Fairytale Kisses

by Kim Bailey

  “I do,” I pipe up. “Chante thought she was protecting me.”

  “Protecting you? How?” Cal grates. “Don’t get me wrong,” he tells her. “I think you did the right thing—sending him to get clean—I just don’t understand why you’d lie about it. How’s that protecting anyone?”

  “Because,” I explain. “Sometimes it’s easier to be disappointed and move on, than it is to hold hope that things can be better. He doesn’t love me—he never did—and no amount of rehab was ever going to change that.”

  “Yes.” Chante gives me a sad, apologetic smile.

  “I forgive you,” I tell her. Tugging free of Caleb’s hold, I move toward her, her normally cool demeanor giving way as I bring her in for a tight hug. “But, you owe me a hell of a lot of ice cream.”

  Laughing, she pulls out of the hug. “Craving fried pickles, yet?” Her smile widens, her red-rimmed eyes filled with tears, once again. “I can whip up some chocolate covered spicy tuna, if you prefer.”

  “Please,” I giggle. “I haven’t been sick in weeks, don’t make me gag.”

  “Dr. Coté?” Our friendly reunion is broken up by Sean’s doctor. “I’d like to speak with you about Mr. Iverson’s condition?”

  “It’s fine, Ed,” she tells him. “This is my family, you can speak freely in front of them. How’s he doing?”

  “As we anticipated, he’s got a slight concussion. Although, he’s not nearly as bad off as we’d expected. He seems to be reacting well to the medications—we’ve been cautious, considering his history. All-in-all, he’s doing fine.” He shrugs. “I think your husband was right. Mr. Iverson seems to have a horseshoe shoved... somewhere.”

  Hearing that Sean’s going to be all right is relieving. But the only thing my brain picked up from that conversation was the term husband. Husband?

  Surely, he’s mistaken. He must have simply assumed.

  “Please, don’t let him hear you say that. If there’s anything my husband loves, it’s being right.”

  There it is again. Husband.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Chantal. I think he’s quite in love with you, too.” With a quick pat to her shoulder, Ed says, “You can see Mr. Iverson now, but I’d suggest limiting the conversation and...why am I telling you. You know, the standard drill for head trauma.”

  “Thanks, Ed.” She turns back to us, a giant grin on her face. It’s a smile with a wistful, innocent quality to it, and it looks incompatible with the woman I know. The woman I thought I knew. “Are we doing this?” she asks congenially.

  “Is now really the best time?” I ask, concerned for Sean’s health and my own stability.

  “Really?” Cal hisses. “Are we all going to pretend that didn’t just happen?”

  Chante’s smile doesn’t fade, but it does transform to something less virtuous, a hell of a lot less virtuous. “I don’t know, I’ve heard you’re rather good at pretending.”

  “I’m willing to drop it,” I say, breaking up their verbal war before it can get started.

  “Thank you, Zadie.” Chante smirks.

  “For now,” I interject. “I assume you planned on telling us the whole story, preferably over a vat of ice cream.” Her expression is uncertain. “Unless you were expecting me to go find your husband to ask him about it. I’m guessing I’ll find him in the waiting room.”

  “It’s a really long story,” she says.

  “Lucky for you, we’ve got time to listen,” Cal bites. “Zadie’s not due until May.”

  “Shut it, Cal,” Chante bites back.

  “Enough,” I cut in. “Let’s go see Sean and get this over with, before it’s too late. Please.”

  “Absolutely,” Cal readily complies, taking my hand in his own. “Chante?”

  “Yeah, okay,” she agrees. “You got this, babe.”

  “You’ve got this, but we’re right here for you, just in case,” Cal promises.

  Turning to him, I cup his jaw, running my thumb over the smooth structure of his face. “Just in case,” I murmur.

  His mouth descends over mine, catching me off guard, sweeping me up in a wash of potent desire.

  “For fuck sake,” Chante loudly complains. “Unwanted audience over here.”

  Ignoring her, I give into the feeling of floating, Caleb’s mouth barely keeping me grounded. But just for a moment. Reluctantly, I touch back down, detaching my lips from their perfect pairing.

  “Let’s do this.”

  ***

  Caleb

  “HEY, ZEE,” SEAN GREETS.

  He’s no longer a flat, lifeless slab. Other than looking beaten, he seems unaffected by the accident. His self-assured presence fills the room, same as I remember.

  Cautiously, Zadie approaches him, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

  I hang back near the door, watching her tentative steps, and watching Sean’s reaction to her. Chante, whirlwind that she is, waltzes past me. She enters the room like she owns it, reclaiming the seat she occupied before.

  “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” Zadie tells Sean. “Didn’t you get any of my messages?”

  “Yeah, sweetheart, I did. Got them all. I just didn’t think it would be good for me, if I answered them.”

  “Good for you?” She crosses her arms, not in anger, but in self-protection.

  “Yeah...shit,” he winces, as he tries to unsuccessfully shift in the bed. “I’ve been avoiding the things that tempt me. Booze, drugs, sex, caffeine. I added you to that list, since I never could resist you.” His injury doesn’t dull his flashy, flirtatious smile.

  “Me?” Zadie stammers.

  “Heck, yeah. You’re temptation incarnate—one of my biggest weaknesses.”

  Jealousy and possessiveness course through me. I don’t care that he’s concussed, he’s tempting me to pound him upside his head.

  “Stow it, Casanova,” Chante orders. “You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

  Zadie shifts nervously, clearing her throat. “Sean.” Her voice cracks and she hesitates, her shoulders visibly shaking with each breath.

  I can’t handle the pain of her struggle. It takes all my strength to stand idly by while this girl—my woman—faces the man who’s caused her so much pain. I’ve resolved to stay out of it, but to see her drowning in fear breaks me.

  Unintentional or not, I won’t let him hurt her. Never again.

  With my resolve broken, I step to her side and place my hand on her back. Rubbing her tense muscles, lending her my support, I try to give her the comfort and courage she needs.

  “Caleb?” Sean greets me, as though noticing me for the first time. Hell, the way he’s been staring at Zadie, with hearts and fucking flowers in his gaze, it’s not surprising he missed me.

  “Hey, man,” I say. “I’m glad to see you’re okay.”

  “Damn, kid. You’ve grown, a lot. When was the last time I saw you? ‘Cause all I remember was a little shrimp who liked to cause trouble.”

  “It hasn’t been that long. Not even a year,” I tell him.

  He grimaces again, but this time I don’t think it’s from the pain. “Shit,” he says. “I don’t remember that.”

  “No wonder,” Chante snorts. “How high were you?”

  Zadie remains silent, her arms still acting as a shield, holding herself together. With a long sigh, she leans her body into mine. Giving into instinct, I wrap my arm around her, my hand resting beside the small swell of her stomach.

  “Oh, hell.” Sean’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Are you two together?”

  My answer is a long hard stare and a mental challenge for him to object. But he isn’t looking at me. My death glare goes unnoticed—his attention is homed in on Zadie.

  When she doesn’t reply, my attention zeroes in on her too.

  I wait for her answer. And I wait some fucking more. The air in my lungs constricts, squeezing my chest and crushing my heart.

  This is it, isn’t it?

  This is going to be the moment sh
e decides a relationship isn’t worth the effort. Our age gap is too significant. Her regrets are too heavy. My needs are too great. Friends is good enough, after all.

  This is going to be the moment the fairy tale ends. Only, the prince doesn’t get the girl. No, Prince Charming is left holding a shoe. With nothing but memories of one fleeting moment—one twirl around the dance floor—to taunt him for the rest of his aimless, apathetic, loveless life.

  “Zadie?” Sean prompts. “Are you with Caleb now?”

  She steps out of my hold, getting closer to his bedside. Grasping the metal rail in a tight fist, she tells him, “Yes. We’re together—one hundred percent.”

  One hundred percent.

  My chest fills with warmth, as she reaches back for my hand. I take it, stepping forward and squeezing her tightly to my side again. A ridiculous fucking grin spreads across my face.

  “It’s a small world, isn’t it?” Sean laughs.

  “Not really,” Chante quips from her corner.

  Ignoring her, Sean beams at us. “For real, guys—this is a good thing.”

  “It is,” Zadie agrees.

  “Plus,” Sean continues. “You look good together. Really good. Hot, even. Caleb, man —”

  “No!” Chante yells, making Sean recoil in pain. “He’s not into guys, he’s not into you. Zadie’s definitely not into you.”

  “Shit, relax,” he tells her, rubbing at the side of his head. “I’m concussed, remember? And I was just kidding around.”

  “Keep it up and your brain damage is going to be fucking permanent,” she threatens.

  “Chante, Cal,” Zadie speaks up. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to talk to Sean alone.”

  “No problem,” Chante says. “I’m going to go find my husband. You know where to find me, if you need me.”

  Sean blanches, the red streaks of his hair and beard are a shock against his now pale complexion.

  “You okay?” I ask him.

  His eyes cut to mine, the agony clear in his expression. “Yeah, I’m all good.” He smiles. It’s the same dazzling smile as before, but this time I see through it. His misery is clear—and it’s got little, if anything, to do with his head trauma.

  He’s in love with Dylan.

  “Please, Cal,” Zadie turns to me. “I need to do this on my own.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask, reluctant to let her go.

  “Positive.”

  Taking her face, gently in my hands, I search for signs of doubt. Her doe eyes sparkle, and her freckled cheeks flush under my inspection. But her determination doesn’t waver.

  Beautiful and brave.

  “Okay, then,” I tell her, running my thumb over her smooth skin. “I’ll wait right outside the door, just in case you need me.”

  “No, Cal, I’ve kept you waiting long enough—you don’t have to wait for me anymore.” Her grin is confident, her gaze is certain. “Why don’t you go catch up on your volunteer duties? I’ll be here, waiting for you when you’re done. All right?”

  Beautiful and brave and fucking mine.

  “All right,” I agree with a wink, when what I want to say is, I love you.

  I want to tell her. I want to show her. I want to shout it from the rooftops. But this isn’t the time or the place to make crazy declarations. I’m not going to get down on one knee in a hospital, with her ex-boyfriend as witness.

  I may not be able to say what’s on my mind, but Zadie seems to read my expressions. Snaking a hand into my hair, she lifts up on her toes and forcefully guides my head to hers. Our mouths greet each other with a spark. It’s delicious. It’s passionate. It’s fucking perfect.

  God, how I love her.

  I pour every ounce of my love into that kiss. I hope she can feel it. I need her to know. I need her to believe.

  Sean clears his throat loudly, and then groans from the pain.

  Zadie smiles against my lips, laughter buzzing our kiss. With a final sweep of her tongue, she murmurs, “We’re always getting interrupted.”

  “Don’t let me stop you,” Sean pipes in. “I’m good with watching.”

  Zadie sighs, shaking her head in humored dismay. “You’re not invited.”

  Our laughter dies as I prepare to leave them alone. The knowledge of what stands before them, threatening to drag me down. But Zadie’s still smiling, her strong, determined, gorgeous smile. And I realize, I’m not worried. I’ve got nothing to be jealous over. Nothing to be afraid of.

  We’re not fearless, but Zadie’s not letting it hold her back. Neither am I.

  “Time to face reality,” she says.

  “Time to make reality,” I remind her, kissing her one last time before I walk out the door.

  Zadie

  9 weeks later

  THE CHUBBY BABY SQUIRMS restlessly in my arms. My attempts to calm him have all failed. Rocking, walking, singing—none of it works. Maybe he doesn’t like my song choice. Itsy-Bitsy Spider is kind of strange, if you think about it. Or, maybe it’s my singing voice he doesn’t like.

  Switching things up, I try speaking instead of singing. “Baa Baa Black Sheep, have you any wool? Yes, Sir. Yes, Sir. Three bags full.” Sheep don’t do the trick, either. His fat little face scrunches, dissatisfied with everything about me. Turning red, he starts to howl.

  “Time’s up,” Cal announces. “Hand him over.”

  Passing a heavy bundle of baby is harder than it looks. I’m afraid he’ll kick his way right out of my arms, worried I’ll drop him before the exchange is complete.

  “It’s fine,” Cal soothes. “I’ve got him.”

  Boy, does he ever. Cal takes the hell-spawn into his stable, capable, loving arms and turns him into an angel. Immediately, baby Logan begins to settle. Wails turn to cries. Cries turn to whimpers. Until the only sound is a leftover hiccup.

  “How’d you do that?” I wonder, watching in awe as Cal effortlessly holds his, now sleeping, nephew.

  Shrugging, he says, “Kids love me.”

  He takes a seat on my couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. Totally relaxed. Totally hot. I don’t care how cliché I am. Seeing a baby held against his flexing bicep and hardened chest does something dangerous to my lady parts.

  He looks at me, one eyebrow arching perfectly over the rim of his glasses. The dark frames he’s wearing highlight the glow of his forest green gaze. God, I love it when he wears those glasses. They make him look smarter, sexier. Totally, totally hot.

  Yep—walking, talking cliché happening right over here, folks.

  “You going to join me?” He pats the cushion beside him. “Or were you just planning to stand and ogle me all day?”

  “How long ‘til they come back?” I ask, sitting as close to him as I dare.

  “About an hour. Why?”

  “How long do you think he’ll sleep?”

  “I don’t know, Zadie.” He leans toward me, baby secure in his hold. “Why?”

  Sliding closer, I stare down at Logan. Sleeping, he’s not so terrible. He’s actually kind of adorable looking. Of course, it helps that his parents are so damn perfect.

  Cal shifts, moving Logan to the crook of one arm, allowing his free hand to find me. I push even closer, unconcerned with waking the baby, my only focus, feeling Cal.

  “You going to answer me?”

  What was the question?

  Unable to remember the words I wanted to say, I show him my response. My mouth moves to his. Greedy and wanting, I’m desperate to feel the goodness he gives.

  He kisses me back. Slow and deliberate. The expert glide of his tongue, building desire, deep in my center. Hot, molten, persistent desire. I’m constantly on fire for this man.

  I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.

  My body’s heating, a pleasured moan clawing its way out of me. But that moan turns to a sharp gasp of surprise, Cal instantly breaking our kiss.

  His hand flies to my rounded belly. “Was that?”

  “Yes,” I nod emphatically, ju
st as another strong kick is delivered.

  “I can feel it.” His whole face lights up—a glow of enthusiastic wonder. “That’s amazing.”

  I cover his hand with my own, relishing in the feel of my man and my baby. Ity-bity, ugly sea-alien isn’t so ity-bity any more. I’m going to need a new nickname for it. Or, maybe just a name in general.

  “Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” I ask.

  The kicks have stopped, but Cal continues caressing my stomach. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of my mouth. “Doesn’t matter, really... it’s a gift, either way.”

  “Cal?” I turn in his hold, my arm reaching around both him and Logan, encircling us in a snug embrace.

  “Yeah, Zadie, what do you need?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” I tell him. “I’ve already got everything. I’ve got a baby on the way, and I’ve got you.” The two best mistakes I ever made.

  His smile is the most brilliant shade of devotion I’ve ever seen.

  “I love you, Cal Anderson.”

  “I love you, too, Zadie, baby.”

  ***

  Caleb

  18 weeks later

  “I’M SO MAD AT you,” Zadie grumbles. “I hate this. I hate everything.”

  Her forehead is dotted in sweat. Stray, messy strands of hair cling to the sides of her face and neck. Her tank top hugs every curve, barely concealing her boobs or her belly.

  She’s so fucking beautiful.

  “If that’s what it takes to make you feel better, hate away,” I encourage. “I still love you.”

  “I’m sorry,” she pouts. “I love you, too. I’m just so fat and uncomfortable. I don’t know how you talked me into this.”

  Abbi slowly rolls by us with her arms held out at her sides for balance and a giant smile on her face.

  “I thought it was your idea,” I remind Zadie. “I distinctly remember. You said that exercise, mixed with the excitement of watching me show off...”

  Her brow furrows even deeper than before, her eyes taking on a murderous hue. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who agreed with me.”

  I kiss her damp forehead. “If this doesn’t work, we can always try something else.” Her eyes plead with me to find a solution. Whispering in her ear, I remind her. “An orgasm might do the trick.”