by Skyla Madi
It occurs to me we haven’t spoken since our blow out at dinner. I replay our conversation in the hall. I’m certain I ended it between us. I’m certain I was as clear as I can be about it…was I? Nick pushes himself to his feet and stuffs his hand into the pocket of his black slacks. “I'm here to win you back.”
I snort. “No. That’s not happening.”
Simpering, he quirks his lips and gives me an unconvinced bob of his head. From his pocket, he pulls out a small, folded piece of newspaper. “That's what your ex-boyfriend did, right? Came to New York—to my fucking city—to win you back?”
My stomach drops, my mouth suddenly parched, as he unfolds the scrap of newspaper and thrusts the evidence in my face. I lean back a little, and the image comes into focus. Father Andrews and an unknown gentleman standing in the forefront shaking hands is the first thing I see. Church goers are pouring out of the doors and—my lips part as I gasp. In the background, you can clearly see the side profiles of Caleb and me as we stand face to face. He’s pinching my hair between his fingers, his mouth curved in a gentle smile. When the hell was this taken? My heart races and my nerves play my ribs like a damn xylophone.
“Nick—”
“Don't fucking Nick me,” he booms, tossing down the newspaper cut out. He steps forward and towers over me, but I stand my ground against him. “I found it in your room, in an envelope you hadn’t opened, from him.”
I shake my head. I threw all written correspondence from Caleb in the bin as they arrived. I blocked him on all forms of social media; I even blocked his phone number. There’s no way I forgot one. Unless I did…
Oh my God. I can’t believe I missed one!
“I should’ve known,” he utters, seething as he leans into my face. The scent of tea blows across my face, and in it, I detect undertones of…bourbon? Maybe. “When he moved in was right around the time you became distant. Cold. You started getting an attitude. You stopped doing what you were told. Stopped letting me touch you. Stopped sucking my di—”
“Shut up!” I shove his broad shoulders, forcing him out of my face as my cheeks burn bright with humiliation and regret. “You’re a pig.”
“I’d rather be a pig than a whore who can’t keep her legs—”
“Get out,” I hiss through clenched teeth, seething so hard I’m sure steam billows from my ears. “Right now.”
Stepping forward, Nick uses his height against me once more, looming over me like the nightmare he is. “Fucking make me.”
I glare up at him, and he glares down at me. Electricity crackles between us, and it’s not the good kind. It’s the kind that brews over the boiling sea of anger in the deep pit of my stomach. Like a hurricane, it churns with fury, hungry for destruction.
“How could you do this to me, Cassia? I loved you.”
His voice trembles, and I can’t tell if it’s real or fake. Either way, it’s out of my hands and I’m out of patience. It’s not my job to let him down gently, or repeatedly, for that matter. He’s spoiled to the core, rotten like a bad apple, and can’t take no for an answer. My parents might be known for being a little controlling and suffocating, but at least they parented me better than Nick’s mother parented him.
“You weren’t enough,” I tell him, proud my voice doesn’t waver under the pressure of the steam my anger blows through my system.
Lifting his hand, he jabs his index finger into my shoulder, hard enough to make me stumble back a few inches. “Don’t tell me I wasn’t enough. I fucking gave you everything.”
I straighten my posture and square my shoulders. “You were controlling and clingy, not to mention aggressive, negative, unreasonable, spoiled, and—”
“Oh, so it’s all my fault?”
“No, not at all.”
He jabs me in the shoulder again. This time, I manage to keep my footing as I grit my teeth against the brief, blunt stab of pain. “You ruined my life.”
“How did I ruin your life?” I dare ask. “When I move out, it’ll be as if I never moved in. You haven’t lost anything.”
“You withheld sex. That’s a form of abuse!”
I throw my hands up in exasperation and turn away from him. Sex. How can he bring up lack of sex when he was actively fucking other people the entire time? He didn’t miss out on anything.
I face him. “Yes, I withheld sex from you, but it’s not like you were missing out.”
He has the nerve to twist his face, like he doesn’t understand what I’m trying to say. For an accountant, he’s useless at putting two and two together. “I don’t understand.”
“You were sleeping with other women.”
Taken aback, he blanches. “No, I wasn’t.”
“You really think Fiona wouldn’t tell me? You might be her friend, but I’m her best friend.”
“I only ever thought of you,” he says, as if it helps his argument. “I wanted it to be you—imagined them as you.”
I fight a gag. Using women’s bodies and imagining my face on top of theirs? That doesn’t make it better. Hell, it makes it worse. I grimace. “You make me sick.”
“I wouldn’t have cheated if you gave me something.”
The word sends gross chills down my spine. Something. He spits the word as if the “something” he’s referring to is the easiest thing in the world to give. Maybe it is for some. For me, sex has never been about the act. I crave the connection and the intense feelings that build with it.
Without effort, Caleb made butterflies flurry in my stomach and my skin come alive. He made me dizzy with lust, tense with need, and that was before I’d even enter the same room as him. In his presence, my blood hums, my hair prickles, and the most peculiar zap of electricity zips down my spine. He could ask me to do anything in my most vulnerable condition and I would without question because I trust him irrevocably. I have from the beginning.
I liked Nick when I met him. I thought he was handsome, charming, and friendly. I liked how wide and strong his torso was, fantasized about how small I would feel pressed against him, but as time went on, Nick made me feel off and unsafe. In the arms of the man I give my “something” to should be a place I feel safest. I should feel cherished, wanted, and most importantly, respected.
I dodged a bullet not sleeping with Nick. The thought of having him on top, grinding against me as he thrusts inside, breathing his usual beer-scented breath in my face, makes me shudder. I don’t consider myself an experienced lover. I’ve only ever been with Thomas and Caleb, but I noticed early on, back when kissing was as far as we went, that Nick could get ahead of himself—forceful, even. Thomas and Caleb never made me feel uneasy or like I had to give them what they wanted, so to feel that with Nick early on in our relationship put me on edge. Because of that, I didn’t trust him enough to listen to me or take care of me if we were ever intimate. I didn’t trust him to stop if I changed my mind about what we were doing.
“I didn’t have to give you anything,” I tell him. “I wasn’t ready. I wanted to make sure what we had was real before—”
“It was real.”
I hate when he speaks over the top of me and squashes my sentences like his words mean more than mine simply because he speaks them louder and more forcefully than I do. “Not for me.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t take what was mine without asking. I should’ve.”
I purse my lips and rub them together. I’ve never been happier about trusting my own gut instinct. I’m done with this argument. He’s not worth another second of my time.
“How’d you say you two met again?” Mom asks, entering the room, beaming widely.
She likes it when I bring friends home. It gives her a glimpse into my life outside these walls since she doesn’t leave them often. Dad saunters in behind her, caution written all over his face as he dusts off his deep, crimson sweater. Did he hear our argument? How loud were we?
Nick steps back, pushing five angry fingers through his hair as Mom waltzes over, carrying her pink teapot on a beau
tiful, white ceramic tray, a fresh batch of shortbread biscuits stacked neatly in twos along the side.
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “He’s my room—”
“Boyfriend,” he interjects.
My heart stops dead as my eyes go wide. I shake my head at Nick, who pins me with an arrogant glare. Startled, Mom almost drops her tray on top of the coffee table. Forcing herself to steady, she lowers the tray the last inch, setting it down a safely, and straightens the teapot’s lid.
“Did you say boyfriend?” she asks, uncaring her tea has spilled out of the pot and is soaking through the shortbread. “You’re her…surely you mean a boy that’s a friend?”
“No. I’m her boyfriend.”
“What is he talking about, Cassia?” Dad asks, slowly ambling closer, stopping behind the couch.
His jaw is tight, his dark irises nestled behind two thin, confused slits. I open my mouth and all that comes out is a pathetic stammer.
“Oh, she didn’t tell you? We’ve been dating most of the year.” Nick steps closer, but I back up, until my calves bump the other armchair in the room. “I’d say it’s pretty serious, wouldn’t you, Sia?”
He’s crazy. Actually fucking crazy. My attention flickers to my father, who glares down his nose at me. Hurt and humiliation take a hold of my gut and squeeze. I hate that look.
“No. Absolutely not.” My voice is undermined by tones of anger and distress. He knows how fragile my relationship with my parents is—especially between my father and me. Why would he do this? Can’t he see I’m desperately trying to salvage it? “You need to leave.”
“You hurt me,” he mutters. The golden rivers of honey flare in his brown eyes and finish his sentence for him. Now I’m going to hurt you. “Cassia and I were living together, and dating, up until she started fucking our neighbor behind my back.”
My mother gasps, my father makes a tight, disgusted noise in his throat, and my face heats up.
“That’s not true!” My voice cracks, and I don’t know who to look at, who to plead my innocence to, so I whip my attention between the three of them. “We broke up before Caleb and I had se—” I swallow the rest of my sentence. “We broke up.”
“We had an argument!” Nick shoots back.
I lock my watery gaze on him. “And we ended it.”
“I don’t recall agreeing to anything.”
“You don’t have to agree. I had enough.” I look my dad in the eyes to show him exactly what I’ve been dealing with in New York. “He once said to me and I quote, ‘I drink to tolerate your bitchy attitude. Alcohol is the only thing keeping me from beating you.’” I point a finger at Nick. “He’s a fucking psychopath!”
There’s no way Dad will judge me for choosing Caleb in the end. Caleb, and everything I feel for him, gave me the energy and the strength to get out before Nick could tear me down enough to settle with him. It was heading that way. I was making excuses for him, telling lies to everyone, and myself, about all he does for me and how great he is. I want to kick myself for pretending everything was okay.
It was toxic. He is toxic.
“I say a lot of stupid shit when I’m drunk.” Nick shrugs his shoulders and looks to my father, expecting him to agree, or at least understand. “Who doesn’t, am I right?”
“Doesn’t mean you won’t be held accountable for it,” Dad tells him.
My frown smooths out, and I look at my father. His face is clouded in judgment, his fists clenched at his sides. He’s on my side? I can’t tell.
“I was drunk,” Nick says, scowling at Dad.
“He told me I was lucky he didn’t take from me without asking.”
Whipping his hand up, I flinch as Nick points his damn index finger in my face. “That’s a fucking lie.”
Clenching my teeth, I growl in frustration and sidestep, sliding my calves along the edge of the armchair. “It’s over, Nick. It’s been over for months. Move on.”
Growling, he whirls on his heel and kicks the coffee table. I jolt and my mother jumps back, clenching her chest. Metal spoons clash against the ceramic, and something breaks.
He’s out of his mind…
“Get out of my house!” my father booms, and for once, it’s not aimed at me.
“Fucking gladly.” Nick shoulders past me, and I stumble back in my semi-tall heels. Inhaling sharply, I grab onto the armchair and use it to right my balance.
Without a glance over his shoulder, Nick snatches the door handle and rips the door open. Immediately my gaze meets a pair of stormy, green irises hidden underneath the deepest frown I’ve ever seen.
Caleb.
Oh shit.
My breath hitches as the door swings wide and slams against the wall. He flicks his dark stare from Nick to me and, for a split second, he looks crushed.
“This is why you weren’t answering my calls?”
My heart pounds against my ribs. “I promise you, it’s not what it looks like. I had no—”
“It’s exactly what it looks like. We had tea, some delicious shortbread too.” Nick steps up to Caleb, matching him in height. “Then she blew me in the—”
Caleb seizes Nick’s shirt in his hands as anger morphs his face into one I don’t recognize. With a feral growl, Caleb yanks him onto the porch. I rush forward, ignoring my father, who demands my mother and I hide in the kitchen and lock the door behind him. I leap onto the porch, shouting Caleb’s name as he cocks his arm back and slams his tightly coiled fist into Nick’s mouth, the impact emitting a resounding thump that makes me wince and cover my mouth. Holy shit.
Nick stumbles backward, his right hand flying to his bleeding lip, his left hand flailing for something to hold onto to keep him from falling. As Nick hunches, groaning and spitting blood onto my parents’ porch, Caleb paces, clenching his fists on and off at his sides. All I can do is watch him as he processes the realization of Nick being here in Paradise Valley, of being in my parents’ house with me. Then he turns toward me. I swallow hard and lower my hands. I want to reach out to him, to touch him and hold him, to do my best to calm him down, but he’s in no mind to want affection from me. I can see it in his eyes. He’s furious…and hurt.
“This!” Caleb shouts, making me jump. His voice is so loud my neighbors’ front lights begin to flick on one by one. “This piece of shit is the reason you weren’t answering my calls?”
“I couldn’t.” I inch forward. “I was trying to get him to leave, peacefully.”
Caleb’s nose twitches, and he look away, seemingly consumed by his thoughts. His broad chest rises and falls with every shallow breath, his jaw sliding as he grinds his teeth. Does he believe me? Or does he think I orchestrated this whole thing? Despite what he’s walked into, it’s not the only reason for his mood. The man standing in front of me isn’t my Caleb. My Caleb is sarcastic and mischievous in his retaliation, never unhinged and violent. I assume things didn’t go well with his father. Why else would he be this volatile? I know Nick infuriates him, but this is excessive, even for him.
“You weren’t there,” Caleb utters, swinging his sorrowful gaze to me.
His look…his sad, pained look slugs me in the stomach. “Where?”
Grunting and muttering, Nick draws himself to full height, and it’s enough to provoke Caleb, like poking a bear with a stick. I recoil as he launches at Nick and snags the collar of his shirt and hits him twice in the face—thump, thump—knocking him flat on his back. Caleb doesn’t stop there, and my gut revolts as my father brushes past me in a hurry, demanding Caleb to calm down before someone calls the police, if they haven’t already. Oblivious to the warnings, Caleb snatches Nick by the collar again and punches him in the nose.
More noise. More blood. More outdoor lights turn on.
“All right,” Nick groans, his voice barely audible through the blood in his mouth. “I fucking give up. Christ.”
Dad throws himself onto Caleb’s back and wraps his arms underneath Caleb’s, pulling them out so he can’t use them. He doesn’
t fight against my father’s grip. He doesn’t do anything as Dad mutters in his ear and releases him with a nudge toward the stairs. Without a glance over his shoulder, he storms down the steps and I’m already rushing after him.
“Caleb…”
He ignores me.
I call his name over and over as he marches across the front lawn to his truck, a truck that has a very concerned Father Andrews standing in front of it. He offers me a tight, sad smile before returning to the truck. I frown in confusion and grab Caleb’s arm. His forearm muscles tense in my hand as I pull on him, forcing him to turn around and face me. My heart stutters when our eyes meet. I don’t see what I saw in them earlier this evening. There’s no love, no kindness, or empathy. All I see is darkness and hatred. It’s terrifying, but I know it’s not because of me. It can’t be.
“What’s wrong?” My voice comes out soft, so soft it almost blows away with the breeze.
I rub my thumb against his arm, and it makes the crinkles around his eyes deepen until his scowl is complete and burning a painful hole in my chest.
“You weren’t there!” he yells in my face, his deep, furious voice bouncing around my skull and echoing down the street.
Absorbing my flinch, I try to make sense of what he’s saying. “Where, Caleb? Where was I supposed to be?”
“She’s gone. Dead.” He starts to shake with so much rage it terrifies me. “And you…” His voice cracks, splintering my heart.
Oh, no. Agnes. She’s gone? She’s passed away? Every cell in my being deflates and aches for him. My heart beats painfully into my ribs and bleeds for him.
“Come here…” I whisper, gently tugging on his hand.
He inches closer, and hope floods me. I want to hold him. I want to support him, to love him until he feels better. He moves close, so close I can feel the warmth exuding from his body. I need to feel it against me, his warmth, his love. I need him to take me back to the same headspace as earlier, before Nick ruined everything. Swallowing hard, Caleb lowers his gaze from my face, to my hand on his arm. Another deep bout of hurt flickers across his features, and he shakes off my grip. “You weren’t there for me.”