8. Calista

8

CALISTA

I hear the thud of Vex's boots as he steps into the hallway, and I try not to pay attention to the traitorous ripple of excitement that travels down my spine.

I'm not sure I believe in fate, but there is something about the way this man has remained a part of my life, even though we haven't spoken to each other in over a decade.

His presence eases my overthinking brain.

I'm not sure why he and Switch gave up their afternoon to help me, but I just checked the kitchen while the two of them were outside, and it's immaculate compared to where it was this morning.

It would be too hard to explain to Vex why the other biker's presence scared the shit out of me. I thought I'd done enough work on myself to move past what happened.

Clearly, I haven't.

The living room feels livable. I've dusted and vacuumed every inch of this room, but now that it's clean, it makes me uneasy that I'm sleeping down here in the clean while Mom sleeps upstairs in the mess, but she wouldn't let me change her sheets. Another thing to work on tomorrow.

When Vex enters the room, he's carrying a large bag made of canvas. Wood and kindling pokes out over the top.

"It's cold in here," he says. "You want me to take a look at the heating?"

I shake my head. "Think something's wrong with the system. I've reset it, but it won't turn back on. My assistant found someone to take a look at it tomorrow afternoon."

"It's been an unseasonably cold fall. You think your mom's been living without heating for a while?"

"Who knows what Mom has or hasn't done," I say.

"What do you mean by that?" he asks.

"Nothing." I sigh. "It's been a long day. She said it hasn't been working for a while. I'm tired and I need to make dinner. I'm more of an ‘eat-out' girl than stay in and cook, but I have the basics down. Mom won't starve until I can get her some proper support to help when I'm gone."

"You're gonna leave her like this?" Vex asks as he kneels down in front of the fireplace.

"No. I'm not gonna leave her like this. I'm going to shore up the house. I'm gonna take her to the doctor or get one to come see her. I'll have an assessment done to see if she's safe to live alone, then get some care support to come in every day. I'm not totally callous, Vex."

Slowly and meticulously, he folds the paper in such a way it can act like a fire starter when lit. Then, he places some kindling over it and some smaller logs. "Never said you were callous, Calista. But don't you feel bad you didn't know your mom was in this state?"

In hindsight, the messages and infrequent calls I've had with her offered clues. The stories she repeated, the same few questions she asked incessantly.

"Don't judge me, Vex. I've sent Mom over a million dollars. Turns out she won't spend it because she thinks I stole it. Don't know where the hell it is."

Vex shakes his head in disbelief. "Our moms have that in common. Mine takes the money, though, then cusses at me for how I made it."

Thoughts of Mrs. Williams flicker through my mind. The nights we spent watching Deep Space Nine marathons. The way she'd always keep the spot next to her on the sofa for me.

I stand with my back to the window, my arms wrapped tightly around my body. Now that I've stopped moving, I can feel the cold. Vex lights the fire, then blows on it gently.

The kindling and paper snap and crackle as they come to life.

Vex unloads the logs and meticulously stacks them on the freshly swept and cleaned hearth. "I got some more in the truck," he says. "Pour us both a glass of the whiskey I bought while I go get it."

"I don't recall asking you to stay for a drink."

"Like mother, like daughter," he says, his dark eyes looking at me intensely.

I think back to his story of how he did all that work to paint the house with Niro and she didn't offer them a drink of water. "I'm sorry. That was unnecessary of me. But I'm scared…"

He steps closer to me. "Of what?"

"Of encouraging this." I gesture between the two of us.

He tilts his head and studies me. "Scared of encouraging this, or scared of letting go of the hate and the anger?"

I meet his gaze earnestly. "Maybe it's both."

He runs a knuckle down my cheek so gently and quickly, I almost miss it.

The contact was too brief to be deciphered.

"Pour the damn whiskey." He turns, and I hear him tugging his boots on.

I hurry into the kitchen and find two glasses. The whiskey stands on the counter, because it's the only spirit I used to drink when we snuck out underage to cause mischief. In the last decade, I've added gin with Dyer's Medallion as my absolute favorite but Vex wouldn't know that.

Next to it is my go-to box of crackers when I don't care about nutrition. In the fridge, my favorite cheese from childhood. He got pears because he knows I never cared for apples. And no red meat because I refuse to eat it to this day.

Small details about him return in a wave. How he avoided yellow candy and preferred to work at his desk while I preferred to work cross-legged on the bed. How he'd argue for days that Manga was an underrated art form and that waffles beat pancakes any day of the week.

As I get the tumblers from the cupboard, memories turn to the afternoon Cue Ball showed up at Mom's house. Five bikers flanking him.

Putting the tumblers down on the counter, I glance at the kitchen door he kicked down to gain entry. I remember the way his body almost filled the doorway. The way he held a knife to Mom's neck to make his point.

The way his grubby hands squeezed my cheeks, making the inside of my mouth bleed. I wasn't raped, but I was groped and felt utterly violated and very afraid. It took lots of therapy to realize it was still completely valid to feel that way.

My hand shakes as I pour the whiskey.

Vex has no idea he instigated one of the worst days of my life.

And he has no idea that his life hinged on my actions, because I was told he would be killed if anyone found out they'd been to see me. That he would be lured to the Pines, forced to dig his own grave, and killed if he found out.

I toss a shot down my throat and let it burn as it travels down to my stomach. Taking a deep breath, I pour a second shot in my glass.

When I return to the living room, it already feels warmer, and Vex steps in with another large bag of wood as I put the glasses down on a small side table.

"I'm going to go upstairs and open all the doors, let some of the heat circulate, try and dry out some of the damp."

"Good idea," Vex says as he begins to add the logs to the pile.

I wearily trudge up the stairs and open all the rooms. The bathroom, with only a small pathway to the toilet and sink and a tub filled with unfolded clothes. I open Mom's door. She's still watching the television. A game show now. "I'm just going to leave your door open to let some warmth in."

She looks up suddenly, stricken. "You didn't turn the heating on, did you?"

I think about how she told me earlier it was broken. How did I miss the signs that her memory isn't what it was. "No, Ti got the chimney swept and started a fire. He brought logs."

Mom looks back at the television. "Good. Because I'm not made of money. You're cold, grab another blanket. And I hope you didn't make a mess of all my things."

For reasons I can't explain, tears sting my eyes. I step outside and lean back against the linen closet door. "Think, Calista," I mutter. I didn't tell Vex, but Mom didn't want me to clean her kitchen or her living room. She didn't want me to throw anything out. She told me to leave everything exactly where it was.

The truth is, I can't. Because no matter how much she wants me to leave it as is, she can't live like this. It's unsafe, unsanitary, and unlivable.

I'll face the battle I'm going to have with her when the downstairs is done. When I can set up a temporary bed for her in the living room so I can tackle the upstairs.

I'm a problem solver. This is all doable. I have the funds to get Mom the help she needs. The easiest version is to move her out, renovate the house. But if Vex is right, if this is some kind of decline in her mental faculties, moving her might be a change too much.

I need to remember who I am.

And that is someone badly in need of a shower. I glance into the bathroom and realize that isn't happening tonight.

I need to order something we can dump all this garbage in, and clear the stairs so we can make it up and down, and…

I blow out a breath.

With a death grip on the handrail so I don't trip and fall, I make my way down the stairs. When I step into the living room, I realize it doesn't smell so bad anymore, and it's actually warm. The windows are open a little to let some more fresh air in.

There is still dampness in the corner, which I'm guessing is from some leaky gutter, at best, or cracked foundation, at worst.

Vex is standing, but he's looking down at the fire, watching it flicker. With his back to me, I can see how his shoulders have filled out. The dark skin of his forearm is smooth and veined.

"Why are you still here?" I ask.

Vex turns when he hears my voice. But instead of replying, he walks to the table and picks up the two tumblers of whiskey. "Here," he says, offering one of them to me. "Drink. Cheers. You worked hard today and deserve it."

He clinks the rim of his glass to mine, then takes a sip as I revel in the drip of praise he just gave me.

I hate that I do.

The atmosphere is…strained. Like a piece of elastic being stretched to the point you know it's going to snap and hurt whoever is holding on to it.

Unable to take it, I slug my whiskey and place the glass down on the table. "Thank you for your help today, but I can take it from here."

"Like mother, like daughter," he says. And that's the second time he's said it. The comparison feels like a cheese grater is being dragged along my skin.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He gestures around the room. "Your mom doesn't know how to accept help either. You know, I guess I needed to help today. I was curious how you turned out after you left."

I hate the way he says I left. I want to shout at him. Because they said they would kill you. They didn't give me a statute of limitations on it. Just that he would die if he ever found out.

"Can't wait to hear your opinion of me after all this time."

His eyes narrow. "That stick up your ass has turned into a goddamn pine tree. Needles and all."

"Fuck you. You have no idea what I've?—"

"If you're about to give me some poor-me sob story about your life, I don't want to hear it. There's barely a shred of the girl I knew left in you."

A small part of me cries out at that. I'm still that girl, looking for someone to love her, looking for someone to put her first. But I've built an impenetrable coat of armor to protect her. To shield her from being hurt.

Maybe it hurts even more because he's the one person who should be able to see through it, and yet…

"Says the nerdy boy I once knew who now walks around with a big bad biker persona. You've lost what made you special. And, it's a good thing I don't give a shit what you think of me. If you don't recognize me, you won't come over here again, and you can agree to the deal that from here on out, we don't know each other."

"Know each other? Cal, we used to know each other better than any other two people possibly could. But of course, you just discard what doesn't work for you anymore."

I hate his words.

I hate the fact I watched his lips as he said them with an ache I can't bring myself to confess.

Breathlessness can be caused by many things. Exercise. Exertion. Panic.

Lust.

I can't think about why I'm breathing like I just ran a marathon right now.

"What do you know about how to treat people? You didn't even see my mom suffering and she's right under your nose, you asshole."

I don't realize I've walked toward him until he's gripping my biceps. "I don't know what kind of life you've got wherever you ran to, but it wouldn't surprise me if you don't have many friends there either, Calista. Because you're ice-fucking-cold."

His words find a way through to my heart. I've never had many friends, and he knows it. Another invisible wound that burns like acid. "Then why are you still here?"

"I've been asking myself that same fucking question most of this afternoon."

I don't know who reaches for whom. I don't know whether it's his lips on mine that make me open my mouth to his tongue or the other way around.

All I know is an invisible earthquake shakes the room as I kiss the man I once loved. As I kiss the man I hate. As I kiss the man who showed up for me today, and yet said cruel words that hurt me more.

"Calista," he groans, as he yanks the elastic from my hair and sinks his hand into it. The other cups my throat, squeezing gently.

This is a really bad idea. But as seconds turn into minutes, I find myself helpless to do anything other than participate in whatever is happening between us.

Because I'm no angel, I've kissed a lot of men. But none have kissed me like Tiberius Williams.

I slide my hands to his shoulders. They're firm and solid. Anchoring me in this moment.

Vex lifts me into his arms, and I let him.

I wrap my legs tightly around him while he kisses my neck and slides his hands to my ass.

He walks me back to the wall and holds me there easily.

I gasp at the contact, the breath slipping between our lips.

I should say something.

No or stop.

But I can't because I know I don't mean it.

And yet.

When his body presses against mine, his cock hits the sensitive spot right between my legs. Denim meets denim. The pressure is delicious.

I roll my hips against his as he nips my earlobe.

Rational thought dissipates into the ether, replaced with how good it would feel to lose myself in this moment. Forget the stress and sorrow for a few moments of meaningful.

His long, erect length feels so good between my legs.

And then he?—

"Calista?" My mom's single word, followed by a coughing fit, filter into my brain. And I come to my senses.

I push hard on Vex's chest, and he puts me down immediately. I glance up at the man who I once thought put the sun in the sky and try to formulate any kind of response to what just happened between the two of us.

I can feel the heat in my cheeks and the roaring whoosh of my pulse at my temple.

Vex adjusts his obviously erect cock in his jeans before taking a deep breath. He looks shell-shocked. I'm sure I look the same. I touch my fingertips to my lips, certain they are bruised.

"Calista," he says.

My name tumbling from his mouth makes me feel even worse.

"I'm going to see my mom, and when I get back down, I want you to be gone."