with his eyebrow quirked and his lips slightly parted, as though a thought may be sitting right on the tip of his tongue. He’s the epitome of handsome. He’s a walking, talking contradiction—part hard muscle, part soft hair, balanced by emotional intelligence—all parts sexy.

“I’m so sorry, Zadie.”

“Why do you keep apologizing to me? You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I feel like I’m pressuring you, like I’ve given you some juvenile ultimatum.” He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling it back from his chiseled face.

With just a casual glance, I’m sure most people pass him off as a delinquent or a thug. I know better. I’ve looked deeper. His long, flowing locks and super casual style are a cover. He’s not completely carefree, he’s not lived a life of easy going leisure, and he’s definitely not getting into any trouble.

Caleb Anderson has dealt with some shit in his life. I may not know the details of what kind, or how deep it goes, but I know it’s been significant. Cancer is fucking significant. And I know it’s made him who he is today—a man with a big smile and an even bigger heart. He sees the world as a place of possibility. A place of fucking hope.

Hope that’s contagious.

“You’ve been honest about how you’re feeling. I don’t think that’s something you should be sorry for. If anything, it’s mature as hell. I’m the one who’s been acting childish—leading you on and then pushing you away. I’m sorry.”

“You probably should be. You know most women find me irresistible, right?” He winks.

“Such modesty. I’m sure that gets all the girls’ attention.”

“I don’t want attention from all the girls, Zadie. I just want yours.”

“Well, you definitely have it. It’s only...” I hesitate, unsure what to say, or more accurately, how to say it.

“It’s only, what?” he encourages. He boxes me in with his spread legs. Moving forward in his seat, he rests his arm on the table beside mine and leans toward me.

My pulse pounds heavy.

I feel defenseless. I’m incapable of preventing my broken heart and wounded soul from laying themselves bare to him. He wants to convince me dreams can come true. He wants to prove to me that love is real. He wants to drag me back to a world where I’m capable of being destroyed.

I believe he can.

“I’m scared,” I whisper, the true depths of my fear remaining unspoken.

“So am I,” he admits. “But you’re afraid to try... and I’m afraid of not trying hard enough.”

Yes, he wants to strip me of my protective barrier and show me how to truly feel. He wants to give me optimism. Faith. The hopeful illusion of unending bliss.

I believe he will.

“Are you sure you still want me?” I drift closer to him. “Warts and all?”

“I told you, I do. Your warts all look like beauty marks to me.”

My eyes mist over, a lump lodging in my throat. Emotion threatens to overwhelm me. He touches my shoulder gently, before winding his hand up the back of my neck and into my hair.

“I think you’re gorgeous. In every single way.”

A whimper escapes when he pulls me to him. Our mouths brutally collide. Lips, tongues, and teeth, united in a passionate frenzy. This isn’t one of the soft, barely there kisses we’ve shared before. This is restraint finally giving way.

I knew he would eventually break me.

All it took was a kiss.

My hands seek him, finding his arms, his shoulders, his hair, his face. I can’t stop touching him, can’t stop testing the solid feel of him. With grasping hands, I use his shoulders as leverage. I pull myself sideways into his lap—all without pausing or even slowing the tempo of our tongues.

He grunts into my mouth when my bottom lands over his growing erection.

The sound of his need spurs me on. The feel of his hardening length, sending a flood of desire through my center. My whole body is a live-wire. I can’t hold still, can’t keep calm. I’m two seconds away from ripping my dress up over my head and demanding he fuck me on the dining room table. Dirty dishes be damned.

His hold on me is firm, the pull of hair at my scalp not painful, but rousing. The squeeze of his other hand, at my hip, driving me to push further into him. Grinding my hips in slow circles, I rub my ass over the bulge in his pants. Until we’re both panting and clawing at each other like animals.

“Well, it’s about fucking time!” Caleb and I both jump in surprise at Chante’s interruption, breaking the seal of our lips. “As happy as I am to see this—I think—let’s not forget there are children running around. Might want to keep it PG,” she warns.

With his hands securely holding my waist, Caleb nuzzles my ear. He deftly nips at my lobe before moving to place a sweet kiss on my cheek.

When he lifts his head, challenging Chante with a defiant smirk, I get the feeling that something’s out of place. “You’re a doctor,” he says to her. “Don’t you know it’s unhealthy to keep secrets?” Does he know something about her odd behavior?

Chante’s face pales, the pulse in her neck rapidly ticking.

“It’s okay,” he quickly adds. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she denies.

My curiosity’s peaked. What kind of dirt does he have on her? I wonder if it’s something more than the strange way she’s been acting or the things she’s been keeping from me.

“Yes, you do, but like I said, I’m not talking. And don’t worry, we’ll keep quiet about you playing match-maker too. So, that’s at least two secrets I’m keeping for you. I guess you kind of owe me, eh? Maybe you can start by doing all the dishes.” With his features schooled to a mask of exacting demand, he dares her to argue.

She quirks a manicured brow at him, staring back for a beat. Then, shrugging, she gives in and begins collecting the dinnerware. “Never took you for a badass, little cousin,” she laughs.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Chante,” he warns. “You and I are going to talk about your voyeurism issues later.”

Chante laughs louder. She’s relaxed, maybe even happy for the moment. It puts me at ease to see my best friend with something other than a scowl on her face. She’s been too angry, too distant, and too damn impossible to read lately. With luck, Caleb’s charm will last.

As she continues clearing the table, I examine Cal’s attractive face.

In some ways, Chante’s right. I wouldn’t call him a badass but he is a bit of a rebel. A determined fighter. Although right now, all I see is well-hidden humor. This man has stolen my reason, replacing it with a dream so large, my head may not be able to contain it.

***

Caleb

I’VE DECIDED I’M GOING to ask my aunt for cooking lessons. Good, home cooked food is one of those things I never realized I took for granted until I moved away. Unfortunately, Chante didn’t get her mother’s chef gene—I’ve been doing the cooking for both of us since I moved in. It makes me wonder what she did without me.

“That meal was seriously to die for. Do you think Solange would teach me?” Zadie reads my mind as we shuffle from the dining room, leaving Chante to clean up our mess.

Yes, learning to cook could be a very worthwhile endeavor.

“Or maybe I could just move in,” she jokes.

“She might like the company. She’s got this entire house to herself. I’d imagine it gets lonely. Maybe I should move in too.”

“It sure would be a step up from living with Chante,” she laughs. “I don’t know how you put up with her mess.”

“She’s not that bad. She’s hardly home.” Rubbing my full stomach, I recline on the couch.

Zadie hesitates briefly before curling up beside me. “I should probably sit on the other side of the room.”

“But then you’d be on the other side of the room,” I tell her, wrapping my arm around her middle, pulling her closer to me.

“Exactly. I feel like a teenager who just got caught making out by her parents. I don’t know about you, but I don’t ever want to relive that trauma.”

“Can’t say I know what that’s like.”

“What?” she laughs. “Your parents never caught you with a girl?”

“Nope.”

“Well, surely a teacher, or some other adult must have caught you at least once.”

“Never.”

“How’s that possible? I was really good at sneaking around—like really, really good—but my mother still walked in on me enough times to make me think she had my room bugged. How were you never caught?”

“My teen years weren’t exactly normal,” I tell her lightly. “I didn’t have the opportunity to sneak around with girls. Although, I did smuggle my way out of my hospital room a couple of times. That’s how I met Jamie—I bet they didn’t tell you I’m the reason those two found each other. I was hitting on her in the cafeteria when Eric decided to break us up.”

The look on her face is hard to read. Conflicted might be the best way to describe it. Is that wonder, jealousy, fear, or regret I see? Not pity, I hope.

Please don’t let it be pity.

“You were hitting on your sister-in-law?”

“Well, she wasn’t my sister-in-law at the time. We’d never met. She was just a sad looking girl in a hospital cafeteria who I thought was pretty.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Seriously?” she laughs. “I would have paid money to see that. I bet you were just as charismatic then as you are now. Did you woo her? Did she make those googly eyes at you, like she did with Eric at dinner?”

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” I smile, relieved by her sarcastic wit.

“A little bit, yes.”

A devious smile graces her lips. A wicked glow lights her eyes. Her heavy breath and barely contained laughter, emphasize the tight wrap of her crimson dress across her chest.

Before she can register what’s happening, I’ve pinned her to the couch. She’s flat on her back, holding tightly to my shoulders, staring heatedly at me.

“How funny are you now?” I whisper hoarsely.

Dipping my face toward hers, she closes her eyes in anticipation of a kiss. I’m so tempted to take her mouth. Tempted to take a hell of a lot more.

At the last moment, I deviate to the right, my lips landing in the crook of her neck where I begin nibbling, playfully. My hands find her sides, tickling up and down her ribs.

“No!” she gasps.

Her laughter’s no longer silent. The harmonic sound I love so much is punctuated with shrieks and snorts of delight. She wiggles around, attempting in vain to escape my hold.

“Please,” she begs, breathless from her hysterics.

My own breathing’s labored, as I laugh along with her. “Please what?”

“Cal!” she cries for mercy. “Please stop.”

Immediately, I let up. Rolling off the couch, I kneel on the floor beside her.

She’s flushed, her hair’s spread in a tangle, and her dress is bunched high on her thighs. She looks sexy as hell.

“You stopped,” she says.

“Of course, I did—you asked me to.”

“That’s...wow. You have no idea how much that means. Thank you.” Her gaze travels over my face as her breathing slows.

I like the way she’s looking at me. The way she’s relaxing with me. But I don’t like the connotation of her words. The thought that there’s been times when no wasn’t enough—I can’t think about it without rage ruining this moment. So, I focus on the depth of her gaze instead.

“How long were you in the hospital?” she asks.

“Which time?”

Resting my head on her shoulder, I run my hand lightly down her arm, to her stomach. The way she’s lying, the fabric of her dress hugs every curve. The swell of her lower abdomen is barely noticeable, but I can’t help fixating on it. I can’t help but caress her tiny baby bump.

“How many times were you there?” she asks.

“A few. The time when I met Jamie, that was the longest—I was there a few months. That’s the time I died.”

She covers my hand with her own, linking our fingers and stilling my movements. “How can you be okay with this? You’re so...”

“If you call me a nice guy again, I swear, Zadie, I’m going to be tempted to prove otherwise.”

“I wasn’t going to say nice. I was going to say impressive.”

Lifting my head from her shoulder, I look down at her. The sincerity I see fills me with a need so powerful, it’s overwhelming. It’s a need to keep her safe. A need to see her dreams come true. A need to keep her with me forever and to show her love is real.

My love is real.

“You think I’m impressive?”

“Yeah, I’m a little impressed by you. Or, maybe a lot.”

“It’s the hair, isn’t it?”

“Shut up!” she laughs lightly, squeezing my hand.

Leaning down, I kiss her cheek. “I’m more than okay with it, Zadie. A lot more than okay.”

“You really are...and I guess that’s what’s throwing me off, because I’m still not sure if I’m okay with it. How can you be? You’re young, fun and sexy as hell –”

“You think I’m sexy, eh?”

“Stop!” she laughs. “This is serious. You know you are. At least, I hope you know. I’m sure there are plenty of girls out there who’d be more than happy to date you. But you’ve chased me. Me. And a baby. Why would you want to tie yourself down like that?”

“What can I say? I guess I’m not normal.”

“No, you’re not normal. You’re very far from average, Cal Anderson.”

“I’d like to think that’s a good thing.”

Reaching up, she threads her fingers through my hair, pulling me down to her. I don’t resist. Why would I? She’s insistent and I’ve been a goner for her since day one.

The meeting of our mouths feels natural. It feels right. Her lips, my tongue, her teeth, my breath—unified in a sultry kiss.

A kiss that makes me want to get carried away again.

With a reluctant groan, I pull away. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Breathing deeply, her sigh turns to a yawn.

“Did I wear you out with all the tickling?” I ask.

“Maybe. This whole day’s been a bit crazy.”

“Have a rest. I’m going to go make sure Chante hasn’t collapsed under a pile of dirty dishes.”

With a small, tired smile, she nods. “See, you really are a nice guy.”

It’s hard for me to leave her—so sleepy and sweet—curled up on the couch. Being separated from her at all is becoming increasingly difficult. I want to spend every minute I have with her.

I want to breathe, sleep, eat... live her.

But we’re not there yet. Hell, she hasn’t even agreed to a date—not with words, at least. Physically, we’ve jumped from zero to sixty, with my body gunning for a hundred. The mental and emotional pieces need some time to catch up.

The kitchen’s quiet. Chante isn’t scrubbing dishes like I expected. The counter’s in a haphazard array of organized mess. Chante sits silently in the breakfast nook, staring at her phone with a frown.

“You know, you’re not doing yourself any favors,” I say, joining her at the table. “You can’t act the way you did at dinner and get away with half-ass cleaning.”

Sighing, she looks at me. “Whatever, Prince Charming. Not all of us are as socially gifted as you.”

“Don’t be jealous, I’ve had years with nothing better to do than hone my interpersonal skills. Although, your patients might appreciate it if you worked a little on your bedside manner.”

Her frown doesn’t lift. Only her eyes move, rolling to the ceiling.

“The secret you’re keeping is making you mean. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up like my sister,” I tell her. “Besides, they’re going to figure it out eventually. I’m not even sure why you’re still hiding it.”

“You don’t know as much as you think you do.”

“Well, I know you’re in love with Dylan. That much is obvious. You could explain the rest to me.”

“Not until I’ve told Zadie. She’d never forgive me if I spilled my guts to you first. Hell, I wouldn’t forgive me if I did that.” She looks defeated.

“Fair enough. When are you going to talk to her?”

“I don’t know. None of this shit’s as easy as it should be. I’ll figure it out. In the meantime, I’d appreciate if you’d continue keeping your insights to yourself. I’d hate to have to send you to my ER.”

“Your empty threats don’t scare me. Besides, I know a hell of a lot, and I’ve kept all the juicy details to myself. You can trust me.”

She studies me intently. “How do you know so much?”

“It’s all my expert social skills you’re so jealous of.”

“Whatever. Are you taking Zadie home?”

“No, I rode my board here, and I’m never putting her in a taxi again. I was hoping we could catch a ride with you.”

Waving her arm dramatically, she exclaims, “Have you seen this kitchen? It’s going to take me forever.”

“I’ll help,” Eric says from the doorway.

Chante looks to him with poorly hidden panic consuming her features. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear you admit you need help cleaning up this mess.” He smirks.

“I admitted nothing,” she asserts.

“So, you don’t need a hand?”

“I didn’t say that.” She relaxes slightly. The anxious twist of her mouth turns to something that almost resembles a smile.

“I’ll leave you two with this fun,” I say.

“Caleb,” Eric calls, stopping my departure. “I’m sorry about dinner.”

“For what?” I know exactly what he’s talking about but I want to hear him say it.

“For being an asshole. The thought of you volunteering to spend more time in a hospital... Anyhow, it doesn’t matter what I think. I just want you to be happy.”

“Volunteering makes him happy,” Chante cuts in.

“It does,” I agree.

“Good,” Eric concedes. “That’s all that fucking matters to me. I just want my family to be happy. My whole family.” His gaze travels over to Chante, making me wonder if he overheard more of our conversation than he’s let on.

“On that note, I’m taking Zadie home now.”

“Why don’t you take my car?” Chante offers. “I’ll get an Uber, later. Unless you’re taking Zadie back to our place, then I’ll just stay here.”

“Guess we’ll see you some time tomorrow then.” I wink.

Eric laughs heartily as I leave him and Chante alone to squabble over the dishes.

Zadie rouses easily and we head home after quietly thanking my aunt, agreeing to visit again soon. Eric’s girls are all resting, but I promise myself I’ll come back to see them before they leave.

Zadie and I make our way home, holding hands as we quietly get on the elevator. Once again, she doesn’t question when I only choose the button for my floor, and not hers.

She still looks a little sleepy, her dress is wrinkled and her hair’s a tousled spill of curls. But once the elevator doors close, her tired smile turns feisty, and she pulls me to her by our joined hands.

“I feel like we’ve had a lot of questionable memories in this elevator,” she says. “Want to make a good one?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“You could start by kissing me.”

Her lipstick is long gone, worn off by a combination of dinner and our earlier make-out session. Rose is the natural color of her lips. It makes me think of passion. It makes me want to feel and taste.

“I don’t know, Zadie. I feel like there’s a lot we’ve not said—a lot we should talk about before we leap to more kissing. You haven’t even agreed to a date yet.”

“Cal, for a guy who’s so intuitive, you’re not doing a very good job of reading between the lines right now.”

It’s taking all my self-control not to take her right here, against the elevator wall.

“Trust me, I’m seeing things clearly.” Dipping my head, I place a light kiss on the underside of her jaw. Gruffly I murmur in her ear, “There’s nothing more I’d like right now than to kiss you, touch you, and watch you come apart again. I want to see and feel you, all fucking over, but I think it’s important we start things off right. Assuming, this is the start to something.”

“You expect me to have rational thought after you say something like that?” she groans. “All I can think about is your hands on me.”

I’m about to cave in, to give her exactly what she’s thinking of. But at last the elevator grinds to a halt and the doors sluggishly open at my floor. Stepping away from her, I lead to my apartment. At least I start out in the lead. By the time we get inside, she’s the one in front, anxiously pulling me along. She grabs my hand, urging me to follow her to my bedroom, barely giving me time to latch the door. We only make it two steps into the room before she’s on me. She wraps her arms around my neck, rubbing her delicious body up against mine. I react instinctively, my hands finding the swell of her ass, softly kneading her cheeks.

I’m about to pull her closer—if that’s even possible—but she pushes me away. She forces me backward. My legs hit the edge of the bed and I fall onto the mattress.

Zadie bends with me as I fall. But instead of landing roughly on top of me, she smoothly catches herself and crawls seductively over me. The material of her dress moves high up her legs, as she traps me between her knees.

“How’s this for starting things off right?” she breathes.

My heart is racing faster than it ever has before, my body straining in its desperation. “Zadie,” I warn. “I need to hear you say it. I can’t just dive into bed with you. Not until I know this is as serious for you as it is for me.”

She sits back, studying me intently. My hands find her waist, preventing her from moving any further over me. If she sits back, just a fraction more, it’ll be the end of my resolve.

“What do you need to hear?” she asks, sincerely. “I’m going to have a baby, Cal. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious—if I didn’t believe you were serious. I’m not in a position to play games, or take chances. I’ve done everything I could to stop myself from falling for you. None of it worked.” She bends forward, bringing her mouth close to mine. “You said you were done pretending. Well, so am I.”

My lips crash to hers in a kiss so hungry, it hurts. Her mouth, as demanding as my own, punishes mine for all the time they’ve spent apart.

The sting of her fingers, tangling in my hair, is deliciously, painfully possessive. My own hands, still holding strong to her waist, move her roughly down to cover my body. She’s so close, her breasts press into me with every heaving breath, but I need her closer. I pull her into me, lifting my hips as she rubs herself over my erection. Almost in unison, we groan in turned-on frustration at the barriers between us.

Finding the hem of her dress, my hands run smoothly up her thighs. They continue up her sides, lifting the material as they go. I act on instinct, as though this was the hundredth time doing this, instead of the first. I want to take my time and savor the moment, but it only takes seconds for that beautiful red dress to land on the floor.

She’s practically naked, on top of me, and my restraint has reached its limit.

Growling hungrily into her mouth, I wrap my arms tightly around her and sit us up on the edge of my bed. Zadie helps with frantic hands as I discard my shirt and then her bra. My hands mold to her bare breasts the first chance they get.

Panting into her mouth, I ask, “Are you sure about this?”

“Are you kidding me,” she moans. “I’m about to spontaneously combust. Please don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

“Fuck, no.” I kiss her collar bone lightly before bending her backward and taking one of her tight, peaked nipples in my mouth.

The sound that leaves her is a shocked, desperate cry of pleasure. A sound that encourages me to continue licking and sucking, until she’s writhing in my arms. Begging me to never stop. Begging me to give her more.

More. I want to give her more. I want to give her everything. But my body is at its breaking point. The overwhelming strain and excitement reduces me to nervous tremors.

Reluctantly, I detach myself from her perfect, heaving chest. Burrowing my face into the crook of her neck, I pause to breath long and deep.

“Hey,” she soothes, rubbing circles over my shoulders and my back. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I croak before taking another deep breath, inhaling the vanilla scent of her hair.

Suddenly, the weight of her is lifted, her body moving away from my hold. She stands in front of me, an exquisite vision, looking down at me with concern.

“Cal? Are you sure about this? I feel like I’m rushing you –”

“I’m sorry,” I say. Reaching out, I pull her back to me. She comes cautiously, standing between my legs. My mouth brushes over the soft curve of her stomach.

Sighing, she weaves her hands back through my hair. “You don’t need to be sorry. If you want to take things slow, I understand.”

“No, Zadie.” I look back to her expectant gaze. “I don’t want to go slow. I don’t know if I can. My mind’s running wild with all the ways I want to take you right now.”

She whimpers, her hand clasping my hair so tight, it feels like she’s bruising my scalp. I fucking love it. Groaning out my appreciation, I pull her more firmly to me, my hands on her ass. With one more quick kiss to her stomach, I explain, “I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you.”

“Cal, you’re not going to –”

“Zadie, I’m a virgin.”

“Wha –” Her eyes are huge. I wasn’t sure what her reaction might be. Upset, surprised, disbelieving maybe. But the way she’s biting her lip, with her brow furrowed, and her cheeks flushed, she looks even more turned on than she did before. “How? You’re twenty-one... you’re gorgeous... just, how?”

“A bit of it was circumstance, but essentially it was my choice. From the time I was old enough to notice girls, I knew I wanted to find someone special. My someone special. It felt important to wait for her.”

“And you think that’s me?”

“No, Zadie. I know that’s you.”

There are no more words.

Her hands run up my arms, over my shoulders, and back down my bare torso, all the way down to my pants. Her eyes never stray from mine. She’s deliberate. Focused.

Our mouths find each other again, as she smoothly works the buckle of my belt. The way she tugs on the leather. The feel of her nimble fingers as she unfastens my pants. The sound of her appreciative moan when my hands find her breasts again—all of it puts me on edge.

It only lasts a moment. Before I can protest, Zadie’s mouth leaves mine. My hands are empty, and she’s forcefully pulling on pants. Making me lift my hips, she slides them down my legs, and tosses them to the side once my feet are free.

Her mouth finds my flesh, placing light kisses up my thigh, her breath heating me as she trails up to my boxer-briefs. She doesn’t pause. Before I know what’s happening, my hard length is exposed and she’s licking me from root to tip. Her tongue flicking greedily over the head. I search for oxygen as she sucks me into her mouth.

I try to form words, to tell her it’s too much, that this won’t last long if she keeps it up... but the only sounds leaving my throat are garbled groans and muttered curses.

She moans. It’s a deep seductive sound that rumbles through her, vibrating her throat as she takes me deep.

“Zadie,” I gasp in warning.

“MmmHmm,” she encourages, increasing the pace.

I’m done for. Her hands explore. Her mouth engulfs. Her voice praises. And her eyes—those beautiful, big brown eyes—find mine, and that’s the end. With a strangled shout, I lose control.

I try to pull back, I try to stop her, but she’s relentless, finishing me in her mouth.

“Enough, please,” I beg when the sensation becomes too much.

She listens, releasing her hold on me. I grab her under her arms, pulling her up and over me, as I collapse back onto the bed. My breathing is heavy and erratic. It takes me a moment of concentration to bring it back under control. Zadie’s breathing is similar, until she starts to giggle.

“What?” I ask

“I’m sorry.” She gasps for air. “I hope that was okay. Maybe I should have asked you first.”

My own laughter rumbles through me. “I would have said no.”

“What?” she gasps.

Smiling, I tell her, “It’s all good. You didn’t have to do that, though. I wasn’t expecting...”

“Are you kidding? I’m so glad I didn’t ask. You have no idea how much I enjoyed that.”

“You?”

“Yes, Cal. Me.”

Her mouth finds mine and I give in to kissing her. Give in to feeling her bare skin over mine. To caressing her face, her arms, her back, her ass—all of her.

I want to feel all of her.

“Cal,” she pants as her mouth finds my jaw and her body squirms restlessly over me.

“Mmmm,” I murmur, my hands cupping her bottom.

“You should know...” She lifts her head from my neck, looking intently down at me. “You’ve got a really nice cock.”

“Jesus, woman.” Without warning, I flip us over, rolling her to her back. “Now, you’re going to get it.”

“Please,” she moans. “Give it to me.”

“Zadie,” I smile, lightly tracing the outline of her lips with my finger. “You’ve already stolen most of me, but I want to give you everything. All of me.”

***

Zadie

HE WANTS TO GIVE me everything. Lord fucking help me, I want it all. All of him.

Although, right now, I’d settle for his cock. The thought of being his first is so heady—I’m falling apart at the prospect. Pregnancy hormones have officially turned me into a hard-core freak. The pregnancy grief and raging bitch syndrome are gone. They’re replaced by an insatiable desire to see how many times we can make each other come in a night.

I’ve got this insane urge to show him everything. To be his first everything. Is this how men feel when they take a woman’s virginity? No wonder there’s an entire porn market dedicated to the trope—not that I’d know anything about that.

Cal hovers over me, one hand framing my jaw. His tall form completely envelopes me, and his length hardens between my thighs. “I need to feel you, Zadie.” He may be inexperienced, but he somehow knows exactly how to touch me, and what to say to turn me into a puddle of need.

“Yes! Touch me,” I hiss, raising my arms over my head, giving him free rein.

I’m overwhelmed by sensation as his mouth moves over me—first at my neck, and then back hotly at my breast. He continues moving lower, until he’s breathing heavily, kissing over my panty-covered pussy.

Why am I still wearing those?

As if hearing my mental plea, his hands join his mouth. He pushes the fabric out of his way so that his tongue can lick over my bare flesh.

My pleasured gasp is met by his throaty rumble as he plunges in for more.

It doesn’t take much, a bit of suction from his succulent lips, and I’m writhing like a woman possessed. I can’t hold my body still—it’s uncontrollable. My hips keep forcing their way closer to his face, rubbing myself over his open mouth.

His only complaint is one frustrated curse at my panties. He swiftly rids me of them and dives back in to continue feasting on me. His hands grope my hips, my ass, my tits. My God. He’s everywhere.

He growls once more, adding in the scrape of his teeth over my sensitive nub.

“Cal!”

I detonate.

Nuclear. Fucking. Bomb.

The room feels like it’s spinning. The soft mattress at my back and the hard man pinning me to it are the only things keeping me grounded. I feel like I may float away otherwise.

“You okay?” he murmurs in my ear.

Okay? Am I okay? “I’m beyond okay.” I languish in post-orgasmic euphoria. My arms still stretched over my head. A huge smile cemented in place.

“Zadie.” His hand cups my jaw, as he trails light kisses over my face. His voice is rough, “I need you.”

“You’ve got me.”

Sliding his hands up my arms, he finds my fingers, linking them with his. His hold on me shifts from a gentle caress to something more desperate. He kisses me, long and deeply, and I fall further into bliss.

When he shifts, his rock-hard erection brushes through my wet folds. Despite being fully satiated only a moment ago, a bright flare sparks inside me. A flicker that’s quickly ignited when he repeats the movement. He drags himself over me, through me, again and again, spreading heat and wetness as he goes.

Suddenly, he’s at my opening, no hands required, his cock desperately seeking entrance. He pauses, shaking with restraint. “I need you now.”

With my legs wrapped around his hips, I dig my heels into his ass, urging him forward. Our hands clasp even tighter as he slowly pushes into me. His whole body quakes. The expression he wears is pained ecstasy. The sound he makes is pure, delirious rhapsody.

God. The way he holds me. The feel of him inside me. All of it’s too much, and yet, not nearly enough. Once fully seated, he stops, his forehead falling to mine, his breath a shuddering sigh.

“Cal,” I pant, rotating my hips for emphasis. “Please, I need you too.”

My arms are no longer above me, they’re now pinned to the mattress, on either side of my head. Cal’s anxious, trembling vanishes. He looks at me with a greedy gaze I’ve only seen from him once before—the bathtub.

With a wild sounding moan, the hesitant, restrained virgin vanishes. In his place is a hungry, feral beast. His hips pump mercilessly, gyrating in a way that hits all the right spots. He’s an untamed creature of need, and all I can do is hold on for the ride.

It’s exhilarating.

It’s exhausting.

It’s absolute fucking heaven.

“You feel so good,” he pants, “So perfect. Fuck, Zadie. Fuck.”

“Yes. Yes!” I chant.

He continues speaking to me—whispered hums of heart-felt reverence. But the words are lost to sensation. I process nothing but sounds, feelings, and Cal. Only Cal.

When he comes, deep inside of me, it’s with a look of awe imprinted on his features. He stays over me, caressing me, kissing me, as we slowly come down from our excruciating high. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Sorry? There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“But, you didn’t come—I was too caught up in my own pleasure.”

Laughing, I push on his chest. He takes my hint, rolling us to our sides, his arm wrapped firmly around me, holding me to him.

“That whole experience was like one long orgasm. I don’t need anything more. Trust me, I’m satisfied.”

“Are you sure about that?” He cocks an eyebrow, a smug little smirk forming on his lips. “You’re still grinding up against my leg.”

Fuck, he’s right. My body’s got a mind of its own—specifically my lower half. “God, I’m sorry.” My face heats from embarrassment. “It’s the extra hormones, I swear, I’m not normally this insatiable.”

“I kind of like you like this. I like the idea that you need me as much as I’ve needed you. It feels like we’re on an even playing field.”

“I’ve always wanted you,” I tell him honestly. “It just seemed like there were so many obstacles in the way.”

“Let’s break down those barriers, okay?” His hand sweeps over my back, my shoulder, my waist, my hip. Suddenly, he’s snaking his arm between our closely pressed bodies, his fingers finding my sex.

I’m still tingling from the last orgasm and everything that came after. But when he starts moving his fingers seductively over me, in me, I’m right back at the brink. “There are no more barriers,” I pant. “We didn’t even use a condom.”

“It’s fine,” he assures. His hands still stroking, tenderly. His touch is soft and slow, but the pressure builds inside of me, all the same.

“I admire you,” he says, biting his lip and curling his fingers, inside of me. “You’ve got a goal—a passion for something important—and you’re not letting anything stand in your way. I realize I’ve put myself in your path, Zadie, but I don’t want to be an obstacle.”

“Cal,” I gasp, as he continues massaging that magic spot.

“I want to be by your side—pushing you up, or holding you up. Whatever you need. Whenever you need it.”

I cry out as the orgasm overtakes me.

“That’s right,” he murmurs. “God, you’re gorgeous. I’ll never get tired of watching you come undone.”

My muscles all tense, as my core pulses steadily. I ride out the waves of ecstasy, held securely in Cal’s arms.

When he kisses my forehead, unexpected tears flood my eyes. They pool in the corners, and stream down my face. “I feel like I’m unraveling,” I confess. “Like I’ve already come completely undone, but not in a good way.”

“No, Zadie, you’re strong. You can do this. And I’ll be here for those moments when you feel like you can’t.”

“How are you so perfect?” I wonder. “I’m worried, Cal. I’ve already defiled you—I’m afraid I’m going to completely ruin you.”

“I’m happy to have you defile and ruin me any time you like.” He laughs. “Trust me, I’m going to be begging for it. Often.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I, Zadie. I’m very serious about you.”

“I know. I’m still confused about why.”

His body curls further around me, encasing me in a protective bubble of comfort and care. His hand, still sticky from my release, rests possessively over my stomach. He lightly caresses the space where my little sea-alien baby grows. “You told me you thought I was impressive.”

“Yes?”

“I feel the same about you. I’m not perfect. I have no direction, no goals, no focus in life—other than you. You’ve got a dream, and you’re chasing it. That is impressive.”

“You’ve got direction. You’ve lived with cancer and you’re volunteering at the hospital. That’s inspiring.”

His arms tense, his shoulders and chest tighten. It’s as though he’s stopped breathing. His mouth pulls to a tight line as he brutally grinds his jaw.

“Cal?” I whisper.

He winces. His eyes screwing closed as he begins to pull away from me.

“Cal?” I chase his movement, grasping him in my desperate hands. Now I’m the one holding him tight, cocooning his lean frame as best I can.

“Please, don’t,” he answers.

“I don’t understand. Why are you pulling away from me? What did I say?”

“It’s not what you said... it’s what you feel.” He breathes deeply and I’m left gasping for air. “I moved here to get away from everyone’s pity. I can’t stand to have you look at me the same way they do.”

“You think that’s all this is?” My voice is edged with hurt and anger. “You think I fucked you out of pity?”

He doesn’t answer, he simply rolls to his back with an arm thrown across his face, shielding himself from me.

Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.

I’ve been too focused on protecting myself—on not getting burned again or falling for his charm. I forgot about the other side of the equation. I knew I could hurt him, I just didn’t realize how easily.

Sitting up, I fling my leg over his waist, straddling him. He grunts at the contact, his arms uncovering his face, settling on my legs, but his eyes remain closed.

“Look at me,” I plead.

Slowly, his lids lift, the forest green of his agonized gaze penetrating my heart.

“You,” I whisper, brokenly, pointing my finger into his chest for emphasis. “You are so much more than cancer. I’m not impressed by you because you lived with it, or because you lived through it. I’m impressed by you because you’re you—a beautiful person who breathes life into others. You, Caleb Anderson, are inspiring to me. You. Not fucking cancer.”

The forest floods, a single tear cascading down the hard plain of his face. Reaching out, I capture it, bringing the moisture to my lips. Something shifts in the air, and I swear—instead of sweat and sex—I smell spring. Life. The birth of hope.

Covering his hands with my own, I encourage them to move back to my stomach—cradling the life yet to be born. “You give me faith this is possible. That I can do this.”

“You can.”

“I know I can. You’ve helped put that belief in me.” My hands smooth over the back of his, running up and down his forearms. “Like you said before, I can do this on my own. But I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have to. I want to do it with you—if you’ll let me.”

“I’m still scared,” I admit.

“Good. That means you’re smart. It means you’re thinking. But, Zadie, you need to know, I’ll never hurt you. And I won’t let anyone else hurt you. Either of you.” The heat of his touch brands me with his promise. “Ever.”

He says ever, but what I hear is forever.

Forever.