Deliver Us (The Sinful Duet Book 2)

by Skyla Madi

  I clear my throat and have all the intention in the world to knock, but I can’t bring myself to lift my fist. Caleb gently squeezes my hand in his, encouraging me to do it. He watches me choke with patience, allowing me time to pull myself together.

  “Would it help if I told you they’re waiting for you?” he says. I hear him loud and clear but keep my attention on the wooden door. “I texted them. They want to see you.”

  I glance sideways at Caleb, unsure if I should be relieved or annoyed. Either way, I’m too nervous to commit to any other emotion besides the crippling anxiety in my chest. “They’re happy?”

  His alluring lips quirk. “Your mom’s been texting me non-stop for the past ninety minutes. She cooked peanut butter brownies just for you.”

  God, I do love her peanut butter brownies. I look back to the door and utter, “Why do I feel so sick about seeing my parents?”

  “It’s been a long time. You’re worried they’re still not going to accept you for who you are and slam the door in your face.” He strokes my hand. “You have everything to gain and nothing to lose tonight, Cass.”

  “How so?”

  “If you go in there and reunite with your parents, you regain the two family members you lost. If you don’t reconcile, and they toss you out, you still have everything you arrived with.”

  I glance at him and smirk. “Not my pride.”

  He laughs quietly. “Your pride might take a hit, but you won’t lose it.”

  I exhale and shake my shoulders, loosening the tension under my blades. He’s right. I’ve got nothing to lose. Regardless of what happens, I’m still going to marry Caleb tomorrow and I’ll gain a whole new family—Caleb, Father Andrews, and Penelope—and they’ll love me so much, I won’t feel the deep hole not having my parents in my life has dug. I lift my arm and clench my fist. I exhale one more time and pull my fist back. I drop it forward, only for Caleb to catch me by the wrist. Frowning, I snap my head in his direction.

  “Before you do that…”

  I open my fist as he glides his warm, damp palm against mine and lowers my arm, then gets down on one knee. I inch back, confused. “Caleb?”

  He reaches behind him and, from his back pocket, produces a strangely familiar deep ruby red box.

  “Caleb…” I say on an exhale as unbridled heat rushes into my cheeks. “What? What is this?”

  “You caught me off guard at the fair. I didn’t have it on me.”

  He opens the box, and I gasp at the round-cut diamond, tethered by four gold prongs that sweep into a smooth, shiny gold band. I recognize it immediately as my late grandmother’s ring. My father used to let me hold it as he told me stories of my grandparents’ epic love during the Second World War and how my grandfather saved up for years to buy her this ring, the one I’ve coveted my whole life. When she passed, she left it to me. The note to my father when he received the little ruby box said I was only to wear it when I was certain I’d found true love. I have that with Caleb. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

  “I was going to save it until we got home,” he adds, plucking the ring from the box and slipping it onto my finger. It’s a perfect fit. I always knew it would be. “But I figure now is as good a time as any to give it to you.”

  I can’t take my eyes off the large diamond. Under the cool porch light, it sparkles with as much beauty as a star, reminding me of the view from the Ferris wheel.

  “My dad gave you this? To give to me?”

  Caleb nods, and I eye him suspiciously.

  “You didn’t steal it?”

  He laughs and straightens, lifting himself from his knee. “I didn’t steal it, though I thought about it since it’s yours anyway.” Caleb wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me flush against him. I glide my palms up his clothed biceps, then thread my fingers together behind his neck, and smile as he kisses the tip of my nose. “Your dad said you’ve admired it since you were little. He also said you’re the only girl in the world good enough to wear it.”

  My heart swells with love and emotion I can’t contain in the confines of my ribs. It bubbles up my throat and wells in my eyes. I’ve been crushed under my father’s disdain for so long, I no longer thought he considered me good or worthy.

  “Why did you go to all this trouble for me?” I ask. “Making up with my parents? Keeping them company while I was gone?”

  He shrugs and looks across the vast front lawn, a little bashful. “I can’t take all the credit. It was Penelope’s idea.”

  “Really?” I’m genuinely surprised to hear it was her idea. She must love her brother and care deeply about his happiness.

  “Mm.” He flicks his green stare back to my face. “At the time, I couldn’t think of anything worse than being in the company of your parents, but Penelope showed me it wasn’t about them. It was about us. Our future. They grew on me after a while.”

  “Thank you. It means a lot to me, even though I haven’t been on speaking terms with them.” I brush my thumb along his neck, the tip slipping into his hair. “If you can’t sleep tonight, call me. I’ll come home.”

  The corners of his lips twitch, tugging his lips into a kind smile. Then he slowly closes the distance between us and kisses me on the mouth. We kiss for a long time. It’s unhurried and sweet, just the two of us content and appreciative with our evening. It’s a complete three-sixty to how we spent the majority of the afternoon. Caleb was broody and distant—understandably so—but I like us like this. Together.

  Happy.

  Breaking the kiss, I run my hands down Caleb’s arms and take his hands in mine.

  “Good night,” I say to him, and he says it back before knocking on the door and walking away.

  My heart is in my throat as the locks are turned and the handle trembles under someone’s grip. My palms leak with my anxiety, and I wipe them against my jean-clad thighs. When the door opens, I’m met with by the kind, familiar face of my mother. Her vibrant eyes go wide and flood with tears as she cups her face. She was expecting me, but you’d think I’ve taken her completely by surprise. I give her a small wave.

  “Cassia?” she chokes out, shaking her head. Her new light caramel-colored hair sits against her shoulders. “My baby.”

  Mom shoots forward, wrapping me up tight in her arms, and sobs into my hair. Her emotion is contagious and, damn it, I get swept up in it. I cry. I cry my ass off, my whole body shakes with hers, and I hold onto her so tight, I’m probably cutting off her air supply. I didn’t realize until now how much I needed my mother, needed her shoulder to cry on, her ear to ramble into. I lived in scary New York City without her as my guide. I’d have refused to admit it at the time, but now…right now…I’ve missed her more than anything else. My mother was my first best friend, and in the hierarchy of best friends, she is queen, regardless of any falling outs or disagreements. We’ve had a rough time of it, but for her to accept me as the free-spirited, sex-driven woman I am, I must accept her for the God-fearing, church-loving woman she is and hope we can find a mutual path to co-exist on, even if it eventually branches off into different directions. The same goes for my father. Pulling herself together, Mom touches my face, my hair, my arms, and whispers all the things she loves about me, telling about all the things she’s missed, how happy she is I’m here. We talk for a little while. About Caleb, about our engagement. Her eyes are alight with happiness for me. They’re alight with pride and excitement and I know, without a doubt, she adores Caleb. I never thought I’d see the day. He’s done a real number on her. I’d be surprised if I didn’t know how charming Caleb can be to men and women alike whenever he wants something.

  Mom steps to the side and gestures for me to go inside. Anxiety runs rampant again, shaking me to my core this time. My mother has always been the easy one to handle. The true challenge is my father.

  “Your friend is here to see you,” Mom calls over my shoulder as I step over the threshold and into the house.

  Familiarity warms my chest and
threatens to overwhelm me. Everything looks the same. Everything smells the same. There’s no better feeling in the world than returning home to see your parents. I’ve heard people talk about it, in movies, songs, and poems, but it’s lackluster compared to experiencing it yourself.

  I frown and keep walking. “Friend?”

  “Yes,” she says with glee.

  My lips pull into a smile. There’s only one friend who can make my mother smile like she is and that’s Fiona. Sneaky. I kick off my heels and stroll into the living room to see—oh. I freeze, my heart stutters, and my smile falls when I see him sitting there on the couch, enjoying tea with my father. I rake my eyes over his dark, messy hair, and clean-shaven face. A white, button-up shirt covers his burly shoulders and wraps neatly around his thick torso. I take in his black slacks and shiny, leather shoes. He looks rich and powerful. I know he’s not. He looks smug and arrogant. I meet his eyes as he sits forward to place his teacup down on the table. On his lap, our family photo album is splayed, photos of me litter every page. I watch, everything seemingly in slow-motion and eerily silent, as he closes the album and lifts himself to his feet.

  “Sia,” he greets me, beaming widely, his dark eyes glistening with happiness and…and something else. Anger, maybe. “Surprise.”

  I try to look away, to look at my father who sits in his favorite armchair, but he’s blocked by the man I thought I left behind in New York.

  I swallow hard. “Nick.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  C A L E B

  “You’re engaged?” My father closes his heavy book and sets it down on the antique table beside his mahogany wing armchair. Folding one leg over the other, he peers down his straight nose at me. “To be married?”

  I cross my arms over my chest and lean against the door frame of his spacious home office, unwavering under his green, disapproving stare. “Yes.”

  “To Cassia? Tomorrow?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “And you want me to be the one who marries you two? A Catholic priest marrying two Catholics…in a hospital room…and not under the roof of a Catholic church in accordance with the Code of Canon Law?”

  Irritation prickles up the back of my neck as he repeats most of my own words back to me in question form. “It’s for Agnes, Dad,” I say, hoping to tug at his heart strings.

  He adores Agnes. She’s been a member of his church since he started there and has never missed a service, not until recently, that is. I know he visits her every Sunday and repeats what he presented at Mass, even if she’s asleep. Penelope told me.

  “It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard is what it is.” He sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. It reminds of every time he gave me a talk after I’d been suspended from school. “Contrary to popular belief, marriage isn’t a dog and pony show, Caleb. It’s a sacrament akin to baptism, confirmation—”

  “I know what marriage is,” I cut in, my tone colored with aggression.

  I don’t want to be mad. I wanted to approach this delicately, knowing his position in the faith, his dedication to it, but he’s making it difficult. I’m not an idiot. I know what’s required of two Catholics who want to marry. I know Canon Law. I also know I don’t have time for any of it. Agnes doesn’t have time.

  “Then you also know there’s a great deal of preparation to be done for a valid Catholic wedding. There’s Pre-Cana classes that need to be taken and—”

  “We’ll have two ceremonies,” I tell him with a shrug. “The first is just for Agnes. No one else needs to know.”

  He inches back, expressionless, like I’ve slapped him in the face. “Canon law forbids a Catholic to have two separate wedding ceremonies. You know this.”

  What does it matter? I push off the frame and turn my back to him, blowing out a heavy exhale. I drag air in through my nose and hold it in my lungs for a beat. How hard is it for him to put on a show? For Agnes? For me? Is it really asking too much?

  “How can you ask this of me?” he demands, his chair creaking as he lifts himself out of it. I turn around to face him, and he stalks toward me. “You want to marry this poor girl because of a lie you told? That’s not love. It’s hardly worthy of—”

  “First of all, it wasn’t a lie. Agnes misheard me, and I didn’t have the heart to correct her.”

  Stopping two feet away, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I fail to see the difference.”

  “Secondly, I was gonna marry Cassia anyway. I’d already spoken to Marcus and Linda. Agnes getting sick just sped up the timeline.”

  “You’re not thinking this through.” He barks out a single laugh and throws his hands up. “When I think you’ve done everything you possibly can to leave me speechless, something else comes up. When is it going to end? When will you grow up?”

  “When you accept I am grown,” I shoot back. “This is me, the fucking mess that you raised.”

  Dad purses his lips, lips that look so much like my own, and holds my gaze. He needs to know I’m serious, that this isn’t a game, but I can see it in his dark, green eyes and the furrow of his tidy eyebrows. He’s not at all convinced. Despite his irritation, he relaxes his shoulders and speaks calmly. “I strongly urge you and Cassia to wait and marry inside the church. If you don’t, neither of you can receive the sacraments of communion. Ever.”

  He says ever like it’s supposed to scare me. At this point in my life, missing out on communion is the least of my concerns. “Fuck Canon Law. Fuck communion.”

  Down the hall, somewhere, a door clicks shut. Penelope. I purse my lips, swallowing the rest of my words. A string of expletives, mostly.

  Even in the dim, warm book lamp, I see his face redden. I’ve done some shit in my life—shit I’ve never confessed or repented for—and have still taken communion. If he knew, if he believed everything he’s heard and stopped denying it, he’d never speak to me again. He’d regret chasing that loophole that allowed him to be a priest and marry and raise children. He’d wish it was me who was taken that morning by the red-haired man, not Penelope. That beckons the question how’s she the well-adjusted one after everything she’s been through? She didn’t find her mother dead on the kitchen floor, bleeding out from her wrists, I suppose. That’ll fuck anyone up.

  Dad’s eyes darken, his glare burning with so much hate I barely recognize him. “When you went to New York, Cassia was with another man, was she not?”

  My heart stutters, my blood heating as Nick is forced into the forefront of my mind. What’s he implying? And how the hell does he know about Nick? I cut my eyes at him. “She had a roommate, yes.”

  It’s not a lie, not really. She might as well have been his roommate. They didn’t fuck, and I refuse to acknowledge whatever else they did.

  “A roommate…right.” His lips twitch, and it’s damn vengeful. “What does that tell you?”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t know, Dad. What does that tell me?”

  He leans forward. “It should tell you that the only times she’s wanted you were when you shouldn’t have been an option. It was her father keeping her from being with you, then this roommate. When are you going to take a step back and ask yourself if it’s you she really loves or the thrill of—”

  “It’s me.” I straighten my posture and square my shoulders, drawing myself to full height. I’ve never hit my father. Not ever. But right now, my fingers are twitching. I clench my fist. “She loves me.”

  Tilting his head, he does this face…this…this…smug, dubious expression I can’t fucking stand. “Are you sure? Could be the forbidden. The drama. The excitement.”

  It takes everything I have in me to keep myself from lashing out at him. “Maybe it’s my personality, my big heart, or everything I’ve sacrificed to be with her.” I poke his chest. “Cassia has chosen me every time. She loves me. It’s got nothing to with the forbidden—which has never been the case between us—or the drama. It’s not even about the sex—which I’m really fucking good at. It’s me.” I
lift my shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Maybe that bothers you.”

  Dad sneers. “And why would that bother me?”

  “Because now I’ve found someone, you’re scared to be the only one still suffering.”

  “I’m not suffering,” he states matter-of-factly, and I simper.

  “No, of course not, because you have God and your church.”

  “So do you. You’ve always had those.”

  I scoff, taking a step back. “I never had those. All I had was a numbness that never left, the pressure of attending church weekly, and the sharp edge of a razor blade.” A weight lifts off my shoulders as the words tumble from my mouth. It’s the first time I’ve confessed my self-harm to him. And it hits him hard. Dad blanches, trying to process what I said. “What Cassia gives me emotionally is more than you have since Mom died, and Agnes, she…she’s the only reason I’m standing here alive today.” He flinches, and I take a beat to compose myself, clearing the thickness from my throat. “I should’ve corrected her, I’ll be the first to admit that, but I didn’t.”

  I scan my father’s face for a reaction once he processes what I’ve told him. Silence hangs in the air, the kind that follows a firework before it explodes in a burst of light and color after it’s shot into the sky. I don’t know what I expect from him. My father’s never been one to shout, or swear, or hit. He approaches all problems with a calm demeanor, and although I made him hot under the collar with irritation tonight, he never came undone. He isn’t like me. He doesn’t explode at the drop of a hat, fly off the rails, or throw a spoiled tantrum. Instead of the silence grating on his nerves like it does me, my father embraces it. He uses the time I give him to roll his shoulders and draw himself to his full height. Silence works like steel wool against my skin but caresses his like a summer breeze, blowing away his anger, filling him with peace. It’s something I need to work on.