Fairytale Kisses (Here & Now Book 2)

by Kim Bailey

  “Cal,” Zadie pleads, clutching me tightly. “Please, tell me.”

  “Dylan, why don’t you head back to the hospital? You can let my cousin know we’re on our way, and you can also let her know I’m the one who blew the whistle. She can’t hold it against you and I’ll happily find a new place to live, if need be.”

  He gives me a look, tinted with reluctance. A real, true emotion slipping through his carefully guarded cracks. “Suit yourself.” He shrugs. “For the record, I’ve been after her for a long, long time to come clean about things. But you know how strong willed she is. The only place she’s willing to do what she’s told is in my bed.”

  “Jesus Christ, I did not need that mental image,” I complain. “Just get the hell out of here and let us figure some things out, okay? We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  Thankfully, he doesn’t say any more. He gives Zadie one last look that’s meant to be apologetic, I’m sure. But with typical Dylan style, the emotion’s all blocked by the stone facade he wears. The guy really has turned into a serious hard-ass—such a change from when we first met. He’s still got that brooding bad boy vibe, only now he’s confident and in charge. At least, he acts like he is.

  Once his non-readable, non-verbal message is questionably delivered, he turns and walks briskly away. I close the door behind him, relieved to see him go.

  Turning to Zadie, I carefully study her expression. Her pensive stare has my heart rate spiking. I’m angry. Angry at my cousin, at Dylan, at Sean. So fucking angry at the hurt my poor girl’s been caused. At the new hurt coming her way.

  “Cal, please,” she begs. “Please, just tell me.”

  “I’m not sure where to begin—and honestly, I don’t know everything. I mean, I know a lot, but there are definite limits to that knowledge. I’m not sure if I want to know everything.”

  “Fucking tell me!” she cries, tears glazing her eyes.

  “Shit, Zadie, I’m sorry.” I reach out and pull her to me.

  Woodenly, she moves into my arms. I stroke over her hair and her back. “Sean,” I explain. “I know who he is. Sean Iverson —”

  She pushes away from me, holding onto my hand, but taking a step back out of my embrace. “Everyone knows who he is,” she snaps. “He’s practically a hockey legend. I’d be more shocked if you didn’t know who he was.”

  “Yes, but Zadie, ask yourself how I know Sean Iverson is your Sean.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know him, Zadie. My whole family knows him. He was at our house for Christmas last year. I’ve known him since I was a kid.”

  “But —”

  “Chante dated him.” Her hand squeezes mine intensely. “For years. She dated him for almost four years.”

  “How could... But she wouldn’t... Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

  “I don’t know, but I think it has something to do with her relationship with Dylan. I’m pretty sure Sean was just a cover. She’s been in love with Dylan for about as many years as she dated Sean.”

  “There’s got to be more to this story. There’s no way she’d keep something like this from me just to hide a love-affair with Jamie’s ex. I don’t even know them—why would it matter to me?”

  “I’m sure there’s more.” I tug her back to me, wrapping her solidly in my arms. “I’m sure she had good reason to keep it a secret.” Doubt spreads through me, but I shelter Zadie from it. I’ll continue sheltering her, as long as it takes. “I won’t let them hurt you,” I remind her.

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. She hurt me the day she chose to lie. She’s been hurting me for months. Longer, really. I just didn’t know it.”

  “Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry,” I start, almost forgetting that she doesn’t need me to feel sorry for her. She’s stronger than this. She’s more than this awful moment. “How about I cheer you on while you kick her ass? I’d offer to take on Sean for you but the guy’s huge. Plus, he’s already in the hospital.”

  Looking up at me, she playfully quirks an eyebrow. “Where’d all this baby nonsense come from? And kicking asses? You needing to feel manly, Cal?”

  Smiling, I agree, “Yes, baby, I am. I just found out your ex-boyfriend is a famous athlete—a tall, built hockey player. Hell, he’s got at least fifty pounds on me. Not to mention, you came out of my room half-naked and stood here, in front of Dylan. I think my ego’s been cut in half.”

  “Well, baby,” she mocks. “If everything wasn’t so messed up, I’d let you fuck me like an animal, just to prove how manly you really are. Unfortunately, I don’t think we have time for that.”

  “Guess we’ll just have to hold onto the memory of the last time we screwed like beasts, then, eh?”

  She groans, rubbing herself up against me. “See, you’re already a manly man.”

  “Happy you think so.”

  “Seriously, Cal—you know I don’t want that. I don’t need some macho display of dominance from my man. I like you because you’re not like that. Please, just keep being you—drop the baby bullshit, call me by my name. It’s way hotter when you do that anyway.”

  “Zadie, as long as you keep referring to me as your man, I’ll call you whatever the hell you like. Now, please go put some clothes on, before I change my mind and fuck you up against this wall.”

  Lust lights her features, but she nods her head in agreement. I watch her superbly rounded ass, encased in my T-shirt, as she reluctantly walks away. I just hope, after tonight, this won’t be the last time I’m graced with a vision like that.

  ***

  Zadie

  HOSPITALS HAVE NEVER BOTHERED me. I’ve always thought of them as of places of healing and comfort. But as Caleb faithfully holds my hand through the cold, sterile hallway, I realize hospitals can be places of tragedy. He gives me new perspective.

  I guess maybe you can’t have healing and comfort, without first having misery and grief.

  We reach the waiting area, where Dylan promised to meet us. Cal—so steadfast, so insistent on proving himself—called for Sean’s room number. It was Chante’s cell he dialed, but it was Dylan who answered. Another example of how little I truly know about her—she’s had a secret man this entire time, and I’ve been clueless.

  Dylan’s reclined in a plastic waiting room chair with his head resting against the wall and his eyes closed. The hard edges of his personality seem permanently fixed to his face, even while sleeping. For such an intense, intimidating person, he’s sure got a fantastic ability to relax under stress. Of course, this situation probably isn’t nearly as stressful for him as it is for me. He’s in the loop, unlike me, he’s got the full story on Chante and all her secrets.

  “Do you want me to wait here?” Cal asks, quietly.

  “No, please come with me. I’ll need you to hold me back, in case I get the urge to strangle her.” I force myself to smile, despite the aching in my heart. “What about him?” I ask, tilting my head toward Dylan.

  “He’s going to stay right here,” Dylan says, flatly. If his lips weren’t moving, I’d still think he was asleep. “But he’d like to remind you—jurisdiction or not—as an officer of the law he’s obligated to detain and report anyone breaking that law. Attempted murder’s a big one—I’d avoid it if I were you.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I quip.

  Dylan’s eyes fly open, constricting me with a threatening glare. Immediately, I regret my sarcasm—unintentional or not, it clearly wasn’t wise.

  “Caleb,” he barks. “You’re a lucky little bastard. Don’t forget it.” Is that a smile? Maybe. It’s hard to tell when no other part of his face moves. One corner of his mouth has forged upward, though. So, no, it’s not a smile—it’s a smirk.

  Cocky bastard.

  He winks at me before closing his eyes again, his lewd grin still in place.

  “Don’t worry,” Cal breathes in my ear, as we head toward Sean’s room. “I already know how lucky I am, and that’s not hinged on the expectation you’ll call me Sir.”<
br />
  “Good thing,” I advise. “If you ever break out a pair of handcuffs, I’m running in the other direction. All that, man is the dominant species crap, is not my kink.”

  We pause, just outside our destination. Reaching deep, I struggle to find the courage to take the next step.

  “Whatever your kink, I’m happy to meet its acquaintance,” he jokes. Stepping in front of me, blocking my path, he holds both my hands in his own. “Maybe you can keep that in mind when we go in there.”

  When he looks at me—the way he looks at me—I swear, I see love shining through. I want to believe it, I want to feel it. And I think I’m starting to. But that’s probably just hope. She’s been on a bender—unsustainable and wild—I’ve no chance of reeling her in now, and I’m not sure if I really want to try.

  Maybe hope is all I’ve ever needed.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell him, raising up on my toes and placing a kiss on his jaw. “I know how lucky I am, too.”

  He lets me lead the way but we still go in together, hand-in-hand. I know I can do this on my own, but as he’s reminded me time and again, I shouldn’t have to. With Cal by my side, I know I don’t have to.

  Things are not at all what I’d expected.

  Sean’s broad body lay lifeless and battered. Cuts and bruises are scattered across his face and neck. Most shocking, is the swath of his hair that’s been shaved away, a large white bandage covering the area. He looks nothing like the man I lived with. This poor, unfortunate soul looks like no one I’ve ever known.

  Beside him, tears streaking down her face, is another stranger. Chante looks distraught. Cracked and brittle. Like one harsh word could shatter her completely.

  “Zadie,” she cries when she sees me.

  My name sounds foreign, coming from her lying lips. Or, maybe I’ve just gotten too used to the way Cal says it—with respect and affection. Chante’s broken plea doesn’t sway me. Not at all.

  Ignoring her, I move toward Sean’s bedside, inspecting him and the damage he’s sustained. Despite being banged up, he looks healthy. His copper beard is neatly trimmed, and the hair left on his head is the same. The muscles he’d let go to fat have all come back with a vengeance—hard and bulking. This might be the best I’ve ever seen him.

  Chante’s soft sobs finally break through my contemplation. Looking across Sean’s prone body, I realize Caleb’s moved to sit at her side.

  When did he leave my side? And why?

  He murmurs something to her, something I can’t quite make out. Her shoulders drop, and she nods her head in relief as she dries her eyes on her sleeve.

  When Caleb looks up, catching my eye, it’s regret and fear that I see.

  “What happened?” I ask, referring to Sean’s accident.

  “Which part?” Chante questions. “The part that brought you here now, or the part that led up to this?”

  “Why don’t you just start from the beginning?” I suggest.

  She looks to Caleb for reassurance. But he’s watching me—that goddamn angst, wilting his brilliance. “Leave Cal out of it,” I tell her.

  “Cal?” she snorts.

  “Stop trying to deflect,” he tells her. “Start explaining yourself.”

  Nodding again, she looks to me. “Zadie, when I met you, I told you I’d just ended a bad relationship. That was true...and it wasn’t. I’d ended things with Sean –”

  “Wait,” I interrupt. “The day we met—did you know who I was?”

  “Yes,” she admits. “I bumped into you on purpose. I wanted to meet you. I needed to see what kind of woman you were and assess how much damage he’d done.”

  “So, you’ve been lying to me all along.”

  “Not lying, not exactly. You need to understand, Zadie, what Sean and I had wasn’t a relationship. Not a real one. What we had was an arrangement. A mutually beneficial agreement.”

  “Will you please stop talking in riddles?” I rub the spot across my forehead, where an acute pain is germinating.

  “We were fucking,” she blurts. “But not just each other.”

  “So, you weren’t exclusive,” I return. “That’s not exactly surprising, given Sean and his history.”

  “No, you don’t understand. We were exclusive—very exclusive—but it wasn’t just the two of us. It was three of us.”

  “Pardon?” I ask, not really needing the clarification, just not quite believing what I’m hearing.

  Cal smiles at her, as though he’d suspected all along. “You, Sean, and —”

  “Dylan,” I interject. “The three of you were in a relationship. Together?”

  “Yes, now you’re catching on,” she confirms.

  “I’m not sure I am.” I’m not. “How did that work, exactly? I don’t mean the gritty details—I don’t care who was on top, or the side, or anywhere else for that matter. I’m just trying to understand why two men—these two men, especially— would be willing to share you.”

  Chante closes her eyes. For a moment, I don’t think she’s going to answer me. I look to Cal for insight, but he’s looking just as lost as I’m feeling.

  “They weren’t sharing me,” she whispers. Raising her eyes back to mine, I see the resolve as it floods her. “Sean and I were sharing Dylan.” She pauses, giving her words time to settle in. “Sean and Dylan had a thing. Dylan and I had a thing. So, the three of us decided to have a thing, together. Alone, Sean and I really had nothing, but we acted as a couple to cover up the illicit affair the three of us were having.”

  “That is not what I was expecting,” Cal mumbles.

  “No, it’s not what I was expecting, either,” I agree. “But it’s not a big deal. I don’t understand why you were keeping this from me. You know I wouldn’t judge you. Any of you.”

  “I’m the reason he left you, Zadie,” she admits. The pain in my head explodes, bright and beautiful. “Both times.”

  “Were you still sleeping with him?” I ask. I don’t want to know—but I need to.

  “No!” she exclaims. “God, no. It wasn’t like that. I ended it, just like I told you. Other than bumping into each other at home occasionally, we couldn’t be bothered. Like I said, he and I never really had anything.”

  “Then, I don’t get it, Chante. How were you the cause?”

  “Because I made him leave.” Her fingers fidget with the hem of her sleeve, running over the wet fabric, again and again.

  The room remains silent while we observe each other. The hum of the overhead light and the faint beeping of Sean’s monitor are the only sounds. Except my breathing—shaky and unsure, it’s like a death rattle in my ears.

  Caleb shifts in his seat, stretching to look up at Sean, whose eyes are open and staring at me.

  Shocked, I cry out. It’s a pained, sort of wounded sound—it matches the throb of my head.

  “Sean?” Chante calls, as she moves to stand on the other side of his bed. It doesn’t escape my notice that she takes his big hand in her own. Lightly, she brushes over the black and blue appendage.

  She hovers over him, repeatedly murmuring his name. But his unfocused gaze never wavers from mine. “What the hell happened?” he manages to croak out.

  “I don’t know yet,” I tell him, honestly. “Chante hasn’t got to that part of her confession.”

  My cryptic response confuses him, causing him to wince dramatically when he tries to move his head.

  With one hand now on his shoulder and the other pressing the nurses call button, Chante takes charge. “Don’t move around so much,” she tells him. “You’ve had a major blow to the head—most likely a concussion. Your doctor will want to look at you, now that you’re awake.”

  “Fuck,” he groans. “I feel like I got run over.”

  “That’s because you did. Some asshole in a crappy old Celica ran a red and T-boned you. Dylan saw the aftermath. He thinks you’re lucky to be alive. I think I agree.”

  “I don’t feel so lucky right now,” Sean complains.

  A nurs
e hustles into the room, followed shortly by a doctor. The already crammed quarters become unbearably close. Sensing my discomfort, Cal pulls me out to the hall.

  “Can you believe it?” I ask him. My back hits the wall solidly, as I lean into it for support.

  “Yeah, actually—it all makes a lot of sense to me.”

  “Really? I mean, you obviously know them a hell of a lot better than I do. I guess maybe I didn’t know either of them the way I thought I did. How have I been so naive? Or, was I just too focused on my own goals to notice what was going on around me?”

  Cal’s hands find me, grasping my waist, pulling me away from the cold wall, into his warm embrace. I can do this on my own—but right now, I don’t want to. I take every ounce of what he’s offering, leaning into his loving presence.

  “Shit. Why do I keep walking in on this?” Chante complains. When my eyes defiantly meet hers, she smirks. “I get it, you’re fucking—that’s great, I just don’t need to see it.”

  Turning on her, Cal snaps, “Watch your goddamn mouth! Not everything’s about sex, you know.”

  “Things between me and Cal are none of your business,” I tell her.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I get it. Really, I do. I’m just deflecting again.”

  “Please,” I plead. Chante’s anxiety is wearing me down. “I need to know why you did it, Chante. Why’d you make him leave?”

  Her brow’s a deep furrow of worried confusion. “He’s an addict, Zadie. You must know this, you lived with him. The man was drunk or high, or drunk and high, literally every day.”

  “He wasn’t that bad,” I object.

  “Yes, he was. You know he was.” She’s right, I did know. I just chose to ignore. Like all the other mistakes I made—it always seemed easier to turn a blind eye. “I sent him to rehab,” she continues. “He left treatment early the first time, thinking he could handle it, obviously he couldn’t. He relapsed. So, I sent him back.”

  “Is that why he’s been ignoring me?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “You’d have to ask him. I’ve told you as much as I know.”