Intimate

by Noelle Adams

  “I’m fine, Caleb. Really. You can go home if you need to.”

  He desperately needed to. Get away. Be alone. Find his space again. “If you’re sure.”

  She nodded and stood up, signaling that he was allowed to stand up too. “I’m sure. Just call me later so I know you’re all right.”

  “I will.”

  She reached out to hug him, and he let her—since he knew she needed it. But he wanted to pull away. He wanted to feel like himself.

  “I’ll call you later,” he said at last, and then he could finally leave.

  Escape into his own space again, where it had always been safe.

  Where he’d always been free.

  ***

  He made it home in a daze. Then he got a beer and went to sit on his couch.

  He didn’t drink it, though. He just stared down at it for a long time, trying to pull his thoughts together, trying not to hurt so much.

  Finally, he reached for his phone and hit a button.

  “Caleb?” His mother’s voice came on after three rings. “What’s wrong, honey? Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah. It’s fine. I was just calling to say hi.”

  “But it’s Friday.” She still sounded deeply anxious.

  He always called on Wednesdays. He had for years. Plus, it was later in the evening than he usually called.

  “I know. I just wanted to talk. How are you?” He couldn’t help but wonder if she knew that her husband had cheated on her—so many times, for so many months.

  She’d always seemed to be happy.

  “I’m great. I’ve finally got around to cleaning out the big closet, so there’s stuff all over the hall that I’m trying to organize.”

  “What’s Dad up to?”

  There was a note of dry laughter in her voice as she replied, “He’s having a man day today. You know how he likes his space.”

  “Yeah.”

  All his life, his father had taken “man days”—where he’d gone off and done his own thing. Caleb had always thought it was perfect, a marriage where they weren’t always tied to each other, where they each could still claim their freedom.

  But his father’s freedom wasn’t free. The cost was a little girl with a pillow over her head.

  Caleb started to shake—with anger, with grief, with betrayal, with absolute disgust.

  That man was his father.

  He didn’t want to be that man.

  “Honey,” his mother’s voice began, very gently, on the phone, “Can you please tell me what’s wrong?”

  He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even begin to.

  “Is everything all right with Marissa?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You love her, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  The problem was him.

  “Did you know,” he began, cold anger deepening inside him, compelling him to lash out, “that Dad…”

  She was silent for a long time after his unfinished question. “That Dad what?”

  “Nothing.”

  He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t lash out that way. Not for his father’s sake but for his mother’s.

  “Can I say something?” she asked, her voice different than it had been before.

  “Yeah.”

  “I know you love her. So you should let yourself love her. All the way. It’s not easy, but it’s the only way it can work.”

  He had no idea how she’d known to say that, but he understood it immediately. He took a few shuddering breaths before he replied, “Yeah.”

  They both were silent for a long time.

  Caleb thought about Marissa—what she’d gone through as a child, what she’d been going through for the last two months, trying to work through such long-standing wounds with such courage and generosity.

  Not just for her, but for him. For them.

  Then he suddenly realized she was at home right now. By herself. Hurting.

  He’d left her alone when she needed him.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I need to go. Marissa—”

  “Of course. You go on. I’ll talk to you on Wednesday.”

  He said goodbye and disconnected. Stared at his phone for about thirty seconds.

  Then he jumped up and headed back toward Marissa’s apartment, running down the stairs the way he had on the anniversary of her father’s death because the elevator was just too slow.

  On his way over, he called up Baron James and left him a message. He said he couldn’t do the jazz band with him after all.

  He didn’t want or need the escape route anymore.

  Nineteen

  Marissa lay on the couch in a stupor for a few minutes after Caleb left, every part of her body hurting, like she’d run a marathon.

  She hoped Caleb was all right. Hoped he was bleeding like she was.

  She wanted him here with her desperately and wished he hadn’t left. Even felt a few flickers of resentment, but they never grew strong enough to take root.

  She’d known this would wound him. She’d known it would shake the foundation of his world. Everything he’d always believed about love and relationships was centered in his parents’ marriage.

  Caleb just needed some time. He would come back to her when he could.

  After a while, the stupor faded, and she felt like she might cry. Instead of giving into it, she got up and went to the kitchen to pull out a bowl, baking sheet, and ingredients for cookies.

  She needed to do something, and there was nothing else to do.

  So she made chocolate-chip cookies—mixing the dough, spooning it out, putting it in the oven, and starting the next batch in record time.

  Soon she had three more sheets of raw cookies lined up on the counter, waiting to get baked. She was just pulling the first batch out of the oven when she heard a knock and then a key in the door.

  Whirling around, holding the sheet with an oven mitt, she saw Caleb rush over.

  He was flushed and sweating a little, his dark hair sticking out in every direction and dark stubble covering his jaw. But his eyes looked like liquid silver as he took three more hurried steps toward her. “Are you all right, baby?”

  She blinked, too disoriented to react in any other way. “Yeah. I’m okay. Are you?”

  “Yeah. I’m so sorry I left you alone. I never should have left you.”

  For some reason, that was what did it. She burst into tears, the hot tray of newly baked cookies wobbling dangerously.

  Obviously acting on instinct, he reached out to take the sheet pan from her loosening grip. His hands closed over the edges and then immediately opened again. “Damn!”

  The pan was very hot.

  It fell to the floor with a clatter, a few of the soft, warm cookies bouncing off and the others sliding gooely against the metal tray.

  They both stared down at the mess for a moment. Caleb blew a few times on his burned hands.

  It was just too much. Marissa started to laugh, rasping her amusement through her tears. When he pulled her into a hug, she wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying more. Either way, it was helpless and breathless and very wet.

  His grip was so tight it was almost painful, but it was exactly what she needed. She heard him repeating her name, his face buried in her hair, proof that he was just as emotional as she was.

  When they finally pulled apart, she grabbed his hands, checking to see if they were seriously burned.

  They were just red, so they couldn’t have been that bad.

  “Do you need anything on them?”

  “They’re fine. I don’t need doctoring this time.”

  She still wanted to fuss over him, but she resisted the impulse. Instead, she bent down to start cleaning up the cookies on the floor.

  He helped her, and as he set the sheet in the sink, he turned to search her face anxiously. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yeah. Telling you wasn’t as bad as I thought it wou
ld be. I actually feel…feel better.”

  Gesturing toward the three other sheets of cookies she’d prepared to bake, he said, “It looks like you were really upset.”

  She wiped the remains of tears from her face. “I was upset. But the obsessive food preparation was mostly because I was worried about you.”

  “I’m okay. Really.”

  He looked better than she’d been expecting, which was reassuring. He was strong, and he wasn’t going to fall apart. But he looked absolutely exhausted, with an intangible vulnerability she’d rarely seen.

  “So what do you want to do now?” she asked.

  The corner of his mouth quirked up adorably. “I guess I kind of want to sit down.”

  She smiled, a flood of warm emotion washing over her. “Excellent. You sit down. I’ll finish making cookies.”

  ***

  They talked a little while she finished the cookies. He told her about the conversation with his mother, and she asked him what he was going to do about his dad.

  He wasn’t sure, but at least he was talking about it with her.

  When the last batch of cookies was done, Marissa was so tired she was drooping. It was almost midnight, and it seemed like eons of time had passed since she’d met with Dr. Sawyer earlier that day.

  She was about to suggest getting some sleep, but then she took a good look at Caleb.

  He still looked tired, but he also looked wired, like he was stewing with restless energy, angst, emotion that he needed some way to channel.

  It wasn’t sexual—not even close. She knew enough to tell the difference. But he definitely needed an outlet before he’d be able to sleep.

  “Do you need to work out or something?” she asked without segue.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It just looks like you need to do something.”

  “I don’t know how you know me so well,” he said. “I do need to do something, but I don’t think I have energy enough to work out.”

  She thought for a moment. “You should play. That always makes you feel better. Why don’t you go home and play your cello some.”

  “I’m not going to leave you tonight.” His eyes were utterly sober.

  Marissa was moved so deeply by the simple sentence that she thought she might droop to the floor. “I can come with you. I don’t mind sleeping at your place. If…if it’s all right with you.”

  She assumed he understood she meant that they’d really sleep. She was far too leveled to think about having sex tonight, and she thought he probably was too.

  He stood up and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Of course, it’s all right.”

  ***

  When they got to his place, Marissa got ready for bed while he went right to his cello.

  Wearing pajama pants and a tank top, she came to find him in the room where he practiced. His eyes were soft when she kissed him goodnight.

  “I hope my playing won’t bother you.”

  “It won’t. Actually, I’m going to leave the doors open so maybe I can hear a little.”

  He paused, running a hand through his messy hair. “Do you want me to play in the bedroom?”

  It was exactly what she wanted. “Do you mind?”

  He shook his head and pressed his lips against hers in the sweetest little kiss.

  “Can you play Bach for me?” she asked.

  For a moment, the memory shuddered in the air between them. “Of course.”

  They went to his bedroom where Marissa crawled into bed and Caleb set up a chair in the empty space near the door.

  She watched as he positioned himself, settling the cello between his knees.

  Then he started with the Prelude to Bach’s Cello Suite #1, the familiar strains hauntingly beautiful, taking on such emotional power it might have been a gift, a caress, a declaration of love, a final benediction.

  Marissa tried to keep her eyes open so she could watch him, swaying slightly with the music, handling the graceful instrument like a lover.

  Eventually, however, the day and night caught up to her. She fell asleep to the music he played her.

  She had no idea when Caleb was emotionally recovered enough to put down his cello, but he was sound asleep beside her when she woke up the next morning.

  ***

  They had a leisurely morning the following day, sleeping in late and taking it easy.

  When they finally got moving, Caleb pulled on some clothes and went out to get them something for breakfast.

  He returned with a bag from a café nearby and a bunch of pink tulips.

  She stared down at them when he offered the flowers to her, a slightly sheepish expression on his unshaven face.

  “You got me tulips?” she breathed, taking the bouquet in her hands like it was made of delicate crystal.

  “I just happened to pass by and see them.” He took step back. “You’re not going to make a big deal about it, are you?”

  She laughed at his wary tone and tried not to hug the flowers in sheer delight. “No big deal at all. But thank you.”

  Despite her attempt to temper her response, she was feeling very sappy about the gesture, and she was pretty sure he could recognize it.

  But it was all right, since he was obviously feeling rather sappy too.

  They ate their late breakfast, and then finally Caleb found the energy to go shave and take a shower.

  Marissa was cleaning up his kitchen, trying to resist the temptation to reorganize his cabinets, when a phone rang.

  She automatically reached for her phone, blinking in surprise when no name or number popped up on her screen.

  Then she realized it was Caleb’s phone.

  She glanced at it and saw the caller was Baron James. Caleb was still in the shower, so without even thinking it through, she connected the call.

  “Hi, Baron. It’s Marissa.”

  “Oh. Hi. You’re answering his phone now?” It sounded like Baron was smiling, but his voice wasn’t as insouciant as usual.

  “He’s in the shower. How are you?”

  “I’m okay. Actually, not really. My father died yesterday.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, with a sympathetic clench in her chest. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  No wonder he sounded so subdued. She remembered exactly how it had felt last year when her own father died. “Was it sudden?”

  “He had heart trouble, but we weren’t expecting it so soon. I guess you’re never really expecting it.”

  “I guess not. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  “You can give Caleb a message, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course.”

  “I missed a call from him yesterday, and he left a message about the jazz band.”

  Marissa frowned, leaning against the kitchen counter. “The jazz band?”

  “Yeah. It was a great idea, while it lasted, and I was really hoping he’d decide to come on board with us. Anyway, his message said he decided not to. Just let him know I have to give up the band anyway, since my dad died. There’s too much to take care of with the business now, and I just can’t take so much time off over the next year. So he doesn’t have to feel bad about deciding against it.”

  Her vision blurred as she tried to process what Baron was saying, words she understood but couldn’t put together into a coherent story. “I’m sorry,” she said, mostly just for something to say. “Were you looking forward to it?”

  “Yeah. If I could have gotten Caleb on the cello, we could have blown the roof off clubs all over the country. I know he’d been torn about it for the last month, so just let him know it’s just as well he decided against it.”

  “I’ll let him know,” she said hoarsely. “Take care, Baron. I’ll send good thoughts your way.”

  “Thanks. I could use them.”

  When Marissa disconnected, she stood frozen for a long time, breathing raggedly and trying to figure out what had just happened. What th
at conversation really meant.

  Slowly, it started to make sense.

  Caleb had told her, more than once, that he wasn’t thinking about quitting his job with the orchestra.

  Evidently, he was.

  He’d told her many times he wasn’t looking around at other opportunities.

  Evidently, he was.

  She’d innocently believed that he was being completely honest and open with her lately.

  Evidently, he wasn’t.

  * * *

  She had to sit down on a stool at the kitchen counter since her knees weren’t holding her up.

  After a few minutes, she heard the shower turn off. Faint sounds of him in the bathroom. A door open. A fond voice call out that they should head out of the city and maybe take a hike that afternoon. The sound of someone walking down the hall.

  And he was there. Wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. Lean, toned body incredibly masculine, incredibly handsome, incredibly sexy. Smiling at her affectionately.

  As if she belonged here in his apartment.

  As if she belonged to him.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “Good idea?”

  She had no idea what to think—except to know he’d been lying to her face. Over and over again.

  When she didn’t answer, he frowned, “Is that my phone?”

  “Yeah,” she managed to rasp out. “It rang. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have answered it.”

  He looked confused now. Confused and entirely innocent. “It doesn’t matter. Who was calling?”

  He stretched out his hand for his phone.

  His phone. He wanted his phone. Just like he wanted her heart, her faith, her love, her support, her loyalty, her future.

  Just like he wanted her body.

  Marissa picked up the bunch of tulips she hadn’t yet put in a vase and took a step over, her face frozen into a tight mask. She handed him the phone.

  “Baby, what is it?” he asked in concern. “You look like somebody died.”

  Somebody had died. Poor Baron had lost his father.

  “Do you have anything to say to me?” she demanded.

  His face was absolutely baffled. “About what?”

  Marissa didn’t say anything else. Just kept walking past him out of the apartment.

  But not before she’d dropped the bouquet—the flowers tumbling down in a crushing fall of pink and green.