“ You _ what?!” I reach for the door frame to steady myself. The blue and red flashing lights on top of Wyatt’s patrol car illuminate the house. Even though I took out my contact lenses before going to bed, I can make out Cal’s silhouette in the back of Wyatt’s police car, staring at a hole in his back .
“I just wanted to get under his skin.” Wyatt’s gaze falls on his boots.
“Wyatt Eugene Williams the third. What were you thinking? “His weight changes.”
I knock the hat off his head since I can’t slap his face. Delilah is going to be so mad at you for implying that you were going to fuck me.
“I already got a lot from Dee when I called her to let her know I was going to be late tonight. She told me to go sleep on the porch like a dog if he was hell-bent on acting like one.”
“I don’t blame her. You said you were going to…” Nope. She can’t even finish that sentence.
My stomach churns in protest. There is no way I would touch Wyatt, let alone fuck with him, since he is not only a good friend, but my best friend’s husband.
Wyatt crosses his arms against his uniform. “I think he’s jealous.” I let out a loud laugh. “No way.”
He tried to strangle me, Alana.
” Cal?”
“ Yes, Cal! I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry before. He caught me off guard.” I try to understand that Cal attacks anyone. The only time I saw him unhinged was while he was playing hockey, and he never made it past the sand. Always.
I shake my head. “He has the personality of a golden retriever.”
“Yes, a rabid one. I panicked for a moment before my training started.”
I rub my eyes. “Are you under arrest?”
“Hell no. There is no way I would risk losing my job over that.” Of course, no. Arresting Kane for anything other than tax fraud or murder would be grounds for immediate dismissal.
I’m sighing. “Why did you bring him here instead of the guest house?” Wyatt grabs the handcuff keys from his belt. “Since I can’t arrest him, I thought it would be a fun way to torture him.” He leans forward and places both hands on the door frame. From Cal’s point of view, he probably looks like he might even be kissing me.
“You’re asking for it.” I give him a shove on the shoulder. “I’m doing it to save you from him snooping around.”
He looked over Wyatt’s shoulder to find Cal glaring daggers at him. “Be careful when removing the handcuffs. He looks quite angry.”
Wyatt laughs as he jogs back to his car and opens the back door. He rushes to unlock the handcuffs and sends Cal on his merry way with another tip of his hat.
“See you tomorrow, Alana!” Wyatt screams at the top of his lungs.
Cal looks over his shoulder. I can’t make out the expression on his face since he’s turned in the opposite direction, but I can get a good look at his clenched fists. She keeps her eyes on Wyatt until his taillights disappear down the driveway.
Cal walks slowly toward the house, lengthening the process. She hasn’t looked directly at me yet, so the closer she gets, the harder my heart beats.
“So, first night here and they’re already arresting you.” I lean against the door frame and cross my legs at the ankles.
He looks up with narrowed eyes. “Technically, they stopped me.” He rubs his wrists.
I shake my head. “What were you thinking, trying to assault an officer?”
“Are you fucking him?” he asks through clenched teeth.
My heart rate skyrockets. It’s one thing to accuse me of sleeping with someone else, but it’s a completely different matter for him to think that he would sleep with his old best friend. Instead of allowing my irritation to guide my response, I choose a different tactic.
“Would it matter if I am?”
Oh, Alana. You know better than to make fun of him.
His nostrils flare. “Hell yeah, it matters. You should listen to the way she talks about you.
Wyatt, I hope Delilah gives you hell when you get home. “It’s none of your business who I associate with.”
He rubs his clenched jaw, as if he could erase the tic. “You can do better than him.”
“He’s not that bad .”
“What a glowing review for a guy who probably couldn’t find your clit even if it was labeled with a neon sign.”
I choke on my laughter, killing it before he has a chance to hear it. “California.”
His nostrils flare. “That?” “Wyatt was right. You are jealous .
He scoffs. “I’m not jealous.”
“Good, because if you plan on staying here, you’re going to see a lot of Wyatt. He would hate for things to be… awkward.
Stop harassing him.
It’s hard not to when you’re clearly jealous but won’t admit it.
So what if it is? It’s not like it matters.
Each of his fingers flexes before curling back in on themselves. “Alright.”
“Are you sure? You tried to strangle him less than twenty minutes ago.
“And I would do it all over again if I heard someone talk about you the way he did.”
My heart beats harder against my ribcage. “Like what?” As if they don’t care about you.
My control over the situation slips, along with the protective shell I keep around my heart. “California…”
This is exactly what I feared if I returned. It was always easy to pick up where we left off each summer, as if we hadn’t wasted any time with each other.
But we lost more than time in the last six years since he left. We lost any future we could have had together.
Break eye contact first. “Whatever. It was stupid of me to get angry. As long as he makes you happy, that’s what matters.”
This is the Cal I fell in love with. The selfless man who would stop at nothing to make me happy, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness in the process. It reminds me a lot of what he was like before the pills, the alcohol and the lies.
Before the betrayal .
“I’m not dating Wyatt.” My confession rushes out of me. Her eyebrows shoot up. “That?”
“He married Delilah almost a year ago. “They are celebrating their first wedding anniversary in September.”
“Did Wyatt marry Delilah?”
I cross my arms against my chest. “Yeah. I guess you were too busy trying to strangle him to notice the shiny wedding ring on his finger.”
“Shit. You’re okay.” Her cheeks blush. “But if you’re not with Wyatt…” her voice trails off.
“If I’m not with Wyatt what?” He clears his throat. “Nothing.” “Are you sure about that?”
He lifts his chin toward me. “I’m sure. Night.” “Good night.”
He walks down the porch steps and disappears down the path toward the guest house.
What the hell was that all about?
I close the door behind me and lean against it. My legs shake beneath me, the weight of our conversation making me sway. If this is Cal’s first day living here, I can’t imagine what’s to come.
 |
I’m busy folding laundry upstairs in my room when something heavy hits me, right where the attic is. Cami knows better than to go up there, so she only leaves one person who could have caused such a loud noise. The same person who has spent the last three hours upstairs doing who knows what.
I haven’t seen Cal since he went up there with a single cardboard box. He only spoke five words to me, most likely because he was still upset after everything that happened with Wyatt yesterday.
A second knock, this time much louder, sends me running towards the stairs at the end of the hallway. My lungs burn with the effort as I take the steps two at a time.
I break into the attic. It’s impossible to see much past the stacks of boxes that almost reach the support beams.
“California?” called
A moan from somewhere to my left makes me move in that direction. The attic is a maze of boxes, chests, and containers, so it takes me longer than I’d like to find Cal lying there. on the ground like a starfish.
He doesn’t move to the sound of my footsteps, although his fingers twitch at his sides. Her eyes remain closed as I kneel next to her and examine her body for wounds.
“What happened?” Asked.
He doesn’t sit down. “I fell.”
“And you didn’t think about getting up?”
“The room keeps spinning,” he drawls.
Worry has me jumping into action. Are you having a stroke? Or maybe something with his brain? “What-” My question is cut off as I see the half-full bottle of premium vodka spilling out next to her.
Of course.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve seen this story play out over and over again with Cal, but the sick feeling working its way through my stomach makes me clench my fists. Years of anger comes to the surface as he sees him lying on the floor, unable to sit up due to the amount of alcohol he consumed.
Once an addict, always an addict.
I slide my mask into place, keeping my voice separate as I ask, “Are you hurt?”
“Alone here.” She hits her chest, right over her heart.
God. It’s very sad to see a grown man like him suffer like he does. Throughout our childhood and early adulthood, he was always so full of life. Seeing him reduced to this broken version of himself just brings out the protector in me.
Cal has a lot to offer the world, but his self-loathing and destructive patterns get in his way every time. Part of me hoped he would find happiness in the six years we spent apart.
Not with another person, but with yourself .
It’s no better than the day he left.
I pick up the bottle of vodka so it doesn’t spill any more before observing our surroundings. Some of Cal’s old hockey trophies are scattered on the floor, along with an old NHL jersey of his and some open boxes.
No wonder he was drinking. Going through those kinds of memories, the ones that represent the highest points and the lowest points, would bother anyone. It’s just that Cal’s way of coping is the worst.
“What happened?” My voice is much softer this time. He blinks up at the ceiling. “I fell.”
“That’s what you said. But how?”
“I lost my balance when I was trying to lift the bottle.” She stumbles over the sentence. Despite the puddle on the floor, Cal must have drank a decent amount if she’s falling and stumbling over her words.
I help him lean against one of the traveling trunks, grunting at how much it weighs. “What happened before that?”
Stop asking him questions and leave.
Except when I think about leaving, the image of Cal touching his chest and saying it hurts replays in my head.
I’m not staying because of the drunk in front of me. I’m staying for the man I once loved more than anything.
He steals the bottle of vodka and dumps it on an open box next to him. “Stop!” He snatched the bottle from her hands and put it out of her reach before assessing the damage.
“Oh no.” I press my hand against my mouth. “What did you do?”
Vodka soaks hundreds of photos of the Kane family. The one above shows Cal’s mother, who smiles at the camera. Her blonde hair looks like spun gold and is a little lighter than Cal’s. Her father has his arm wrapped around her. She looks just as I remember, stern with a hint that something lurks behind her dark, beady eyes. All three Kane brothers smile at the camera, with Cal barely taller than Declan. Rowan is the youngest, although here he was probably barely ten years old.
“Who cares? It’s all ruined anyway.
I try to save some of the photos, wiping the vodka with the bottom of my shirt. “These are memories.”
“Memories of what? A family that no longer exists? he snaps.
I continue with my task with every intention of saving as many photos as I can. “I understand you’re upset.”
“What do you know?” He frowns.
“You’re not the only one whose mother died. Our situations may not have been the same, but I understand what it feels like to lose someone you love to something you can’t control.”
His glassy eyes follow my movements. “She would be ashamed of me.” I retreat. “Why do you say that?”
“Because look at me.” She grabs a trophy and throws it in the opposite direction. He crashes into a tower of boxes before crashing to the ground.
“For!”
“Why? It’s not like any of them mean anything. He repeats the same thing with another trophy, but this time, it crashes into a wall before breaking in half.
“Enough!” I move the other two trophies away before he destroys them as well. “Get angry. Make noise, but don’t get violent. You’re better than that.”
He throws his hands in the air. “It’s me? Or am I just biding my time until I become him?
He doesn’t need to clarify what he ‘s talking about because I already know. It’s written all over his face.
My chest tightens, the tight feeling making every breath I take painful. “The only thing you two have in common is an addiction problem.”
“You’re okay. Because unlike me, my father is successful. He has a legacy. What do I have?”
“To begin with, a heart.”
He frowns. “Who cares? What has that brought me in the long run? Pain? Misery? Disappointment?” He looks up at the ceiling with a sigh. “I can’t do a single thing well. My entire life has been one failure after another, and I’m so fucking tired of pretending it doesn’t bother me.”
Cal steals a fragmented part of my heart in that moment as a single tear slides down his cheek. A tear that ends the last bit of anger I have towards him today.
Tomorrow, I will be angry because he is drunk in the house. But today…
Today you need a friend.
I pull him into my arms and wipe away the tear, banishing it from existence as if it never happened. “You haven’t failed at everything.” “Name one thing.”
I don’t miss a beat. “You made it to the NHL.”
He scoffs. “Only to lose my place a few years later.”
“So what? Not many people can say they made it this far in the first place.”
“I didn’t even win a championship.” Her voice sounds so small. so insecure
so broken
It tears me up inside to know that someone as vibrant and lively as him can be plagued with so many insecurities.
Sometimes it is those with the loudest voices who fight the hardest.
“Life is about perspective. Until you change yours, you will always be tied to this.” I hand him the bottle of vodka.
He grabs the bottle with a death grip.
I keep the image in my head, reminding myself that nothing good can come of Cal and I being together. Even after all these years apart, he still hasn’t made an effort to change himself.
No matter how much I loved him, it was and will never be enough as long as he doesn’t love himself.
I know that to be true.
|
Cal must have gone shopping drunk yesterday because there’s no explanation for the ten packages that show up on my doorstep the next afternoon. The labels on the boxes range from the most expensive luxury department stores in America to some French names I can’t pronounce, much less recognize.
“Please sign here.” The delivery man hands me a clipboard. I text Cal once he leaves.
You have a delivery.
His response is instant.
To be there. Perfect. At least this way we can talk about what happened yesterday and clarify something.
I had planned to talk to Cal once he came to work on the attic this afternoon, but he never showed up after I got home from work.
It doesn’t take him long to pull into the driveway with his fancy car. I’m not sure how you plan to fit all those boxes inside your trunk, but I wish you the best of luck anyway.
“Hey.” She doesn’t take off her sunglasses. I cross my arms “Hello.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “About yesterday… Thank you for asking me.”
My lips pull down into a frown. “I don’t want you to get drunk inside my house again.”
“Well.”
“I’m serious. If I find you like this again, I’ll call a moving company to pack your things for you.”
His head hangs and his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose, revealing his bloodshot eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Apologizing means nothing when you have no intention of fixing the problem in the first place.”
His hands clench at his sides. “Are you OK.” “Am?”
He looks up, and the tick on his jaw makes my heart sink in my chest.
I don’t want to hurt him, but I have a son to think about. There is no way I want Cami to find Cal stumbling around the house, drunk and unable to control her emotions.
She deserves better than that. “I have a problem. An addiction .”
My mouth opens only to close a second later.
“I know I am powerless over alcohol. I was taught in both rehab and AA. “But I can’t ignore how embarrassed I am, knowing that I’m only a little better off than I was six years ago.”
My eyes burn.
Take a deep breath. “I can’t stop drinking completely yet, but I’ll limit myself for you. “I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have, and what happened in the attic was unacceptable and pathetic.”
Oh God. My whole chest hurts. “Well?” he asks.
“Okay,” I say in a raspy voice.
He lets out a sharp exhale before grabbing the largest box in the pile and turning towards his car. With the size of its trunk and back seat, it only handles three boxes before running out of space.
Instead of staying, I go back inside, leaving him to sort out the rest of his packages, along with how the hell he plans to tackle the attic without drinking again.
