Caleb

“I WISH YOU WERE the father.”

Her words echo through me, breaking my heart, but igniting my soul.

“God, Zadie.”

“I know,” she sighs. Her body sags forward, her head bowing to mine, her hair falling around us. My lips rest gently on her forehead. “But I really want it to be you,” she says.

There’s no resistance when I close my arms around her. She collapses onto me, her arms curled into my sides, her face buried at my neck.

With a deep sigh, I kiss the side of her face. “I wish it was me. Wish it could be me.” Brushing her hair away from her face, I gently force her to look up at me. Her eyes are glassy, but brave. She’s so open to me. So beautiful. “I want kids. I want an entire huge family.” I smile, sadly. “But, I can’t. I was sick for a long time, and the treatments that made me better...well, they saved my life, but they changed me. Damaged me. My body’s broken, Zadie. I’ll never get to be a dad.”

She smiles back at me. “Cal, you’re not hearing me.” Her lips meet mine briefly, her tongue darting out to tease. “I’m not wishing on a star. I’m asking you. I want you to be a father to my child. No one else. Just you.”

“What about Sean?”

“What about him?” She stares at me with a frown, daring me to challenge her. When I don’t back down, she answers, “I’d never deny him his basic rights. But, Cal, he’s a mess. Unless he changes how he lives, I’m not sure I want him around my baby. Besides, I’ve tried contacting him at least a dozen times, he’s obviously not interested in talking to me. I can only guess, he’s not interested in raising a child either.”

“You don’t know that—people change. If he knew –”

“Trust me,” she interrupts. “I know.”

“Zadie,” I sigh.

“It’s okay. I’m done worrying about him. He’s not interested, and that’s okay. It’s good, even. Because, I want you. And you still haven’t answered me. Will you? Can you be the father my child deserves? Even if things don’t work between you and me, even if we only end up being friends, after all...Please, Cal?”

All my ridiculous fantasies. All my dreams for a future I once thought impossible—I think they all just came true. The woman I’ve searched for, longed for, just offered me my future. And she did it while sprawled on top of me, naked.

“Yes.” It’s all I can manage.

My mouth captures hers again—a wistful touch of lips and tongues. This time, her kiss tastes like salt and sadness, but feels like a token of commitment. It all feels like a dream.

Dreams don’t last, however. The pace of our kiss increases. The dream-like quality is slowly burned away by erotic reality.

Zadie breaks away. Bracing her hands on my chest, she sits up, rubbing her core hotly over me. A wicked smile graces her sweet lips. “Your body doesn’t feel broken to me. In fact, it feels quite impressive. One might even call it inspiring.”

“Why don’t you show me how inspired you are?” I dare.

Blush heats her cheeks, a deviant look of fiery sin graces her sweet face. “My, my, Cal Anderson. You’ve strayed pretty far from innocent virgin. You’ve got quite the dirty side, don’t you?”

“Only when I’m around you,” I tell her, honestly.

Grasping her hips, I squeeze, encouraging her with my hands, my eyes, to move. Move.

She picks up my not-so-subtle hint. Taking me in her hand, she arches her back in pleasure as she settles herself over my hardened shaft.

She moves. Slowly. Gracefully. Fucking flawlessly.

Together, we ride the crest of our passion, all the way back to the top, until we’re both falling over the edge again. Together.

I’d have never guessed my first time would be like this—that it would turn into so much more—and that it wouldn’t be just once. Being with Zadie—so intimately, so purely—puts all my daydreams to shame.

After coming down, we finally decide to clean ourselves up. We drift off to sleep, held securely in each other’s arms.

Days drift by. It’s hard to say exactly how many—we sort of forget about everything and everyone else. My mental promise to see my brother and his family is forgotten. Work, school, hospitals are all forgotten. Even thoughts of Chante—where she might be, and why she’s not home—are forgotten. The fact that we’ve had this apartment to ourselves for so long is completely lost to us. We’re distracted by the feeling of our bodies as they join, and the many climaxes we reach together.

But as nice as sex for days has been—and honestly, it’s been really fucking fantastic—it can’t last forever. Our responsibilities can be ignored for a while, but the reality is, real life doesn’t care how happy we are. Real life demands we wake up and take notice.

Real life comes barreling in at precisely two forty-five on a Tuesday afternoon. It comes in the form of a cop with a bad attitude and an even worse bedside manner than Chante.

Zadie and I are lazing around the living room. We’ve just finished a marathon of superhero movies. The end credits for The Avengers are scrolling across the television screen. We’ve also just finished a marathon sex session. We only watched the first fifteen minutes or so of the movie. Everything after that was background noise to Zadie. She stripped, first herself, then me, and proceeded to blow my mind. Again.

She’s lying on top of me, sweaty and naked—her body formed perfectly to my own. Someone bangs loudly on the apartment door. We both jump, startled by the disruption to our heavenly state of adoration.

“Who the hell is that?” she asks.

“Maybe it’s Chante.” I scramble to help her find her clothes, while searching for my pants at the same time.

“Why would Chante knock at her own apartment?” Her question is met with more obnoxious, persistent banging.

“I don’t know. She never locks up, maybe she forgot her key.” With a light tap to Zadie’s ass and a kiss on her cheek, I suggest, “Why don’t you take your stuff to my room? I’ll get the door.”

I don’t bother checking to see who it is, I simply unlock and open it.

“Caleb, took you long enough to answer.”

“I’m sorry, I was busy.” I respond automatically—respect and expectation getting the better of me. “What are you doing here, Dylan?”

He looks almost casual. His thumbs are hooked in the pockets of his jeans and his golden blond hair is longer and messier than I’ve ever seen it.

“Chantal asked me to come get you. Well, not you specifically. She wants Zadie, but figured you were probably a package deal by now.”

“What?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“You are a package deal, aren’t you? Please, tell me you locked that shit down.”

“Cal?” Zadie calls softly from behind me. Turning, I see she’s dressed in one of my T-shirts. Her bare legs press together as she looks hesitantly between me and Dylan. We’ve been apart mere minutes, but looking at her now is like seeing her for the first time—I’m awed by her beauty. Her hair’s tangled, her cheeks are flushed, and her lips are bright, ruby red. She looks thoroughly and recently fucked. She looks sinful and succulent. She looks like she’s mine.

“Wow. Good job, kiddo.” Dylan pats me on the back. It’s like a secret handshake—I’ve had sex with a hot chick and he feels obligated to welcome me into the stud club. It’s ridiculously chauvinistic, and it makes me want to apologize to Zadie. But, more importantly, I want to know what the hell is going on and why Chante would send him here.

“It’s okay, baby,” I reassure her, inviting her to my side with an open arm. She comes to me quickly, allowing me to wrap her in a protective, possessive hold. “Zadie, this is Dylan.”

“I saw you,” she says to him. “At the club, with Chante.”

“Yeah, I was there,” he agrees, almost amicably—well, as amicable as Dylan gets.

“Wait!” Zadie says, starting to put the pieces together. “You’re Dylan? Jamie’s ex, Dylan?”

His face remains passive, but the pulse in his neck increases noticeably. “Yeah. That’s me.”

“No wonder Chante had that fit at dinner,” Zadie muses.

“What’s going on, Dylan?” I cut to the chase—someone needs to.

“I need your woman to come with me.” He looks me dead in the eye, giving nothing away. His ability to keep calm. His emotionless features. It may be part of his job as a police officer, but right now, it’s really unnerving. “Zadie,” He turns to her. “There’s been an accident.”

“Is it Chante? Is she alright?” She tenses.

“No, it’s not Chantal, she’s fine.” Zadie and I both seem to hold our breath, waiting for Dylan to finally spill. “It’s Sean.” We breathe in unison, but while I’m steady and sure, Zadie’s trembling. “The big dumb ginger got sideswiped. He’s stable, but he’s unconscious. Chantal thought you’d want to be there.”

“You could have just called,” I say.

“When was the last time either of you checked your phone?” he retorts. “We’ve called. And texted. And called again. We assumed you were busy, getting busy. So, she sent me. She didn’t want to leave him.”

“She’s there?” Zadie asks, anxiously. “Is she Sean’s Attending? I should go. I should get dressed and go.”

“Shhh...” I soothe. “It’s okay, baby, we’ll get you there—one thing at a time.”

“She’s not his doctor,” Dylan cuts in. “She thought it would be a conflict of interest. But she’s with him. She hasn’t left his side.”

“Wait, what?” I stutter. “What do you mean, conflict of interest?” But as I say it, it dawns on me. “Holy fucking shit. Sean? It’s Sean?”

Dylan’s hard features and solid stance don’t change. But there’s a glint in his eye that tells me he’s known all along, and obviously so has Chante. Zadie’s the only one in the total fucking dark.

She jolts in my hold—shocked by my outburst—I’ve probably confused her, maybe even scared her. Her big brown eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen. “What’s going on?” she whispers hoarsely.

“Maybe you should go get dressed,” Dylan suggests. “Chantal will have my ass if I tell you too much. She’ll want to be the one to explain herself, I’m sure.”

“Explain herself?” I question. “She’s got a hell of a lot more than simple explaining to do. She’s been lying to everyone this whole time. She better be prepared to grovel.”

“Cal,” Zadie pleads, clutching me tightly. “Please, tell me.”

“Dylan, why don’t you head back to the hospital? You can let my cousin know we’re on our way, and you can also let her know I’m the one who blew the whistle. She can’t hold it against you and I’ll happily find a new place to live, if need be.”

He gives me a look, tinted with reluctance. A real, true emotion slipping through his carefully guarded cracks. “Suit yourself.” He shrugs. “For the record, I’ve been after her for a long, long time to come clean about things. But you know how strong willed she is. The only place she’s willing to do what she’s told is in my bed.”

“Jesus Christ, I did not need that mental image,” I complain. “Just get the hell out of here and let us figure some things out, okay? We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t say any more. He gives Zadie one last look that’s meant to be apologetic, I’m sure. But with typical Dylan style, the emotion’s all blocked by the stone facade he wears. The guy really has turned into a serious hard-ass—such a change from when we first met. He’s still got that brooding bad boy vibe, only now he’s confident and in charge. At least, he acts like he is.

Once his non-readable, non-verbal message is questionably delivered, he turns and walks briskly away. I close the door behind him, relieved to see him go.

Turning to Zadie, I carefully study her expression. Her pensive stare has my heart rate spiking. I’m angry. Angry at my cousin, at Dylan, at Sean. So fucking angry at the hurt my poor girl’s been caused. At the new hurt coming her way.

“Cal, please,” she begs. “Please, just tell me.”

“I’m not sure where to begin—and honestly, I don’t know everything. I mean, I know a lot, but there are definite limits to that knowledge. I’m not sure if I want to know everything.”

“Fucking tell me!” she cries, tears glazing her eyes.

“Shit, Zadie, I’m sorry.” I reach out and pull her to me.

Woodenly, she moves into my arms. I stroke over her hair and her back. “Sean,” I explain. “I know who he is. Sean Iverson —”

She pushes away from me, holding onto my hand, but taking a step back out of my embrace. “Everyone knows who he is,” she snaps. “He’s practically a hockey legend. I’d be more shocked if you didn’t know who he was.”

“Yes, but Zadie, ask yourself how I know Sean Iverson is your Sean.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know him, Zadie. My whole family knows him. He was at our house for Christmas last year. I’ve known him since I was a kid.”

“But —”

“Chante dated him.” Her hand squeezes mine intensely. “For years. She dated him for almost four years.”

“How could... But she wouldn’t... Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“I don’t know, but I think it has something to do with her relationship with Dylan. I’m pretty sure Sean was just a cover. She’s been in love with Dylan for about as many years as she dated Sean.”

“There’s got to be more to this story. There’s no way she’d keep something like this from me just to hide a love-affair with Jamie’s ex. I don’t even know them—why would it matter to me?”

“I’m sure there’s more.” I tug her back to me, wrapping her solidly in my arms. “I’m sure she had good reason to keep it a secret.” Doubt spreads through me, but I shelter Zadie from it. I’ll continue sheltering her, as long as it takes. “I won’t let them hurt you,” I remind her.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that. She hurt me the day she chose to lie. She’s been hurting me for months. Longer, really. I just didn’t know it.”

“Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry,” I start, almost forgetting that she doesn’t need me to feel sorry for her. She’s stronger than this. She’s more than this awful moment. “How about I cheer you on while you kick her ass? I’d offer to take on Sean for you but the guy’s huge. Plus, he’s already in the hospital.”

Looking up at me, she playfully quirks an eyebrow. “Where’d all this baby nonsense come from? And kicking asses? You needing to feel manly, Cal?”

Smiling, I agree, “Yes, baby, I am. I just found out your ex-boyfriend is a famous athlete—a tall, built hockey player. Hell, he’s got at least fifty pounds on me. Not to mention, you came out of my room half-naked and stood here, in front of Dylan. I think my ego’s been cut in half.”

“Well, baby,” she mocks. “If everything wasn’t so messed up, I’d let you fuck me like an animal, just to prove how manly you really are. Unfortunately, I don’t think we have time for that.”

“Guess we’ll just have to hold onto the memory of the last time we screwed like beasts, then, eh?”

She groans, rubbing herself up against me. “See, you’re already a manly man.”

“Happy you think so.”

“Seriously, Cal—you know I don’t want that. I don’t need some macho display of dominance from my man. I like you because you’re not like that. Please, just keep being you—drop the baby bullshit, call me by my name. It’s way hotter when you do that anyway.”

“Zadie, as long as you keep referring to me as your man, I’ll call you whatever the hell you like. Now, please go put some clothes on, before I change my mind and fuck you up against this wall.”

Lust lights her features, but she nods her head in agreement. I watch her superbly rounded ass, encased in my T-shirt, as she reluctantly walks away. I just hope, after tonight, this won’t be the last time I’m graced with a vision like that.

***

Zadie

HOSPITALS HAVE NEVER BOTHERED me. I’ve always thought of them as of places of healing and comfort. But as Caleb faithfully holds my hand through the cold, sterile hallway, I realize hospitals can be places of tragedy. He gives me new perspective.

I guess maybe you can’t have healing and comfort, without first having misery and grief.

We reach the waiting area, where Dylan promised to meet us. Cal—so steadfast, so insistent on proving himself—called for Sean’s room number. It was Chante’s cell he dialed, but it was Dylan who answered. Another example of how little I truly know about her—she’s had a secret man this entire time, and I’ve been clueless.

Dylan’s reclined in a plastic waiting room chair with his head resting against the wall and his eyes closed. The hard edges of his personality seem permanently fixed to his face, even while sleeping. For such an intense, intimidating person, he’s sure got a fantastic ability to relax under stress. Of course, this situation probably isn’t nearly as stressful for him as it is for me. He’s in the loop, unlike me, he’s got the full story on Chante and all her secrets.

“Do you want me to wait here?” Cal asks, quietly.

“No, please come with me. I’ll need you to hold me back, in case I get the urge to strangle her.” I force myself to smile, despite the aching in my heart. “What about him?” I ask, tilting my head toward Dylan.

“He’s going to stay right here,” Dylan says, flatly. If his lips weren’t moving, I’d still think he was asleep. “But he’d like to remind you—jurisdiction or not—as an officer of the law he’s obligated to detain and report anyone breaking that law. Attempted murder’s a big one—I’d avoid it if I were you.”

“Yes, Sir,” I quip.

Dylan’s eyes fly open, constricting me with a threatening glare. Immediately, I regret my sarcasm—unintentional or not, it clearly wasn’t wise.

“Caleb,” he barks. “You’re a lucky little bastard. Don’t forget it.” Is that a smile? Maybe. It’s hard to tell when no other part of his face moves. One corner of his mouth has forged upward, though. So, no, it’s not a smile—it’s a smirk.

Cocky bastard.

He winks at me before closing his eyes again, his lewd grin still in place.

“Don’t worry,” Cal breathes in my ear, as we head toward Sean’s room. “I already know how lucky I am, and that’s not hinged on the expectation you’ll call me Sir.”

“Good thing,” I advise. “If you ever break out a pair of handcuffs, I’m running in the other direction. All that, man is the dominant species crap, is not my kink.”

We pause, just outside our destination. Reaching deep, I struggle to find the courage to take the next step.

“Whatever your kink, I’m happy to meet its acquaintance,” he jokes. Stepping in front of me, blocking my path, he holds both my hands in his own. “Maybe you can keep that in mind when we go in there.”

When he looks at me—the way he looks at me—I swear, I see love shining through. I want to believe it, I want to feel it. And I think I’m starting to. But that’s probably just hope. She’s been on a bender—unsustainable and wild—I’ve no chance of reeling her in now, and I’m not sure if I really want to try.

Maybe hope is all I’ve ever needed.

“Don’t worry,” I tell him, raising up on my toes and placing a kiss on his jaw. “I know how lucky I am, too.”

He lets me lead the way but we still go in together, hand-in-hand. I know I can do this on my own, but as he’s reminded me time and again, I shouldn’t have to. With Cal by my side, I know I don’t have to.

Things are not at all what I’d expected.

Sean’s broad body lay lifeless and battered. Cuts and bruises are scattered across his face and neck. Most shocking, is the swath of his hair that’s been shaved away, a large white bandage covering the area. He looks nothing like the man I lived with. This poor, unfortunate soul looks like no one I’ve ever known.

Beside him, tears streaking down her face, is another stranger. Chante looks distraught. Cracked and brittle. Like one harsh word could shatter her completely.

“Zadie,” she cries when she sees me.

My name sounds foreign, coming from her lying lips. Or, maybe I’ve just gotten too used to the way Cal says it—with respect and affection. Chante’s broken plea doesn’t sway me. Not at all.

Ignoring her, I move toward Sean’s bedside, inspecting him and the damage he’s sustained. Despite being banged up, he looks healthy. His copper beard is neatly trimmed, and the hair left on his head is the same. The muscles he’d let go to fat have all come back with a vengeance—hard and bulking. This might be the best I’ve ever seen him.

Chante’s soft sobs finally break through my contemplation. Looking across Sean’s prone body, I realize Caleb’s moved to sit at her side.

When did he leave my side? And why?

He murmurs something to her, something I can’t quite make out. Her shoulders drop, and she nods her head in relief as she dries her eyes on her sleeve.

When Caleb looks up, catching my eye, it’s regret and fear that I see.

“What happened?” I ask, referring to Sean’s accident.

“Which part?” Chante questions. “The part that brought you here now, or the part that led up to this?”

“Why don’t you just start from the beginning?” I suggest.

She looks to Caleb for reassurance. But he’s watching me—that goddamn angst, wilting his brilliance. “Leave Cal out of it,” I tell her.

“Cal?” she snorts.

“Stop trying to deflect,” he tells her. “Start explaining yourself.”

Nodding again, she looks to me. “Zadie, when I met you, I told you I’d just ended a bad relationship. That was true...and it wasn’t. I’d ended things with Sean –”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “The day we met—did you know who I was?”

“Yes,” she admits. “I bumped into you on purpose. I wanted to meet you. I needed to see what kind of woman you were and assess how much damage he’d done.”

“So, you’ve been lying to me all along.”

“Not lying, not exactly. You need to understand, Zadie, what Sean and I had wasn’t a relationship. Not a real one. What we had was an arrangement. A mutually beneficial agreement.”

“Will you please stop talking in riddles?” I rub the spot across my forehead, where an acute pain is germinating.

“We were fucking,” she blurts. “But not just each other.”

“So, you weren’t exclusive,” I return. “That’s not exactly surprising, given Sean and his history.”

“No, you don’t understand. We were exclusive—very exclusive—but it wasn’t just the two of us. It was three of us.”

“Pardon?” I ask, not really needing the clarification, just not quite believing what I’m hearing.

Cal smiles at her, as though he’d suspected all along. “You, Sean, and —”

“Dylan,” I interject. “The three of you were in a relationship. Together?”

“Yes, now you’re catching on,” she confirms.

“I’m not sure I am.” I’m not. “How did that work, exactly? I don’t mean the gritty details—I don’t care who was on top, or the side, or anywhere else for that matter. I’m just trying to understand why two men—these two men, especially— would be willing to share you.”

Chante closes her eyes. For a moment, I don’t think she’s going to answer me. I look to Cal for insight, but he’s looking just as lost as I’m feeling.

“They weren’t sharing me,” she whispers. Raising her eyes back to mine, I see the resolve as it floods her. “Sean and I were sharing Dylan.” She pauses, giving her words time to settle in. “Sean and Dylan had a thing. Dylan and I had a thing. So, the three of us decided to have a thing, together. Alone, Sean and I really had nothing, but we acted as a couple to cover up the illicit affair the three of us were having.”

“That is not what I was expecting,” Cal mumbles.

“No, it’s not what I was expecting, either,” I agree. “But it’s not a big deal. I don’t understand why you were keeping this from me. You know I wouldn’t judge you. Any of you.”

“I’m the reason he left you, Zadie,” she admits. The pain in my head explodes, bright and beautiful. “Both times.”

“Were you still sleeping with him?” I ask. I don’t want to know—but I need to.

“No!” she exclaims. “God, no. It wasn’t like that. I ended it, just like I told you. Other than bumping into each other at home occasionally, we couldn’t be bothered. Like I said, he and I never really had anything.”

“Then, I don’t get it, Chante. How were you the cause?”

“Because I made him leave.” Her fingers fidget with the hem of her sleeve, running over the wet fabric, again and again.

The room remains silent while we observe each other. The hum of the overhead light and the faint beeping of Sean’s monitor are the only sounds. Except my breathing—shaky and unsure, it’s like a death rattle in my ears.

Caleb shifts in his seat, stretching to look up at Sean, whose eyes are open and staring at me.

Shocked, I cry out. It’s a pained, sort of wounded sound—it matches the throb of my head.

“Sean?” Chante calls, as she moves to stand on the other side of his bed. It doesn’t escape my notice that she takes his big hand in her own. Lightly, she brushes over the black and blue appendage.

She hovers over him, repeatedly murmuring his name. But his unfocused gaze never wavers from mine. “What the hell happened?” he manages to croak out.

“I don’t know yet,” I tell him, honestly. “Chante hasn’t got to that part of her confession.”

My cryptic response confuses him, causing him to wince dramatically when he tries to move his head.

With one hand now on his shoulder and the other pressing the nurses call button, Chante takes charge. “Don’t move around so much,” she tells him. “You’ve had a major blow to the head—most likely a concussion. Your doctor will want to look at you, now that you’re awake.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “I feel like I got run over.”

“That’s because you did. Some asshole in a crappy old Celica ran a red and T-boned you. Dylan saw the aftermath. He thinks you’re lucky to be alive. I think I agree.”

“I don’t feel so lucky right now,” Sean complains.

A nurse hustles into the room, followed shortly by a doctor. The already crammed quarters become unbearably close. Sensing my discomfort, Cal pulls me out to the hall.

“Can you believe it?” I ask him. My back hits the wall solidly, as I lean into it for support.

“Yeah, actually—it all makes a lot of sense to me.”

“Really? I mean, you obviously know them a hell of a lot better than I do. I guess maybe I didn’t know either of them the way I thought I did. How have I been so naive? Or, was I just too focused on my own goals to notice what was going on around me?”

Cal’s hands find me, grasping my waist, pulling me away from the cold wall, into his warm embrace. I can do this on my own—but right now, I don’t want to. I take every ounce of what he’s offering, leaning into his loving presence.

“Shit. Why do I keep walking in on this?” Chante complains. When my eyes defiantly meet hers, she smirks. “I get it, you’re fucking—that’s great, I just don’t need to see it.”

Turning on her, Cal snaps, “Watch your goddamn mouth! Not everything’s about sex, you know.”

“Things between me and Cal are none of your business,” I tell her.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I get it. Really, I do. I’m just deflecting again.”

“Please,” I plead. Chante’s anxiety is wearing me down. “I need to know why you did it, Chante. Why’d you make him leave?”

Her brow’s a deep furrow of worried confusion. “He’s an addict, Zadie. You must know this, you lived with him. The man was drunk or high, or drunk and high, literally every day.”

“He wasn’t that bad,” I object.

“Yes, he was. You know he was.” She’s right, I did know. I just chose to ignore. Like all the other mistakes I made—it always seemed easier to turn a blind eye. “I sent him to rehab,” she continues. “He left treatment early the first time, thinking he could handle it, obviously he couldn’t. He relapsed. So, I sent him back.”

“Is that why he’s been ignoring me?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “You’d have to ask him. I’ve told you as much as I know.”

“I still don’t get it,” Cal speaks up, his body lingering close to mine.

“I do,” I pipe up. “Chante thought she was protecting me.”

“Protecting you? How?” Cal grates. “Don’t get me wrong,” he tells her. “I think you did the right thing—sending him to get clean—I just don’t understand why you’d lie about it. How’s that protecting anyone?”

“Because,” I explain. “Sometimes it’s easier to be disappointed and move on, than it is to hold hope that things can be better. He doesn’t love me—he never did—and no amount of rehab was ever going to change that.”

“Yes.” Chante gives me a sad, apologetic smile.

“I forgive you,” I tell her. Tugging free of Caleb’s hold, I move toward her, her normally cool demeanor giving way as I bring her in for a tight hug. “But, you owe me a hell of a lot of ice cream.”

Laughing, she pulls out of the hug. “Craving fried pickles, yet?” Her smile widens, her red-rimmed eyes filled with tears, once again. “I can whip up some chocolate covered spicy tuna, if you prefer.”

“Please,” I giggle. “I haven’t been sick in weeks, don’t make me gag.”

“Dr. Coté?” Our friendly reunion is broken up by Sean’s doctor. “I’d like to speak with you about Mr. Iverson’s condition?”

“It’s fine, Ed,” she tells him. “This is my family, you can speak freely in front of them. How’s he doing?”

“As we anticipated, he’s got a slight concussion. Although, he’s not nearly as bad off as we’d expected. He seems to be reacting well to the medications—we’ve been cautious, considering his history. All-in-all, he’s doing fine.” He shrugs. “I think your husband was right. Mr. Iverson seems to have a horseshoe shoved... somewhere.”

Hearing that Sean’s going to be all right is relieving. But the only thing my brain picked up from that conversation was the term husband. Husband?

Surely, he’s mistaken. He must have simply assumed.

“Please, don’t let him hear you say that. If there’s anything my husband loves, it’s being right.”

There it is again. Husband.

“Oh, I don’t know, Chantal. I think he’s quite in love with you, too.” With a quick pat to her shoulder, Ed says, “You can see Mr. Iverson now, but I’d suggest limiting the conversation and...why am I telling you. You know, the standard drill for head trauma.”

“Thanks, Ed.” She turns back to us, a giant grin on her face. It’s a smile with a wistful, innocent quality to it, and it looks incompatible with the woman I know. The woman I thought I knew. “Are we doing this?” she asks congenially.

“Is now really the best time?” I ask, concerned for Sean’s health and my own stability.

“Really?” Cal hisses. “Are we all going to pretend that didn’t just happen?”

Chante’s smile doesn’t fade, but it does transform to something less virtuous, a hell of a lot less virtuous. “I don’t know, I’ve heard you’re rather good at pretending.”

“I’m willing to drop it,” I say, breaking up their verbal war before it can get started.

“Thank you, Zadie.” Chante smirks.

“For now,” I interject. “I assume you planned on telling us the whole story, preferably over a vat of ice cream.” Her expression is uncertain. “Unless you were expecting me to go find your husband to ask him about it. I’m guessing I’ll find him in the waiting room.”

“It’s a really long story,” she says.

“Lucky for you, we’ve got time to listen,” Cal bites. “Zadie’s not due until May.”

“Shut it, Cal,” Chante bites back.

“Enough,” I cut in. “Let’s go see Sean and get this over with, before it’s too late. Please.”

“Absolutely,” Cal readily complies, taking my hand in his own. “Chante?”

“Yeah, okay,” she agrees. “You got this, babe.”

“You’ve got this, but we’re right here for you, just in case,” Cal promises.

Turning to him, I cup his jaw, running my thumb over the smooth structure of his face. “Just in case,” I murmur.

His mouth descends over mine, catching me off guard, sweeping me up in a wash of potent desire.

“For fuck sake,” Chante loudly complains. “Unwanted audience over here.”

Ignoring her, I give into the feeling of floating, Caleb’s mouth barely keeping me grounded. But just for a moment. Reluctantly, I touch back down, detaching my lips from their perfect pairing.

“Let’s do this.”

***

Caleb

“HEY, ZEE,” SEAN GREETS.

He’s no longer a flat, lifeless slab. Other than looking beaten, he seems unaffected by the accident. His self-assured presence fills the room, same as I remember.

Cautiously, Zadie approaches him, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

I hang back near the door, watching her tentative steps, and watching Sean’s reaction to her. Chante, whirlwind that she is, waltzes past me. She enters the room like she owns it, reclaiming the seat she occupied before.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” Zadie tells Sean. “Didn’t you get any of my messages?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, I did. Got them all. I just didn’t think it would be good for me, if I answered them.”

“Good for you?” She crosses her arms, not in anger, but in self-protection.

“Yeah...shit,” he winces, as he tries to unsuccessfully shift in the bed. “I’ve been avoiding the things that tempt me. Booze, drugs, sex, caffeine. I added you to that list, since I never could resist you.” His injury doesn’t dull his flashy, flirtatious smile.

“Me?” Zadie stammers.

“Heck, yeah. You’re temptation incarnate—one of my biggest weaknesses.”

Jealousy and possessiveness course through me. I don’t care that he’s concussed, he’s tempting me to pound him upside his head.

“Stow it, Casanova,” Chante orders. “You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

Zadie shifts nervously, clearing her throat. “Sean.” Her voice cracks and she hesitates, her shoulders visibly shaking with each breath.

I can’t handle the pain of her struggle. It takes all my strength to stand idly by while this girl—my woman—faces the man who’s caused her so much pain. I’ve resolved to stay out of it, but to see her drowning in fear breaks me.

Unintentional or not, I won’t let him hurt her. Never again.

With my resolve broken, I step to her side and place my hand on her back. Rubbing her tense muscles, lending her my support, I try to give her the comfort and courage she needs.

“Caleb?” Sean greets me, as though noticing me for the first time. Hell, the way he’s been staring at Zadie, with hearts and fucking flowers in his gaze, it’s not surprising he missed me.

“Hey, man,” I say. “I’m glad to see you’re okay.”

“Damn, kid. You’ve grown, a lot. When was the last time I saw you? ‘Cause all I remember was a little shrimp who liked to cause trouble.”

“It hasn’t been that long. Not even a year,” I tell him.

He grimaces again, but this time I don’t think it’s from the pain. “Shit,” he says. “I don’t remember that.”

“No wonder,” Chante snorts. “How high were you?”

Zadie remains silent, her arms still acting as a shield, holding herself together. With a long sigh, she leans her body into mine. Giving into instinct, I wrap my arm around her, my hand resting beside the small swell of her stomach.

“Oh, hell.” Sean’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Are you two together?”

My answer is a long hard stare and a mental challenge for him to object. But he isn’t looking at me. My death glare goes unnoticed—his attention is homed in on Zadie.

When she doesn’t reply, my attention zeroes in on her too.

I wait for her answer. And I wait some fucking more. The air in my lungs constricts, squeezing my chest and crushing my heart.

This is it, isn’t it?

This is going to be the moment she decides a relationship isn’t worth the effort. Our age gap is too significant. Her regrets are too heavy. My needs are too great. Friends is good enough, after all.

This is going to be the moment the fairy tale ends. Only, the prince doesn’t get the girl. No, Prince Charming is left holding a shoe. With nothing but memories of one fleeting moment—one twirl around the dance floor—to taunt him for the rest of his aimless, apathetic, loveless life.

“Zadie?” Sean prompts. “Are you with Caleb now?”

She steps out of my hold, getting closer to his bedside. Grasping the metal rail in a tight fist, she tells him, “Yes. We’re together—one hundred percent.”

One hundred percent.

My chest fills with warmth, as she reaches back for my hand. I take it, stepping forward and squeezing her tightly to my side again. A ridiculous fucking grin spreads across my face.

“It’s a small world, isn’t it?” Sean laughs.

“Not really,” Chante quips from her corner.

Ignoring her, Sean beams at us. “For real, guys—this is a good thing.”

“It is,” Zadie agrees.

“Plus,” Sean continues. “You look good together. Really good. Hot, even. Caleb, man —”

“No!” Chante yells, making Sean recoil in pain. “He’s not into guys, he’s not into you. Zadie’s definitely not into you.”

“Shit, relax,” he tells her, rubbing at the side of his head. “I’m concussed, remember? And I was just kidding around.”

“Keep it up and your brain damage is going to be fucking permanent,” she threatens.

“Chante, Cal,” Zadie speaks up. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to talk to Sean alone.”

“No problem,” Chante says. “I’m going to go find my husband. You know where to find me, if you need me.”

Sean blanches, the red streaks of his hair and beard are a shock against his now pale complexion.

“You okay?” I ask him.

His eyes cut to mine, the agony clear in his expression. “Yeah, I’m all good.” He smiles. It’s the same dazzling smile as before, but this time I see through it. His misery is clear—and it’s got little, if anything, to do with his head trauma.

He’s in love with Dylan.

“Please, Cal,” Zadie turns to me. “I need to do this on my own.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, reluctant to let her go.

“Positive.”

Taking her face, gently in my hands, I search for signs of doubt. Her doe eyes sparkle, and her freckled cheeks flush under my inspection. But her determination doesn’t waver.

Beautiful and brave.

“Okay, then,” I tell her, running my thumb over her smooth skin. “I’ll wait right outside the door, just in case you need me.”

“No, Cal, I’ve kept you waiting long enough—you don’t have to wait for me anymore.” Her grin is confident, her gaze is certain. “Why don’t you go catch up on your volunteer duties? I’ll be here, waiting for you when you’re done. All right?”

Beautiful and brave and fucking mine.

“All right,” I agree with a wink, when what I want to say is, I love you.

I want to tell her. I want to show her. I want to shout it from the rooftops. But this isn’t the time or the place to make crazy declarations. I’m not going to get down on one knee in a hospital, with her ex-boyfriend as witness.

I may not be able to say what’s on my mind, but Zadie seems to read my expressions. Snaking a hand into my hair, she lifts up on her toes and forcefully guides my head to hers. Our mouths greet each other with a spark. It’s delicious. It’s passionate. It’s fucking perfect.

God, how I love her.

I pour every ounce of my love into that kiss. I hope she can feel it. I need her to know. I need her to believe.

Sean clears his throat loudly, and then groans from the pain.

Zadie smiles against my lips, laughter buzzing our kiss. With a final sweep of her tongue, she murmurs, “We’re always getting interrupted.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Sean pipes in. “I’m good with watching.”

Zadie sighs, shaking her head in humored dismay. “You’re not invited.”

Our laughter dies as I prepare to leave them alone. The knowledge of what stands before them, threatening to drag me down. But Zadie’s still smiling, her strong, determined, gorgeous smile. And I realize, I’m not worried. I’ve got nothing to be jealous over. Nothing to be afraid of.

We’re not fearless, but Zadie’s not letting it hold her back. Neither am I.

“Time to face reality,” she says.

“Time to make reality,” I remind her, kissing her one last time before I walk out the door.