by Skyla Madi
Caleb leans to the left, peering around Nick and into his apartment. Under my hands, his back tightens when he sees it—the massive, spread-out pile of my destroyed belongings.
“You ruined her things?” Caleb asks, and the dead calm of his voice is terrifying.
Squaring his shoulders, Nick’s preppy charcoal sweater tightens, and he inches forward. “Get the hell away from my door before I call the police.”
With an arrogant twitch of his lips, Nick slowly closes the door, and I breathe out a sigh of relief, resting my body against Caleb’s. With my ear against his back, I can hear his heart racing in his chest and a soft growl as it vibrates his ribs. Then, I’m pulled forward as Caleb launches. I release him in a hurry as he rears back and slams his foot against the door, sending it flying open and Nick stumbling backwards. I clasp a hand over my mouth as Caleb barges into the apartment.
“Call the police. I don’t give a fuck!” he shouts, and I rush in after him only to slam into his back as he stops in his thunderous tracks.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Nick warns, his rough, raspy voice lifting the hairs on the back of my neck.
Caleb reaches behind himself and grabs me. His fingers hold me in a vice, my bones aching under his strong grip. I suck a sharp air between my teeth and peer around him. My heart freezes, blood drains from my face to pool in my shoes when I realize I’m staring down the barrel of a gun pointed directly at Caleb’s face. I let out a gentle sob as my vision blurs and I cling tightly to Caleb.
“N-Nick…” I try to speak, but all that leaves my mouth is a pathetic whisper he doesn’t hear.
A bitter laugh echoes through the room. Surprisingly, it comes from Caleb.
“You’re not gonna shoot me,” he taunts Nick. Does he have a death wish? “You don’t have the balls.”
My eyes go wide, my mouth dries. Nick stares at Caleb, his eyes twinkling with the urge to prove him wrong, his long arm outstretched, squeezing the gun tight in his hand, a menacing index finger flirting with the trigger. Adrenaline hits me like a bolt of lightning, and I pry myself out of Caleb’s hold. I get less than a foot from his left when he snags my coat and tries to pull me back. By then, Nick already has the gun pointing at the space between my eyes. My knees wobble, my stomach threatens to hurl whatever I’ve eaten today, and my spine is but a strip of jelly.
“This isn’t like you,” I tell him, my voice still pathetic and weak, full of sorrow and fear.
“Shut up,” he snaps, the purple around his eyes deepening with his sneer. “You don’t know a thing about me.”
I step forward, shrugging out of Caleb’s hold. He whispers my name, but I ignore it. I pretend he isn’t standing there, that he’s not an easy target for Nick to destroy. How far will he go to ruin everything I claim as mine?
“I know you’re not a murderer,” I say, and Nick’s hooded eyelids flutter. “We’re going to leave. We’ll leave you alone, just don’t—”
“You’re right. I’m not a murderer.”
I hold perfectly still and slowly let air out of my ballooning lungs.
“I could turn the gun on myself,” he adds, his hand beginning to tremble, “but you’re not worth it, are you?”
I shake my head, unfazed by the tears dripping onto my cheeks. “No. No, I’m not worth it.”
Nick licks his lips, the gun shaking furiously now. I hold my breath. All it takes is a little pressure on that small trigger and Caleb…I don’t want to think about it.
An eternity later, Nick lowers his arm and rubs at his eyes. “Get out of my sight. Both of you. Before I do something I’ll regret.”
I whirl fast on my heel and snag Caleb’s forearm, but he digs his heels in, refusing to move.
“Caleb,” I warn in a stern whisper. “Now is not the time to worry about a bruised ego.”
He cuts his eyes at me. “Your stuff is—”
“Gone,” I snap under my breath, and he relaxes his body, allowing me to move him toward the door. “We need to go before something bad happens. We can call the police later.”
He frowns and looks back to the pile of my belongings. I look too. Nick stands beside it, scratching the back of his head with the handle of his gun and drinking a small bottle of something with the other. Nodding, Caleb steps behind me and ushers me out the door, closing it behind him. The following series of events whiz past in a blur as a fog of shock settles on me. Caleb takes me a few streets away in the van he hired and we sit in the dark, in the cold, as he calls the police and tells them what happened. He gives them our details, then the call is finished.
“They’re going to his apartment now,” Caleb utters, slipping his phone into his pocket. “They said they’ll call me back after.”
I nod and look at him. My heart stutters. Fresh tears threaten my eyes. What would I’ve done if Nick had hurt him? Caleb tilts his head.
“Don’t think about it.”
“I can’t help it.” I press a hand to my stomach. “I was terrified he’d shoot you.”
“I knew he wasn’t going to shoot me.”
I scoff. What a stupid, egotistical thing to say. “Oh, yeah? How so?”
“It’s not the first time I’ve had a gun pointed in my direction,” he admits, and I balk. “It felt different. He wouldn’t’ve shot me—probably didn’t have any bullets in the chamber.”
I turn my torso in his direction. “Regardless of what you think you know, what you did was dangerous. He wasn’t in his right mind. You could’ve been killed. We both could have.”
Caleb reaches over and takes my gloved hands in his. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
Genuine sympathy flows over his features, and he strokes the back of my hand with his thumb. I hate my irritation melts away so effortlessly with a simple touch from him, a simple look. Does that make me pathetic? Weak? Does it make me a stupid girl because he bends me so easily to his will?
My thoughts fall to Nick and how hard he tried to squeeze affection out of me. Sometimes, I'd give him a spoonful. Other times, a drop. Would it have hurt to have given him more to keep him happy? To keep him from spiraling out of control?
I look out the front windscreen. “He used to be a good friend, you know. I don’t recognize him anymore. Am I to blame? For doing this to him?”
“If I’ve learned anything recently, it’s that you can’t hold yourself accountable for the actions of others.” He cups my cheek and guides my face until our gazes meet. “It’s you and me, Cassia. It’s always going to be you and me. We belong together, and I have no sympathy for anyone who tries to get in between us." My pulse quickens under his stare and tingles zip over my skin as his words resonate with my soul. Inching forward, I lift my chin, bringing my mouth closer to his. “All that blame in your chest…give it to me. It’s my fault. I did this. Not you.”
I don’t believe that for a second. It takes two. It always takes two.
“We did it,” I say. “From now on, we shoulder everything together.”
His lips twitch, and he grazes them against mine, the touch so gentle I barely feel it. “Can I show you something?” he whispers, his warm breath skittering along my skin.
Show me something? What could he possibly want to show me? I nod and, before I know it, he’s tugging me out of the van and ushering me inside a dark building that smells of paint and cardboard.
“Caleb?” I utter. I lift my arms and hold my hands out in front of me, in case I’m on a collision course. “Where are you?”
It’s too dark to see anything, not a glow from the lights outside, not an outline of furniture, only darkness.
“Here.”
I startle at the sound of his rich voice by my ear and flinch when he grabs my wrist and gently pulls me closer. Keys rattle in his pocket, then silence ensues. A few long seconds later, the flashlight on his phone lights up the space and I’m looking at…well, I’m not quite sure what I’m looking at. Whatever it is, it’s certainly abstract art on a canvas bigger than my old bedroom wall. Pinks, purp
les, blues, and various mixtures of the three coat every inch of the surface.
“Whoa.” I take a step back and glance around the room. It’s a simple lobby, plain and clean with shiny metal trimmings. “Where are we?”
Caleb turns his phone on a doorway off to the left and guides me toward it. “The studio.”
For no reason at all, my cheeks burn like hellfire and my chest tightens. I’m overwhelmed, suddenly. “Bree’s studio? Where you paint? Are we allowed in here?”
The silence that follows my question is suspicious. He breaks it with a light, casual chuckle and leads me through the door into another room with all the confidence in the world. In here, smells are stronger. It’s not unpleasant, just different.
Caleb releases my hand and crosses the room, laughing a little more. “Not really, no, but I have a key. It’s not like we broke in.”
“Just because you have a key—”
I startle as a warm, yellow light flicks on in the corner of the studio, lighting up a small, disheveled painter’s station. I turn toward it, toward the array of painted canvases—both complete and incomplete. My breath catches in my throat, and thoughts of Nick and what he did floats away.
They’re feminine, intimate paintings, the kind that should only hang in the master bedroom or somewhere guests don’t go.
“Are these yours?” I ask, waltzing closer, mesmerized, like a moth to a flame.
“Yeah.”
The painting on the easel is the one demanding my attention. A female painted from her cupid’s bow down to her elegant collarbones. Her lips are full and soft, swollen from hard, desperate kissing. Slender, male fingers stained with faint but colorful paints rest against the column of her throat. It stirs butterflies in my tummy, and longing burns in my blood.
“They’re beautiful.” I swallow hard. “Not what I was expecting from you.”
“What were you expecting when I told you I painted?”
I peer over my shoulder at him as he saunters closer, shrugging out of his jacket. His black sweater clings tightly to his torso, and he rolls the sleeves to his elbows, his attention focused on me. I turn back to the painting.
“Messy, dark blotches. Intricate mental pieces only you would understand.” Despite my better judgment, I reach out and touch the painter’s hand. “Your lines are so clean…the details…your paintings are flawless.” I glance over my shoulder, and he’s right there, behind me, a hairsbreadth away. “You did these? Really?”
He nods.
I move around his work space, skimming everything with my hand. All of this is his? I pluck a thin, blue paintbrush out of an old mug and thumb the soft bristles. “You are amazing. How?”
Caleb glances away, rubbing his fingers against his palms, like he’s nervous. Or embarrassed. I wonder if it’s difficult for him? Having me in such a private place?
“Bree coaches me.” He pushes his fingers through his messy, blond hair. “I’m not as good as her—or any of the artists that work here—but I try.”
My lips quirk. “I think you’re very good.”
I glance around his workspace once more. This time, a thick turquoise folder catches my attention. “What’s in there?”
“Photographs of my work. Bree thinks it’s important I keep an image of each one to see how far I’ve come.”
“Can I?”
He nods gently, and I push the paintbrush through my hair to sit on my ear, then I grab the folder, opening it right up to the middle. I flick through it, marveling over each painting. Some big, some small. Some sold, some unsold. The only constant in his portfolio of paintings is the women he draws. Smirking, I lift my gaze to Caleb.
“I’m sensing a theme…”
He arches an eyebrow and smiles. “What theme?”
I turn the folder around and rest it against my chest.
“Do you only paint women?” I ask, flipping page after page.
Caleb admires his work for a few long seconds before finally ambling closer.
“Women? No.” He plucks the brush from the shell of my ear and, with a playful flick, he swipes its soft bristles against my upper lip. It tickles my lips, upturning their corners. “I only paint you.”
My smile melts off my face, and I frown, turning the folder around so I can see it once more. I flip page after page, confused. His paintings are mostly bodily snippets of intimate scenes. They can’t be me, at least not all of them. “None of these are me.”
“They’re all you,” he insists, flicking the brush along my chin. “The parts of you that make me calm, happy, content…nostalgic.” I lift my head, and his green eyes flash, electrifying my blood. “Of course, it’s mostly from memory, then fantasy. We weren’t together for a long time. I’m humble enough to admit my paintings don’t measure up to the real Cassia Claire.”
I stare at him. He’s serious…I’m the muse for his paintings. “Me?”
I blink. I’m having trouble processing this. I’m stuck between confused and extremely turned on. He finds me that beautiful? To incorporate my facial features and my body into his work—and then sells it to people?
“Yes, you.” He takes the folder out of my hands and tosses it on a nearby counter. “Your lips, throat, collar bone,” he utters, touching me with his brush in those places. “The fullness of your breasts, the arch of your back, the curves of your hips, and the shape of your thighs…”
He pushes the brush inside my coat and slips it under the waistband of my jeans. Tingles race up my inner thighs and pool at their apex. Mortified, I clamp my hand over my abdomen, stopping him from pushing the brush any further.
“Don’t tell me you’ve painted my—”
“I haven’t.” He pulls the brush free and tosses it over his shoulder. “That is mine. For my eyes only.”
Snatching the ties to my coat in his hands, he yanks the bow free, and I stand perfectly still, even though every cell in my being is bouncing all over the place, begging me to cave to the vibration his nearness arouses. With calculated fingers, Caleb unbuttons my coat and opens it up, pushing it off my shoulders.
“And it’s only snippets of me? No one will be able to tell?”
My coat falls down my arms, and he tugs it over my hands before throwing it to the side. I grab the hem of his sweater, pulling him closer, our hips touching. He smooths his wide palms against my waist and down the small of my back. Hot flushes of heat gather at my collar and my breasts grow heavy despite my supportive bra.
“I keep you, in your entirety, to myself. From what I’ve painted on canvas, no one could pick you out of a crowd. No one besides me.”
I lift myself onto the tips of my toes, closing the distance between our mouths. “Promise?”
Our breaths clash, our noses almost grazing. He flicks his intense green stare over my face, then looks me dead in the eyes. “I promise.”
Caleb seals his mouth over mine and kisses me slowly, sensually, until the surface of my lips tingle and the hair on the back of my neck stands to attention. I desperately try to contain the pounding of my heart as his mouth parts and his tongue flicks against my lower lip, demanding access. I give it to him. I open my mouth and he dips inside, consuming me with his powerful kiss.
Every swipe of his tongue against mine sucks air from my lungs, and the feel of his impossibly large hands, as he slides them against my ass and squeezes, sends my nerves flaring through my body. He knows how to kiss and he’s fucking perfect at it. I’m kissed dizzy in seconds, drunk on endorphins.
Slowing, Caleb ends the kiss by raking his teeth over my lower lip, forcing a hiss from me, and eases back. I don’t say anything as his eyes trek my whole face and, God, they’re beautiful. Everything about him is beautiful. He looks at me in ways I’ve never been looked at before, as if I hold the answer to every question he’s ever had.
“I have a gift for you,” he says softly. “I was going to save it until our wedding, but I think now’s a good time.”
Releasing me, he digs into his pocket.<
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“A gift? Seeing your studio is enough. I don’t need…” I trail off as he produces a coin.
He shifts his hand and lets the coin with the small hole in the center dangle from a thin strip of leather. It sways before me, beckoning me to take it in my hand, but I don’t get it? What significance does this generic coin have?
“I know it doesn’t replace all the trinkets you kept in your pink box, but it’s the first piece for your new one,” he says, gently moving his hand so the coin sways. “You might not remember. I’ll give you a clue. It decided where we ate.”
I frown, thinking back on our time together. It hits me then.
I settle the coin on my thumb and flick it. It flips in the air and I catch it, placing it on the back of my hand. I lift my hand and tails is the winner.
“Burgers it is.”
“Burgers it is,” I repeat, flicking him the coin. He catches it in his right hand and splays it on his palm to look at it. “I’ll take you to Benny’s.”
I reach out and take the coin. “Is that—”
“The coin you flipped to decide between pizza and burgers? Yeah.”
He beams widely, making my heart flutter. I gape at him, unable to contain the love I feel for him as it swells through my veins. “You kept it?”
“Couldn’t bring myself to let it go.”
“Why?”
“It was a turning point for me. Dinner with you was the first time I didn’t feel as cold as the winter air. It renewed me.” Caleb bends over and picks up my coat with an exhale. “Reality is, I’m head over heels in love with you, Cassia. You saved my life.” He dusts off my coat and opens it up. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take you home and bend you over our kitchen counter. I’d do it here, but there are too many cameras.”
A fierce blush tears across my face, and I glance up at the ceiling, searching for the watchful little black globes. Above the glow of Caleb’s station, it’s as dark as the night sky.