Caged in Winter

by Brighton Walsh

  She’s been driving me crazy all night. Her cheeks flush when she gets tipsy, and she chews on the inside of her cheek when she’s thinking or nervous, the act making her lips even more prominent. And, Jesus Christ, those lips. I think about them wrapping around her fork, pressed to the rim of her wine glass, plump around her teeth as she offers me a shy smile . . . If I’m going to hold it together, refrain from pushing her further than she’s ready, I need to stem those thoughts immediately.

  As soon as I stop at the curb in front of her place, her hands are out of my jacket and she’s off my bike, holding out my helmet before I can even kill the engine.

  “Well, um, thanks. For dinner. And the ride. Good night.” She spins and hustles down the sidewalk to the front door, yanking it open without a backward glance.

  “Winter, wait.” I go after her, following her into her building, down the stairs, and around the corner into the hallway. “Hey, what’s up?”

  She turns, her eyes wide as she watches me until I’m standing in front of her, just outside her door. “Nothing. You didn’t need to come in.”

  “Why’d you take off like my bike was on fire?”

  “I didn’t . . .”

  I cock my head to the side, brow furrowed. “Did my sister say something to freak you out?”

  She shakes her head. “No.” She sighs, closing her eyes. “Yes. I don’t know. It wasn’t anything I wasn’t already aware of.”

  “What’s that?”

  Leaning against the door, she blows out a deep breath. “This was just dinner. It’s not anything else. It can’t be anything else.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “We’re different, Cade. I’m not . . . I don’t do this.”

  “This . . . what? Dating?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “I just don’t. I never have. I’m not good at it, and I don’t like it.”

  “If you’ve never done it, how do you know you’re not good at it or you don’t like it?”

  “Don’t attempt to spin this around in your favor. It’s not going to work.”

  “Well, I’m sure as shit going to try.” I reach out, even though every inch of her body is coiled, warning me not to touch her, and grab her hand. “I like you, Winter.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “Yes I do. You’re a web design major. You work five nights a week at The Brewery. You spend the rest of your time studying. You never go out, don’t have many friends, and hide in your apartment when you’re not at school or work. You love to be alone, but you’re lonely. You’re stubborn and strong and determined, and you don’t like taking help from other people. How am I doing so far?”

  Her eyebrows are drawn down, her face pulled into a scowl. “Don’t be smug.”

  I bend my knees so we’re eye level and tug on her hand until she meets my gaze. “I don’t know what we could have. It might be nothing. But I’ll be honest . . . I haven’t felt like this in a long time, and that’s enough for me to know I want to see where it goes. Can’t we just see where it goes?”

  With a deep sigh, she says, “I’m not right for you, Cade.”

  “How about you worry about if I’m right for you. Let me decide the other.”

  And then before she can stop me, before she can utter another word of opposition, I slide my hand up her arm, over her shoulder, until it’s wrapped around her neck. With my other hand, I swipe a piece of hair back with my fingers, and then lean in, brushing my lips against hers. After only a moment, I pull back just enough for her to be able to tell me to stop. When nothing comes, I close the distance between us once again, taking her bottom lip in between mine. I brush my tongue against it, coaxing her mouth open, and she breathes this sexy little gasp as I slip inside. She tastes like cookies and wine, and I want to fucking devour her.

  She grips my shirt with both hands, clutching me to her, and I stop holding back and press every inch of my body against hers, groaning as my cock presses fully against her. The moment a whimper comes from her, I know she feels it. And I can’t muster up any embarrassment, because I want her to feel it. Even with all her brass balls and fuck-everything attitude, something tells me she needs reassurance, so I give it to her. In every stroke of my tongue against hers, every brush of my thumb along her jaw, I show her how much I want her.

  When her chest is heaving, her lips parted and swollen and so fucking hot, I trail kisses down her neck, seeking out every inch of skin that’s uncovered. Her head thumps back against the wall, one of her hands gone from gripping fistfuls of my shirt. Instead, she’s holding my head to her, and I don’t want to stop. I want to kiss and lick every inch of her, slip my hands under the material of her sweater, unbutton her jeans, and not stop until I feel her soft wetness against my fingertips.

  But the knowledge that she’ll regret it if I don’t stop forces me to slow down.

  I pull back, loosening my grip on her and putting an inch of space between us. I kiss the corner of her mouth, her cheek, and then her ear. Against it, I whisper, “Don’t say no.”

  There’s a beat of silence. Two. Three. And then she says the sweetest word I’ve ever heard.

  “Okay.”

  ELEVEN

  cade

  The mornings in my house are always chaotic. Tessa is trying to get herself plus Haley ready. Orders are given too loudly, followed by indignant squeals and the frustrated protestations of an almost-four-year-old. I usually use the time to catch up on homework, writing recipes for class or researching some new cooking method my instructor wants us to try that week.

  This morning, however, silence greets me. Blissful, beautiful silence that means maybe, just maybe, I can avoid my sister’s third degree for a few more hours. In reality, there’ll be no escape. I know my sister better than anyone, and I have no doubt she’ll corner me at some point, demanding to know more about Winter and what she means to me. Though the answer to that is probably pretty obvious to her. Considering I’ve never brought a girl home, and I’ve never, ever cooked for one. Not in such an intimate setting anyway. At the restaurant for class, obviously, and if I’m making something and Tessa has a friend over, sure. But a dish I planned and executed with the sole purpose to try and impress someone I was interested in? Nope.

  It’s too personal, like putting my entire soul on a plate for the judgment of others.

  I roll out of bed and know I’m going to be paying for sleeping in later. The day’s barely started and I’m already behind on what I need to do, but I can’t dredge up an ounce of remorse. I needed to sleep in later because I got to bed late. I got to bed late because I got home late. I got home late because I had Winter pressed against the wall—then the door and eventually her couch—until all I could think, hear, breathe was her. Her name, her scent, her sexy-as-hell, breathless gasps when I pressed against the length of her, nipped at that spot on her neck . . .

  After taking a very necessary lengthy shower, I get dressed, then pad toward the kitchen. I have my bistro class today, and I usually like to have some time in the kitchen before everyone else gets there to get my head in the right place. There’s nothing worse than being the one lagging behind, dragging everyone else down with you. And right now, my mind is racing with a million things, none of them food related.

  When I round the corner in the kitchen, I stop short, seeing Tessa sitting at a barstool, laptop open in front of her as she sips a cup of coffee. When she looks up at me, it’s with a predatory smile on her face.

  “What’re you doing home?” I shuffle over to pour my own cup of coffee.

  “My first appointment canceled. It was a cut and color, so I’ve got loads of time. Thought I’d swing back here quick and see how my dearest brother was doing.” Her smile grows, and I know there’s absolutely no getting around this line of questioning.

  But still, I try.

  “I’m good. And I’m late. Gotta run.” I attempt to sneak out, even willing to sacrifice my coffee and breakfast if need b
e, but she stops me, blocking my path out of the kitchen.

  “Why are you running so late? You don’t normally sleep in.” Her head’s tilted to the side and her eyes are bright, her smile nearly blinding.

  “Jesus, Tess, just ask what you want to ask and get it over with.” I sink back to the counter, resting my ass against it as I sip my coffee, eyebrows raised like I have nothing of interest to discuss.

  “Oh, I have a lot of questions.” I snort and roll my eyes, and she continues as if I’ve done neither. “But what I really want to know is . . . why now . . . why her?”

  Hoping to be spared, I make a last-ditch effort to get the focus off me. “I could ask you the same thing. Updating your dating profile?” I tip my chin in the direction of her computer. “I don’t know why you think you need to be signed up with one of those places.”

  She huffs. “Why are you being such a shit? Don’t push this back on me. We’ve had this discussion, and I told you why. I’m tired of only meeting losers. I don’t want to bring home guys who are only looking for a piece of ass when I have Haley to think about. See? That wasn’t so hard. Now it’s your turn. Why?”

  I shrug. “Why not?”

  “Please, Cade, I know it’s not that simple. And you probably burst a couple blood vessels in your eye from pretending like she wasn’t anything important. I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to here. I’m not some friend you see a couple times a week in class or once a month at a bar when you actually peel yourself away from your self-appointed responsibilities long enough to go.”

  Forgetting what we were talking about in the first place, my spine straightens. This is the main argument we have, and it seems to be happening more frequently. She’s just slammed me full force on the defensive, and I don’t try to soften my tone. “Self-appointed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, like what? Bringing Haley to dance? Picking her up or dropping her off at preschool? Making the three of us dinner? Watching her when you go out with your love-dot-com losers? Are those all my self-appointed duties?”

  “I acknowledge what you do for us, and I appreciate it, Cade. You know that. But I don’t like seeing you sacrifice your own happiness for the sake of us. At the expense of yourself.”

  “When have I ever said I was unhappy?”

  “Well, you’re certainly not the person you were five years ago.”

  “Oh, and you are? Fucking hell, Tess. It’s not like we had any major changes during that time or anything. So I’m not the guy who screws around, getting into trouble over dumb, juvenile shit. I had to grow up. Who else was going to be there to take care of you and Haley?”

  “Believe it or not, I’m actually quite capable. I can remember to lock the doors at night, shut off the stove when I’m done using it . . . I can even cook a few things so we won’t starve.”

  Dropping my chin to my chest, I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Why are we even talking about this? I don’t want to fight with you, Tessa. Not this morning.”

  “I don’t want to fight with you, either.”

  I lift my head to glare at her. “Then why the hell did you bring it up?”

  “Because I wanted to know if you like her.”

  “Of course I like her. I brought her here. That’s seriously all you wanted to know?”

  She leans forward, elbow on the counter, chin in her hand. “Well, no, but I have a feeling you won’t open up enough to tell me everything.”

  “Once again, you are correct.” I turn, dumping the rest of my coffee down the drain before I grab my keys, wallet, and bag. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “You can take the car—I’ll grab the bus.”

  “S’okay. It’s supposed to warm up today. I’ll be fine.” I pass her, feeling her eyes boring into me, so I glance over. “What?”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Not self-sacrificing at all, huh?”

  Rolling my eyes, I pat her head and stride to the front door. “Take the car, Tess. It’s no big deal. I’ll see you tonight.”

  Before she can say anything, I’m out the door and on my bike, revving it to life. The air’s cool, but the trip to school is only five minutes. It makes the most sense for me to do this, especially considering it’s Tessa’s night to get Haley from her after-school program. If she took the bus, she’d have to add on at least thirty minutes, if not more, to her commute. And then there’s the fact that they’d be on the bus by themselves later at night. We live in a nice neighborhood, but sometimes that doesn’t mean shit.

  After all the loss we’ve suffered, the heartache and pain, I’d think Tessa would understand why I like to be around to make sure they’re safe. Why is it so hard for her to understand I don’t want to take chances with them?

  I can’t take chances with them.

  winter

  I wake up a different person. My futon isn’t quite as uncomfortable as usual, my studio apartment not quite as small, my bathroom not quite as dingy. It’s like he brought his light and painted it into every crevice, every crack in my life.

  And it terrifies me.

  Last night, my defenses were down, my walls weakened, and I agreed to something I normally wouldn’t give a second thought to. But he wanted me, that much was obvious. Even after seeing the shithole I live in, even after watching me run away. He came after me, erasing all the doubt I had, as though the toxic thoughts never crept in in the first place.

  They’re there now, though. Whispers trying to tell me why this won’t work, why it can’t work. He’s too different, too big and bold, too good. All I can hear are the harsh words from my mother, the soundtrack to my childhood, saying I don’t deserve something so perfect. Saying it’ll never work. It’ll never last.

  I keep to myself more than usual as I trudge through my classes on autopilot. I wave off an offer of being included in a study group during my free period, and instead find myself in the library once again. As I’m supposed to be going over my notes for a test tomorrow, my mind wanders and I wonder what would have happened if I’d left a little earlier or a little later that night Cade approached me here and followed me home . . . if he didn’t see me slipping out. Would he have come back to The Brewery? Would he have sought me out as he planned to? Or would he have forgotten about me altogether?

  All through my day, negative thoughts eat away at me until it’s all I can think about—that it was a mistake. That I should’ve said no. That opening myself up to him will only bring me heartache. Opening myself to anyone will always bring me heartache.

  By the time I walk through the door for work that night, my mood is shit. When Annette calls me over, her voice soft, her eyes softer, it’s clear I’m not being as subtle as I hoped.

  “Hey, sugar. How was your night off?”

  I shrug, sliding over the drink order from table five. “Fine.”

  She avoids looking at me as she prepares a mojito, and I tap my fingers on the bar, counting down the minutes until close with equal parts dread and anticipation.

  Will he be there waiting for me? Do I want him to be?

  As she passes me the glasses, she says, “I thought maybe your guy would take you out somewhere.”

  I pause in placing the drinks on my tray, my eyes snapping up to hers. “My guy?”

  “Yeah, the same one who’s been waiting for you nearly every night.”

  I try to swallow but my throat’s too thick, my voice weak when I answer her. “He’s not mine.”

  She tips her head to the side, eyeing me seriously. “Not because he doesn’t want to be.”

  I shake my head and reach to grab my tray full of drinks. Before I can turn away, her hand is on my wrist, stopping me. Glancing up, I look into her imploring eyes.

  “You see a lot of people while working this kind of job. A lot of assholes walk through those doors. Guys who only want a piece of the young girls we’ve got working here, who only want to see some skin, touch, and push their boundaries until they get you all ruffled. Do you know how long I
’ve worked here?”

  I shake my head.

  “Fifteen years. After that long, you learn pretty damn well how to get a read on people.”

  She doesn’t say anything else, just refills drinks for a couple people sitting at the bar.

  When she makes her way back toward me, I ask, “And all that means . . . what? Are you trying to say Cade’s one of the assholes?”

  “Oh, honey.” She smiles softly at me and pats me on the arm. “You already know the answer to that one. You’re just a little scared to admit it.”

  cade

  When she walks out of the pub, her eyes automatically cut to me, like she hopes I’m there, but the surprise plainly shown in her expression proves she doesn’t expect me. She shuffles toward me, her eyes wary, and I wonder what could’ve happened today to make the boneless, blissful girl I left at her apartment last night this stiff, buttoned-up, nervous one in front of me now.

  “Hi.” Her voice is low, her eyes downcast.

  I reach out, tug at her arm, and pull her in between my wide-set legs as I lean back against the brick wall. “Hey.” I slip my fingers around the nape of her neck under her hair, coax her chin up with my thumb, ready to make her tell me what could’ve changed so much in such a short period of time. And then a startling thought hits me: What if this expression doesn’t have anything at all to do with me, and instead has something to do with the shithead patrons who frequent this place? White-hot rage fills me, and I have to make a conscious effort not to tighten my grip on her in my anger toward something completely out of her control. “Did you . . . did something happen tonight?”

  She looks at me, her brow furrowed, and I jerk my head to indicate the pub. “In there. Did someone touch you again?” I work to make the words come out soft so she doesn’t know I’m edgy, ready to beat the shit out of whoever laid a hand on her.

  “Oh, no. They don’t touch me, Cade. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  Except I know they do—I saw it with my own two eyes, and replaying it still makes me feel like I want to crawl out of my fucking skin.