The Secrets We Held

by Blair, E. K.

  The moment he walks into the room, our eyes lock. “I thought you couldn’t lift your head off the pillow?”

  His question requires me to lie, so I avoid it entirely and ask my own as I take in the cut on his cheek, which is slightly bruised and scabbed over. “How did you get back here?”

  “I took a cab.” With a bold stature, he takes another step closer, intimidating me when he asks, “Are you lying to me?”

  His question sounds more like an accusation, which completely unnerves me. All I can do is stare at him and shake my head. Lost is the tender and sweet man I’ve come to love.

  “Then what’s the problem? Hurry up and get dressed.”

  “Caleb—” My voice trembles when I finally find it, and I press my lips together to keep them from wobbling.

  He doesn’t let me finish before he starts yelling. “Do you have any idea the embarrassment you will cause me? My parents are expecting you tonight. After all the thought and consideration my mother has put into this dinner—for you.”

  “But—”

  “The lack of respect it would show if you don’t come would be a slap in their faces.”

  “I’m not trying to be disrespectful at all. I really don’t feel good.”

  “It’s a headache,” he says as if it’s nothing. “Pop an aspirin.”

  And yeah, it isn’t a full-blown migraine, but he doesn’t know that. The way he’s dismissing me, not even asking how I’m feeling, is really upsetting. Everything about the way he’s acting toward me is so out of character for him.

  His hands curl into fists, and he paces the room as if he’s caged or too angry to stand still. “I’m putting my neck on the line for you, and this is how you act?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You aren’t the typical girl I would bring home—you’re nothing like what they expect from me, but I chose not to hide you away.”

  His words are a sucker punch, impaling me right into my self-worth. “Then why even bring me here?”

  “If I knew you were going to act this ungrateful, I wouldn’t have.”

  Confused as to who this Caleb is, I’m dumbfounded when I ask, “Why are you doing this? Why are you treating me this way?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. You say you care about me, but all I see is you being selfish right now.”

  “How could you even question that? Of course, I care about you.”

  “Then get dressed.”

  “Look at us; we’re fighting!” I exclaim. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “But disrespecting me, not to mention, my family, is?” He slings his words at me, his tone edging on spiteful.

  “You know that isn’t true, but . . . I don’t think tonight is—”

  “Is what?” he snaps.

  Shifting on the bed, I sit on my knees and clasp my jittery hands together before looking him dead on. “What happened this morning scared me.”

  His jaw clenches. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but you clearly have misunderstood the situation.”

  “Misunderstood?” Is he crazy? How could I have misunderstood when I’m staring at the cut on his face.

  “You know nothing about my life, and I don’t expect you to understand it, but that doesn’t change the fact that I want you in it.”

  “And I want to be in it. I just don’t think this is a good idea—not tonight.”

  “It must be so easy for you. Your life is yours. My life isn’t,” he says.

  His statement contradicts everything he’s told me. He left Chicago to start a life on his own despite his parents’ views. And now, here he is, insinuating something entirely different. “I don’t understand. You’ve always been so adamant about walking away from all their pressure, so what’s changed?” I ask. “Is it your dad? Is that what your fight was about this morning?”

  “I’m not discussing this right now. I need you to go pull yourself together.”

  “No,” I state firmly. “I’m not going.”

  His expression morphs into stone, and I swear it isn’t Caleb I’m looking at when he seethes, “Get your ass out of bed and get ready.”

  “Don’t talk to me like that!” I yell, my anger boiling.

  “Don’t act like an infantile bitch then!” he spits before turning on his heel and throwing his fist into the wall so hard he busts right through it, sending plaster to the floor.

  White-hot fear lances me, and I turn cold as pieces of my love for him chip into shards that free fall into the pit of stomach.

  I watch in horror as he walks to the closet, rips one of my dresses off the hanger, and stalks over to me. He comes quickly and with such anger that I coil back when he grabs my arm and yanks me off the bed. His fingers bite into my skin, and I wince as he drags me to the bathroom.

  “Caleb, stop!” I cry out. “Let go of me!”

  The moment we hit the threshold, he shoves me in and I fall to the floor, clipping my shoulder against the doorjamb and landing hard on my hipbone. He then slings the dress at me with so much force it stings as it slaps me across my face.

  “Get dressed. It isn’t a choice.”

  He slams the door so hard it rattles the mirror above the sink.

  Terror washes over me like hot wax as I climb to my feet and backstep away from the door. Tears flood my eyes, blurring my vision before spilling down my cheeks. My body is strangled in shock. Pressing myself against the wall, I question if this is a bad dream because this can’t be real.

  The pain radiating in my shoulder tells me it is, and when I turn my head and see the lash of red blooming on my skin, I grow angry.

  My breathing picks up, and I’m forced to bite my lips together to keep myself from losing my shit on him. I’m too scared of what his reaction will be if I storm out of here and tell him to fuck off. I can’t trust that he won’t do something worse. Even though he just grabbed me, an hour ago I never would have been able to imagine him putting a hand on me in anger.

  Suddenly, everything has changed. I don’t know who that guy is on the other side of this door, but what I do know is that I’m petrified of him.

  Taking in a few deep breathes while I figure out what to do. My mind scrambles before going to Ady. I need to call her, tell her what’s going on because I want nothing more than to go home right now. I calm down enough to remember my phone is on the nightstand by the bed. Somehow, I manage to get my bearings enough to walk over to the door. Unsure if he’s still in the bedroom, I slowly turn the nob and peek out to find the space empty. My eyes go straight to the nightstand, and I swear the wind is instantly knocked out of me when I find my phone is gone.

  Stepping back, I lock myself away and resign to the fact that I’m powerless right now. He has me stuck, but after tonight, I’m gone.

  Fuck this guy.

  KATE

  There’s been no physical contact at all since Caleb and I left the hotel. Not that I want any. I’m so angry that I can barely look at him as he drives to his parents’ place. The self-control it’s taking not to lose my shit on him is monumental. Irritation stirs inside me, and when he reaches over the console to take my hand, I jerk it away.

  His eyes narrow. “Are you going to be like this all night?”

  “Are you going to give me back my phone?” I snap.

  “I told you, I don’t have it. It isn’t my problem you can’t keep up with your things.”

  The audacity of him is downright asinine. “Then, yeah, I guess I’m going to be like this all night.”

  His grip on the steering wheel strengthens, turning his knuckles white as we make the last turn that takes us into the parking garage. When he parks and unfastens his seatbelt, he warns, “Don’t embarrass me,” before stepping out.

  Stubborn, I sit, not wanting to leave this car because not only am I angry but I’m also scared and nervous and heartbroken. Who is this guy?

  After a moment, he opens the door and holds out his hand for me to take, but all I do
is stare at it, unsure if I should give in to his offering.

  When he sees my hesitation, he drops to his haunches and meets me at eye level. Leaving his harsh tone behind, he gently touches my knee, saying, “Please . . . I don’t want to fight with you.”

  And I don’t want to fight with him. I never wanted that, but this isn’t on me. I’m not the one to blame.

  “Look, I’m sorry I lost my cool back at the hotel, and I know you’re pissed, but I can’t have my parents seeing this tension between us,” he says.

  Lost his cool? He didn’t just lose his cool, he lost his mind.

  Turning away, I look at his hand as he lightly strokes it along my knee—the same hand he used to drag me across a room and toss me into the bathroom. I want to shove it away, but I don’t because it will only make this worse. Instead, I give in, but only for dinner tonight. After, I’m packing my things and going back home.

  “Fine,” I clip before allowing him to help me out of the car.

  I stride next to him, the sound of my heels bite into the concrete and echo through the garage. He leads me inside and onto the elevator, and I stand next to him while focusing on the floor and waiting for him to press the button.

  Instead, he lifts my chin and angles me to look at him. “I promise, I’ll make this up to you.”

  “There is no making up for what you did.”

  His expression falls, but the tension around his eyes remains, exposing the nerves I know he has about tonight. Wanting to get this over with, I reach out and push the button myself. As we ascend, his palm sweats against mine, but he does well with keeping his composure. He stands tall in his designer suit, staring at the floor numbers above the door as they light up, one by one, until we come to a stop.

  After a quick adjustment of his tie, he holds my hand and leads me toward what I’m sure will be a disastrous dinner.

  I can’t believe this situation I’ve found myself in. This morning, we woke up and everything was great—everything was fine. Now . . . now I feel like I’m holding on to a stranger’s hand.

  “There you are,” his mother croons when we arrive.

  Caleb’s hand doesn’t leave mine when she pulls us both in for a hug.

  “Come on in. I just popped into the kitchen, and Nigel is almost ready to serve the first course.”

  I smile, not wanting to be rude to her. “It smells amazing.”

  “His food tastes even better. Trust me.”

  We follow her into the formal dining room where his father is already sitting and enjoying whatever brown liquor is in his lowball. “Ah, you made it,” he says when he lifts his attention from his phone.

  His voice is a thorn in my side, and when he stands to greet me with a sweeping kiss to my cheek, a flashing memory of seeing him hit Caleb flits through me.

  “Please have a seat.”

  Stepping around the table to the place settings meant for Caleb and me, I watch as the two of them hug and Conrad pats a fatherly hand against Caleb’s back. The affection scathes me, and for a split second, I soften toward Caleb when I consider how many times his father has hit him in the past.

  When he sits next to me, I feel the need to show a sign of comfort toward him, but the dull throb in my shoulder is enough to still my hand.

  Rose settles next to Conrad and drapes her napkin across her lap. “Kate, how was your day? What fabulous things did you buy?”

  For a moment, truth and lies tangle along my tongue, but I’m saved when a lady walks into the room, holding a bottle of wine in each hand.

  “Would you care for some wine?”

  “Oh, no thanks,” I respond despite wanting the alcohol to help get me through this dinner.

  “You should try the cabernet,” Conrad suggests. “I had a glass earlier, and it was quite good. Not too sweet.”

  Since he doesn’t seem to frown on underage drinking, I hold out my glass, not that I needed his permission. It isn’t as if I’m ever going to see him again after tonight anyway. I take a sip while the lady pours a glass for Caleb and Rose.

  “So . . . your day of shopping . . .” Rose says, picking up on her previous question.

  “It was good. I didn’t buy anything, but it was fun to browse.”

  From beneath the table, Caleb touches my leg before I nudge his hand away.

  “I’ll make sure to buy her something nice before we leave,” he tells his mother.

  Her eyes brighten at the idea. “Yes, something to remember this trip by.”

  My only hope is to dissolve this trip from my memory. I certainly don’t want a memento.

  Conrad clears his throat in a way meant to garner attention before saying, “Your mother told me the two of you visited Cascade Falls.” His eyes shift to me. “That’s where I proposed to Rose.”

  “It’s beautiful there,” I respond, feeling like a puppet in this shit show.

  I’m surprised this table isn’t wobbling with all the crap these people shove under the rug. It was only hours ago that Conrad hit Caleb and that Rose saw me running out here, and far less than that since Caleb threw me to the floor like a piece of garbage. I can’t even wrap my mind around the craziness today has held as I watch the three of them act like everything is peachy keen.

  It’s crazy.

  When the chef enters the room, I thank God for the distraction and take another sip of my wine as Nigel presents the first course, which consists of a light balsamic-infused watermelon salad.

  I eat slowly to busy myself as Conrad talks to Caleb about some new construction development in the city one of his clients is an investor of. With so much confusion swimming in my head, I’m too distracted to pay attention, but I smile and nod along as if I am.

  As one course ends and another begins, Caleb attempts another display of affection when he leans back in his chair and runs his hand along my shoulder. It’s most likely the glass of wine I just finished that keeps me from pushing him away. Not that I would do that in front of his parents. Despite how he treated me earlier, I’m not a total bitch.

  His thumb brushes along my tender skin, which is now tinged in a faint bruise, and when I meet his eyes, he gives a soft smile, one I refuse to return. He lifts his hand and attempts to run the back of his finger along the side of my face, and it’s now that I reject him and turn away. His parents don’t see as they eat their duck carpaccio.

  Caleb scoots his chair back.

  “Everything all right, dear?”

  He acknowledges his mother as he stands. “Yes, I’m just going to excuse myself for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

  I didn’t think I could possibly feel any more uncomfortable, but being alone with his parents is a whole new level of hell for me.

  Conrad is fairly quiet for the most part while Rose makes small talk about how good the food is. “We hired Nigel for a dinner party we hosted for some close friends. He made an amazing corn ice cream using dry ice.”

  “Corn ice cream?”

  She laughs. “I flipped my nose too, but it had to have been the best ice cream I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Corn has no place being in desserts,” Conrad scoffs as she shakes her head at him.

  The chef’s assistant clears our plates, and Caleb still hasn’t returned.

  “More wine?” his father offers, and when I nod, he picks up the bottle, leans forward, and fills my glass.

  I take a sip, but tell myself not to go overboard. My cheeks are already flushed with heat, and even though I need to take the edge off, I don’t want to get drunk.

  Caleb walks back into the room. “Sorry that took so long.”

  Time passes slowly through the next two courses, and when the last one is finally served, my anticipation blooms, knowing that this night is almost over. I fake a yawn in hopes to make an early exit.

  “Long day?” Rose asks with a caring smile on her lips.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.”

  “Not at all. The two of you have been busy this week.” She se
ts her spoon down next to her half-eaten pot de crème. “Why don’t you take her back to the hotel, Caleb? I can see you’re tired too.”

  “Are you sure, Mom. I hate to eat and run.”

  “Nonsense.” His father wipes his mouth with his napkin and tosses it onto the table. “It’s been a long day for all of us, and I have a few phone calls I need to make.”

  “Dinner was lovely, thank you so much,” I tell them.

  “It was our pleasure.” Rose rounds the table and hugs me. In a strange way, I feel sorry for this woman in the same way I would feel sorry for a trapped animal. She appears content and happy, but if Conrad is so willing to hit his son, I doubt that he has restraint with his wife.

  As Caleb is driving us back to the hotel, a fresh rush of panic swims through my veins when I think about what I’m about to do. I begin praying that he won’t lose his temper like he did before when I tell him I’m going home tonight. I don’t even know if there are any flights left, but I don’t care. I’ll sleep in the airport if I have to.

  I peer over at him, and he seems calm. Come to think of it, he’s been pretty quiet all night—almost broody. Maybe he feels bad for how he behaved earlier . . . not that it matters to me if he does.

  When we make it to our floor in the hotel, my neck breaks out in a cold sweat, and I fidget as I wait for Caleb to pull out the keycard and unlock the door, and when he finally opens it, I stand frozen in utter shock. Unable to move as I look inside, my mouth gapes in surprise. His hand meets my lower back as he guides me into the candle-lit room drenched in flowers. The door closes behind us, and I’m stunned.

  Massive blooms of white and every shade of pink roses span the entire space. I inhale a lungful of fragrance, and when Caleb takes my hand in his, I turn toward him. Sadness paints his eyes as he stares into mine. His shoulders sag in dejection, and his voice is a mere whisper when he tells me, “I’m sorry.”

  Pain is clear in his expression as the candlelight flickers around the room, and the moment I see tears building along his bottom lashes, he hangs his head.

  “Caleb.”