18

Caleb

Too late for that, beautiful.

An out-of-body experience. Yeah, that’s what was happening to me right now in Brooke’s cottage on the island above the Fairchild Light. I was out of my motherfucking body and floating somewhere around the ceiling, staring down and wondering who the fuckhead was, sitting across from her, looking like he couldn’t remember his own name.

To be honest she didn’t look much better. She was as lovely as always, but I’d shocked the hell out of her, without a doubt.

I’d shocked the hell out of myself. The minute the words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake and said too goddamn much. I’d scared her. I was supposed to be going slow. I fucked up. Again. Why are you such a dipshit moron? Why?!

She pulled her hands away from mine and covered her mouth. She just stared across the table at me. Shocked. And beautifully perfect, even with her hair kind of messy from the desperate-but-oh-so-hot wall fuck we’d shared. But her eyes—they were truly stunning right now as she blinked like she was trying to hold back tears again. The eyes still had the look of a satisfied woman who’d been ridden hard and loved every minute of it, though.

And even after the crazed wall sex, Brooke had gone further by making dinner with her precious hands, putting it on a plate, and serving me at the table. What in the actual fuck? I’d been the one shocked then, because I’d had no experiences like it before. No woman had ever done that for me.

Brooke had such a generous soul, and she’d done it all with happiness in her heart just because she’d wanted to.

I wished I’d been inside her when I’d said it.

“Don’t be scared of what I just said, okay? Just file it away somewhere and we can just keep doing . . . this.” I tugged on her hands and pulled them back into mine. “Nothing has to change.”

“Oh, Caleb . . . I—I don’t think I can—I—I’m not ready,” she said on a whisper, her eyes filling.

“It’s okay, baby. I know you aren’t ready, and I shouldn’t have thrown that at you like I just did. I apologize. I’m not expecting you to feel the same way. I do have a small bit of intelligence, and from what you’ve shared about your past, I realize it’s too soon for you. I get it. You don’t have to say anything right now. Just know that I spoke the truth. Okay? Can you—can you do that for me?”

“You know—you’ve seen—Caleb, I am a complete mess emotionally. You don’t even know me . . . how can it be the truth?”

“But what I just said—it wasn’t about you, Brooke. It was about me. It’s my truth, not yours. What I am feeling. And trust me, after thirty-one and a half years of knowing what love doesn’t feel like, I think I’m a goddamn expert at recognizing when the real thing comes along to rip right into my heart.”

She swallowed, making the skin at her throat flutter. “I’ve ripped right into your heart?”

“Uh-huh. Brutally. Savagely.”

“But I didn’t mean to,” she said sadly.

“I know, baby. That was just fate doing its thing. Brooke, it’s not about me expecting you to feel the same way. It’s just the reality of you . . . for me. I knew it the night you first spoke to me. I didn’t even know your name, but I’d already spotted you walking into your offices and knew of you. You are my fate personified. Your nan and my uncle are getting married, connecting you and me through their marriage whether we want it or not. That’s fate at work—can’t you see that? We were going to come together eventually, and I think my path to finding you was set in motion a long time ago.”

“Fate . . . for me, has always been something bad, Caleb. I’m scared of fate. Fate terrifies me.”

“Why, beautiful?”

“Because what we love can be snatched away in the blink of an eye. I can’t have any more of that kind of fate, because if I do it will be the end of me.”

“I know your heart has been horribly wounded, and you’re afraid to be vulnerable again. I don’t want to hurt you, Brooke. I just wanted you to know my feelings, and I’ve realized just now, that even if you never feel the same way about me, it still won’t change anything. I will feel the same about you as I do right now.”

“Caleb, I thought you just wanted to enjoy each other the way we have been . . . the sex . . . it’s very wonderful. You are the most wonderful and lovely man. I have to pinch myself when I’m with you, because I think you’re too good to be true . . . and I can’t understand why you even want me. There’s more you don’t know about me, Caleb. I am not from your world and will never be accepted in it.”

“I don’t care, and I would happily come and be in your world with you, if that’s what it takes.”

“You cannot mean that.” She was doing her best to push me away, but I sensed there was still some hope for me. I’d laid it out on the table for her, and hopefully she’d take it at face value when she was ready.

“Oh, I mean it, and I have the ability to make it happen. Watch me.”

“I don’t care for this arguing,” she said stubbornly.

“I don’t care to be told I cannot own my feelings.” I finally snapped and asked the question. “Do you want me to go? I can stay with my brother tonight and get back to Boston in the morning.” It would hurt like a bitch, but I would do it if she asked me to.

She eyeballed me.

I gave it right back to her.

I waited for her to say “Give me five minutes and I’ll drive you to your brother’s house myself,” in the Jeep Cherokee that probably had a good five years on me.

She didn’t, though. Instead she rose from her chair and came around the table to my side. She held out her hand to me.

I took it. How could I not? She was handing me a lifeline, and I’d fucking hold on to it.

“I don’t want you to go, Caleb. I’d like you to stay and hear the rest of my story. I think you should know everything about me, and then you can evaluate if your feelings are still the same.” She tugged me up from my chair. “You’re right. It’s not fair of me to tell you what you can feel for another person. I am sorry if I hurt you when I said you couldn’t possibly feel more for me. I don’t want to hurt you, Caleb. Never that.”

I let her lead me up the stairs to her bedroom where I’d stowed my bag earlier when she gave me the grand tour of her cottage.

She peeled off her shirt first. Then her leggings. The bra came off next and my dick started throbbing. I was fully erect when the panties were dropped to the floor. I watched her reveal herself to me physically and wished she could do the same on an emotional level. Why is it we always crave what we don’t have?

She came to me and I let her help me take off my clothes, piece by piece, until I was as naked as her.

“Do you know how easy it would be for me to fall in love with you, Caleb?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“It would take no effort at all, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea—for me, or for you.”

So that door wasn’t completely closed. Good to know. “What do you want from me, Brooke?”

She smiled. “I want you to make love to me in my bed, and then I’ll tell you the rest of my story. After that you can decide if you still want me.”

Turnabout is fair play, baby.“I agree, but only if we switch it around. You tell me first, and then we make love. And for the record, I’ve already decided.”

Her face fell and her eyes narrowed.

“I know what you’re doing. You think that whatever you have to tell me will make me stop wanting to be with you; I’ll leave, and you’ll be vindicated of your fucking absurd notion that you are unworthy to be loved by me.”

“It will,” she said.

“Well, baby, you’re just going to have to trust me then and see what happens.” I smiled this time. “Let’s get into the bed, shall we?”

SOinto her bed we were going. Buck-ass naked, but not to fuck.

Both of us tense, unsure of how we fit into the other’s life. I knew where I wanted her in mine, but she seemed pretty adamant about where I could be in hers. Sex was okay, but love wasn’t, apparently. How was it possible to find the one woman on earth I needed to make life bearable, only to have her believing I shouldn’t love her because she wasn’t worthy?

My heart was being fucked from all directions.

I held out my arms to her and embraced her as she fell into them, loving how her soft skin melted into mine when our bodies aligned. I tugged her down into bed, tucked the sheets and blankets that smelled of her around us, and waited . . .

She talked and I listened. Her heart had been broken before, and mine was being broken now as she told me her story.

“I was truly born on the wrong side of the tracks as you say in America. The wrong side of the sheets is what it was called back home. My mother went to London for a semester abroad when she was in college. She met my father, Michael Harvey, and very quickly fell madly in love. She also fell pregnant with me. But my father was already married and had a family. My mother and I were his secret. He loved us and was a steady part of our lives, but we would always be the shameful secret that must be hidden away because that’s just how it was. He was an MP, a Member of Parliament, and I never took his name. That is why my last name is Casterley like my nan. Dad had money, and he kept us well looked after, which was fine when he was alive—but there was no provision for us when he died. The one exception was my university education, because he’d set it up when I was born in my birth name. It was the one thing his sons couldn’t take, because legally it was mine. I have two half brothers I’ve never met in person.

“My parents died while they were on holiday together, still very much in love as they had always been. It was fast and it was final, and before I could really process my shock, I was sent here to my nan, who is my only living family on my mum’s side. It was hard at first, but I did settle in, and came to love living on the island. I finished high school here, and managed to find my place in a strange new world. When it was time for university, I went to Suffolk because it was close to home, and my nan. I excelled in my field of study, and my college years were happy. I couldn’t have wanted or needed anything different in the time in my life before I met Marcus. I was close to finishing up university and hoping to work in one of the prestigious firms in the Boston designer loop after graduation.

“My friend Zoe, who was also my roommate at the time, went with me to a bar where we had far too many tequila shots and not enough common sense to fill a thimble between us. Marcus was there that night and he took a liking to me. I am sure he also put something in my drink because I don’t remember going home with him. I was a virgin before I met Marcus. He was very attentive at first, and I don’t even know why. He was a law student about to take the bar exam and eight years older than me. So, without much of an idea of how or why, I was suddenly with this man who’d become obsessed with me literally overnight. He just inserted himself into my life, and I couldn’t escape him, because I was too young, and too naïve, to even be aware of the risk until it was too late.

“He got me pregnant and then demanded I marry him. I never should have agreed, but given my mum’s history, I did it for the baby’s sake. He moved us to California the minute classes ended. I didn’t even get to go through graduation ceremonies. Los Angeles is where his family lived, and that’s when my nightmare really began. Marcus had a mental illness I am certain, and his erratic behavior just grew worse as my pregnancy advanced. He would get angry at the most insignificant things and fly into a rage, terrorizing anyone within range.

“His family also ran some criminal enterprises of smuggling guns and other black-market items. They used their storage rental units as a front for the real business of smuggling I think. I tried to stay out of their way as much as possible, but it wasn’t always easy for me to do that, because he used drugs to manipulate and control me. Prescription painkillers—I don’t even know what drugs he gave me, just that they helped block out the nightmare that was my life. Which was living with a sociopathic criminal and expecting his child. I didn’t want to have a baby. I was only twenty-two years old, just starting out, with so many hopes—only to find myself pregnant, in an abusive relationship, and addicted to drugs.

“Then the accident happened and he died. I was in a coma for three weeks before I woke up. Once my head was clear of the drugs, I knew I could get help and escape for good. I still worry that Marcus’s dad will show up on my doorstep someday and try to make me go back to California, just to punish me for living instead of his son. Or to make sure I never talk to the police about them. I don’t really know if they would try to hurt me or not, but I don’t want to take the chance, either, so living on the island has its benefits, being so much more secluded.

“When I notified the hospital authorities I was in an abusive family situation, they quietly helped me into a women’s shelter in San Diego. That shelter saved my life, because it was mostly a place of peace. I needed sanctuary after a year of mayhem and chaos. I lived there for six months, learning self-defense and how to be strong. It took my near-death to wake me up so I could have a second chance at living. In total I was away for eighteen months, but like I told you before, having a purpose has made all the difference in helping me to move forward. When Nan needed me, it was time for me to make my way home to Boston, and so here I am.”

“And then you met me,” I said.

“Yes, I met the most wonderful and patient man, who has never made me feel pitiful or weak. He tells me I am brave and smart and beautiful. He makes me laugh, and he makes me cry, too, but the crying is not his fault.”

“It’s not your fault, either, Brooke.”

“He makes me happy, makes me feel so safe, and is such a gentleman always—all-w-w-ways—”

She broke down and couldn’t say any more, so I just held her in my arms and drew my hand over her hair for a long time, imagining a world where there were no fucking lunatics like Marcus Patten, and no innocent young girls being terrorized without hope of escape, and nobody to help them.

How could she think that anything she’d just told me would alter my feelings? The things she’d just shared were all nonissues for me. Only the old New England society into which I’d been born kept track of any of that shit. It wasn’t the 1890s anymore for fuck’s sake. I’d lived in that superficial world for so long, it took Brooke bringing me into the real one to even realize it existed. I had some work to do, but there were good ideas rolling around in my head now. I would figure it out, but most of all I would be patient, because time was what Brooke needed.

I turned to the side to find her lips. She needed to be kissed for a very long time . . . and cherished, to help her remember she was once whole and could be so again.

When I kissed her, she came to life in my arms.

Like Sleeping Beauty in the fucking fairy tale, my beauty came to life in my arms.