19

Brooke

His weekender bag open on the floor was the first thing I saw when I woke up alone in my bed the next morning. Caleb hadn’t packed his bag and left me. He was still here, somewhere, as daylight blasted in through the slits in the shutters.

And I was still pinching myself.

Caleb was so unlike Marcus. He was also unlike any man I had ever known. He was patient and so very considerate, and he listened. Caleb was the most attentive listener. He never made me feel like he was sorry for me, either. He went out of his way to tell me I was brave or smart. He saw things in me I didn’t see in myself, and now that I’d had a taste of his good opinion, I wanted more of it. So much more. Caleb would give me the world if I let him.

Could I possibly let him?

I pushed my face into the pillow he’d slept on and tried to catch his scent. It was definitely there, the notes of earthy spice I’d come to associate with him mixed with the unmistakable scent of sex. Lots of sex. I imagined how he must have looked while he’d been sleeping soundly in my bed: no doubt sporting some sexy bed head, the big body and long limbs that’d been all over me last night at rest and relaxed, his steady even breathing softly filling the silence.

I knew there had been a shift since last night, and it was a big one for me.

The picture of Caleb in my mind spoke of loyalty and strength.

I was now more afraid of losing him than I was of loving him.

I would be smiling when he first laid eyes on me this morning, I decided as I got out of bed and headed into the shower. He should have smiles coming from me, especially after the dreadful row and the things I’d said to him last night. Why had he made love to me so sweetly after hearing everything? Why did he want to be in my world? What man would sign up for the train wreck that was surely going to be life with me?

Unless . . . he’d meant it.

I’d never known that sort of love. Never known unconditional, fearless love. Apart from Nan. But from a man? Was it really possible?

There was something to be said for unburdening one’s biggest fears, because I did feel so much lighter in my heart today. If he truly did love me, after what he now knew, then at least I could believe for him . . . it was real.

I went out through the back and headed for the high coastal plain. Maybe a little pixie was whispering into my ear that he was outside, looking over the land, and I might possibly find him there. Caleb didn’t waste words. I have the means to make it happen. Watch me. He said exactly what he intended, so I wondered—I even dared to hope—if he really was going to come and be in my world with me.

I texted him.

B: Where are you?

C: I’m still here, baby. Do u miss me?

B: Always. <3

C: Where are u?

B: I’m at the grassy rise behind the cottage.

C: Take the south path and u will find me.

My Caleb could give proper directions.

B: Ok on my way.

After pocketing my phone, I went in search of my man. My man. Yes, I was claiming him as mine. I might not be able to keep him forever, but for right now, and in this place—he was mine.

I spied him about twenty minutes later. He wasn’t difficult to spot. I could find him in a crowd easily now, because I was familiar with his body shape and build—which was all lean muscles and tall. He was in dark jeans and a black Henley with his coat unbuttoned. And he looked absolutely delicious to me as always. He’s said he feels love for you.

But my Caleb wasn’t alone. Another man was beside him, pointing across the field as if he was familiarizing Caleb with the island. My heart sped up as I went to him. He must have felt my presence, because he turned toward me. His face lit up with one of his gorgeous smiles as he held out his hand beckoning me to come forward.

How could I not fall in love with this man?

He drew me into his side with his arm snug around me, and put his lips to my cheek. I felt him inhale against my skin and instantly knew what he was doing. I did the same to him whenever I could. The scent of a lover was powerful in its ability to produce feelings of comfort. Caleb was breathing in my scent right now in front of a stranger. It was done discreetly, under the guise of a welcome kiss to the cheek, but it was oh-so-very intimate to me.

I gave him the smile I’d promised myself I would this morning when I’d wakened. I saw only happiness in his eyes, no demands and no hurt like I’d seen in them last night—just love. At least I could say it inside my head now and not fall apart. Baby steps.

He introduced me to Asher Woodrow, whom I’d never met in person but had heard mentioned by the locals. He was rather stoic, but polite in a broodingly handsome sort of way. Apparently Caleb and Asher went all the way back to their Boy Scout days on the island, but had lost touch over the years. He owned the Blackstone Island Airport and also the helicopter charter to and from the mainland. I was content to be an observer as they finished their conversation about helipad access at the airport in an exchange of sorts with Blackstone Global Enterprises’ own helipad in the heart of the city. Caleb was just full of surprises with the news he owned not only a helicopter but a private helipad in the city of Boston.

And just like that my good feelings of baby steps took a dive. How very deep was the gulf between his world and mine.

It still didn’t change my longing for him to choose to be in my world with me. How could it not? How would any woman not want Caleb to choose her? I still had trouble understanding why a man like him was still single in the first place. Why was that? What about the women in his past?

I feared I might never belong in Caleb’s world with him.

After we said good-bye to Asher, we walked back up the path hand in hand, enjoying the stunning sight of an autumn sun over dark-blue water with the lighthouse standing watch along the rocks. I loved the beautiful views from the island.

“What were you up to so early this morning?” I was definitely curious now.

“I was eager to explore the south end of the island and orient myself to the land that is available.” No wasted words from my Caleb. He said what he meant to do, and then he did it.

“I wondered . . . I hoped,” I said as I turned toward him.

He stopped and pulled me against his chest and held me as we both watched the sea and the sky blending into continuous shades of blue. I breathed in his spicy male scent and tried to understand and accept all of the goodness I felt with Caleb. He was pure and simple goodness in every way . . . for me.

“So, when I build a house here, you won’t be mad at me?”

I lost it. Fell apart again, for what felt like the hundredth time with him, and sobbed into his strong chest. “Nev-v-ver m-mad at y-you, Caaa-leb.”

He held me and smoothed his hand over my head. Caleb understood I was happy crying and not sad crying, so at least there was that. And he wasn’t running away from me at a fast clip, either. I’d given him many opportunities, and still he kept coming back for more emotional torture. It had to be utter torture for him. Men didn’t like drama and emotional breakdowns. How could he bear it? I could barely stand myself when I did it. But Caleb just held me and showed his care and understanding in the most perfect way.

“I want to talk to you about a few things. Can we sit?” he asked me softly. “We can use my coat for a blanket on the grass. This is such a great view and we should enjoy it while the weather is good.”

“Yes, I’d like that very much,” I answered him with my cheek still pressed to his chest as I looked out at the sea, reluctant to separate my body from his.

He spread out his coat for us and sat down, situating me between his legs in front of him so I could lean back onto him. Surrounded by his touch and warmth, the panic of a few moments ago left me. It passed as if it had never happened.

“I got up early this morning and did some research.”

“You were researching land for sale so you can build a house here?” I asked.

“Well, yes and no. The property search came later. This morning I wanted to know about the sudden onset of strong emotional responses, crying in particular.”

“Oh?” My heart sped up. “Did you see my picture pop up when you typed it in the search bar on Google?”

He laughed. “Sorry, but that was very funny.”

“I’m glad you think so. It’s lovely to be able to laugh about this with you.” I paused dramatically. “Otherwise I should start crying.”

“Well, no, your beautiful image did not pop up, but something quite interesting did.”

“Tell me.” I dared not hope there might be some form of treatment.

“The site I found said it is one of the most hidden of all neurological disorders—a condition called pseudobulbar affect, PBA.”

“It has a name?!” I was shocked.

“Here, let me read it to you from the site itself.” He tapped into his phone and started reading. “People with PBA are subject to uncontrollable episodes of crying or laughing without an evident reason. While the exact causes of the disorder are not fully understood, it appears to be associated with injuries to neurological pathways in the brain that control emotional response. It is often seen in patients with diseases like ALS, MS, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and in those who’ve experienced brain trauma,” he said with emphasis.

“Brain trauma . . .” I breathed.

“Let me finish the last bit,” he scolded gently. “In some cases, a patient with PBA has an underlying brain injury he or she wasn’t even aware of. One of the main things that distinguish PBA from depression is that the emotional episodes are unpredictable and very short, ranging from seconds to minutes, and they occur multiple times a day. They require a great deal of energy to hold back.” He squeezed my shoulder. “You were right, Brooke, about not feeling depressed, because I don’t see that in you, either. But you did have a serious injury,” he said, while tracing the scar along my hairline with his finger.

“I was in a coma for three weeks . . . because that is what your brain does after a traumatic injury. The accident—I knew it did something to me. I felt that I was different, but I didn’t delve further because I figured there was nothing to be done about it. Plus, I was so grateful to be alive, when I could’ve died so very easily, I just didn’t dwell on the fact the episodes were happening more frequently.”

“There is more.”

I froze. “I am afraid to even hope there is a treatment that doesn’t involve a brain surgeon and a scalpel.”

He laughed again and kissed the top of my head. “You have a beautiful and brilliant brain, Brooke Casterley. You can think up the cleverest things to say to me at the oddest moments. It must be your British wit.”

“Maybe so, but you have a beautiful and brilliant heart, Caleb Blackstone. You can do magic with it and in ways I never imagined. It must be your American optimism.”

He leaned around to speak close against my lips. “There is a medication you can take that makes the episodes far less frequent.”

“Amazing.”

“When you’re ready, I want you to see a specialist in the city. Will you do that for me?”

“Yes. After the wedding is over, I will.” I could feel the warmth of his lips so very close to mine. “I want to do it for me, too.”

“Thank you, baby.”

Then he kissed me thoroughly and showed me yet again the range of just how far his beautiful and brilliant heart could go.