Continuum (The South Beach Connection Trilogy Book 3)

by A. R. Hadley

  "She took anxiety meds after her brother died. She told me she didn't do birth control. I never asked why."

  "She reacted pretty badly, like crazy side effects, to both those things, and then at some point, after Peter died, she started taking prescription pain medicine.”

  “For pain?”

  “No.”

  Cal ran his palm over his face, forehead to chin. His breath hitched. His eyes blurred on the corner of the floor where the tile met the cabinetry. Was there dirt there, crusty food, or leftover conversation?

  “She won’t touch it,” Tab continued. “Any of it. It all scares the shit out of her."

  Benjamin began to fuss, banging the plastic teething toy into the floor of the pen. Cal turned to him, but he didn't really look at his son. He peered through Ben, completely floored by Tabitha’s revelations about his wife — a woman he should’ve known much better than he did.

  “I’ve already started to work on her about Rosa.” Tab picked up Ben, breaking Cal’s stare. She planted a kiss on the baby’s chubby cheek. “I want you to take her out tonight.”

  “On a date? The two of us?” Cal took a container of homemade baby food from the fridge. “Good luck getting her to agree to that. I’ve tried.”

  “Oh, she’ll agree. Trust me.” Tab smirked, placed Ben in his seat, and strapped him in.

  Benjamin arched his back, squirming and protesting.

  “It’s coming, big boy. Daddy has your food.”

  Annie and Cal sat at a small table in a dimly lit restaurant directly across from one another, together but alone, the distance in their hearts vast.

  The waiter peered down at them and asked for their drink order. Annie studied the menu, not answering the pressing question.

  Cal lowered his and looked at Annie through his glasses. "Do you want something to drink?"

  "I'm sorry.” She glanced up. “Yes, I’ll have a water, please.”

  Cal eyeballed her, his feathers already beginning to ruffle. When he’d asked her if she wanted a drink, he’d meant a drink. He tipped his head at the waiter, declining alcohol for the moment, and then the server departed, off to retrieve two ice waters.

  Annie had decided what she wanted. Cal continued to read the selections.

  "Don't not drink because of me, honey. If you want to have a drink … then drink."

  He closed the menu and removed his glasses, pretending to clean them.

  "You know you want to," Annie teased.

  Cal’s eyes narrowed to the width of dimes. "You think you know what I want?” He slid his glasses into his shirt pocket. “I didn't think you gave a damn."

  Annie's smile disappeared. She ran her fingers through her hair, then crossed her arms against her chest. Shifting her eyes, she bit the insides of her cheeks.

  "If I want a drink," he pressed, leaning forward, "I'll have a fucking drink.”

  "Mmm. I forgot. It's always about what you want."

  However, she didn't know what he wanted anymore.

  One of the biggest hang-ups in their entire relationship could’ve been sized up in her last comment. Except it wasn’t always about what Cal wanted. Was it? He wanted her to be happy. He used to want that. Problem was he didn't realize none of it was her choice.

  "I don't want to do this, Annie. Not now. Not here." As he looked off into the distance, he shifted in his seat.

  "Do what? Talk?” Annie swung her leg, her eyes bulging, and kept her arms folded against her chest.

  “Don’t bait me in the middle of a fucking restaurant.”

  He sat back.

  Annie deflated.

  Neither of them spoke until the server interrupted their silence by placing drinks on the table, and then they opened their mouths to order dinner.

  “What you chose sounds good,” she said as the waiter turned to leave.

  “I’ve never had it here before.”

  “Everything here is always good."

  “I can’t believe it’s been so long since we’ve been.”

  She picked up her water glass and sulked behind its rim.

  “I just mean that I like this place, all right?” Cal reached a hand out across the table. “It’s okay.”

  Annie glanced at his palm, chewing on her lip.

  “Hold my fucking hand,” he groaned with an irresistible charm.

  Annie rolled her eyes and swung her boot, narrowly missing his legs. “Well, when you put it that way, how can I resist?” She dropped her hand on top of his as she met his eyes.

  He brushed his thumb over her knuckles, watching the movement. His throat tightened, and he cleared it sharply before speaking next.

  "I have to go out of town next week.” He hadn't been away from his family since Benjamin had been born.

  "How long will you be gone?" A stupid weakness constricted her vocal chords.

  "Just a few days, maybe a week."

  “You have to go?” She released his hand.

  “Yes.” He sighed. “I’ve put projects on hold for you. I’ve turned projects over for you. I’ve—”

  “Did I ask you to do any of that?”

  “Why?” Cal turned his face to the side. “Why do you do it?”

  “I don’t know." She smeared condensation up and down the sides of the glass. Her eyeballs stayed busy manufacturing their own kind of water. "I don’t know. I don’t want to.”

  “Don’t cry.”

  “Don’t tell me not to cry."

  Leaning back, he pressed the tips of all ten fingers together, forming a collapsing triangle. “Well, so far we’ve established neither of us want to be told how to act or what to do."

  “We established that long ago," she said with a smile as she swept the napkin under her lids.

  He kept gazing at her, his tropical-green eyes twinkling. The dimples, the smile, and his eyes — always his eyes — warmed her head to toe.

  “Come with me to California.” He extended a hand across the table again.

  Annie wouldn’t reach for him. Her warmth turned to icebergs. Her green eyes popped. "And leave Ben?"

  “Excuse me,” Cal said to the server, flagging him down as he passed. “I’ll take a drink from the bar now. A Jameson neat.”

  "Who would he stay with?" Annie tapped her foot on the floor.

  Cal leaned back and looked at her curtly, refusing to answer her asinine question.

  The two of them sat at the table, not speaking, waiting for Cal's drink to arrive, waiting for dinner, counting down the minutes until their forced interaction would be over.

  "How did it go when you went out today?" Cal asked moments later. He’d drunk the whiskey and decided to attempt another go at civilized conversation.

  The waiter interrupted the forced smile Cal had spread across his face and set the plates of food before them.

  "It went fine." Holding her fork, she was ready to stab at the field greens mixed with strawberries and pecans.

  "It went fine?" He smirked, then held his spoon toward her face, wiggling it, but she hesitated. “Take a bite. You said it looked good.”

  “Don’t you want a bite first?”

  “Damn it, Annie. Take a bite.” He pushed it closer.

  As soon as she opened, Cal inserted the spoon full of creamy grits and a single plump shrimp covered in homemade sauce into her mouth. Annie waved a hand in front of her lips, and then she breathed out steam.

  "I want to hear more than ‘It went fine.’” Cal filled his spoon and brought it to his own mouth. “I want to know how it actually felt to capture things … the way you used to."

  “It’s hot,” Annie warned just as he was about to take a bite.

  “The pictures?” He grinned.

  “No." Her cheeks flushed.

  “It’s hot, but it tastes good, right?”

  “It’s amazing,” she said, eyes lighting up.

  “And today, earlier, was that amazing too?”

  “You really want to know about my day?”

  “Baby, I
always want to know … everything." He closed his mouth over the spoon despite the heat.

  "It felt … it felt ... forced." She shrugged her shoulders. "Like I’d lost something I never even had to think twice about before. Like losing a finger.”

  “Like losing a finger?”

  “Yes, haven’t you ever imagined what it would be like to lose a finger?”

  “No,” he chuckled. “I can’t say I have.”

  “It’s not funny.” But she smiled while tapping his leg under the table with the toe of her heel. “Losing the love for my camera was like losing a finger.”

  Cal appeared mesmerized by Annie — by her words and eyes. He held his spoon, but he kept it inside the bowl, sticking straight up.

  “I never realized how much I needed it or how much it meant to me until it was gone. I mean, I always knew I loved it. But I never really lost that spark of creativity … maybe some after Peter died. But this... It scared me." She swallowed past the lump in her throat and put a forkful of lettuce and nuts and fruit into her mouth.

  Cal stared at Annie.

  Love filled him to the brim.

  It sat in his eyes, swimming.

  She was opening herself up to him again. And he wanted all of her to come back — all of it — every spark he’d ever seen in her eyes. The glimmer he saw now was almost enough to ignite into a small flame.

  He wanted it, and he had to believe she did too.

  And for the first time since their son had been born, as he gazed at his wife, he was starting to think it was truly possible. There really was a rainbow. Colors he could taste and see.

  "You'll get it back. Your finger will grow back, baby."

  "What if it doesn't?" Blinking in succession, she peered at him through her lashes.

  "You will. I see it in you.”

  A light of some sort beamed from his core, out of his eyes. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t mince words. His unwavering confidence seemed enough for them both.

  "What do you see?" She leaned forward in her chair, ready to listen even more intently than before.

  Cal smiled, then wiped his mouth with the napkin. "I see you, Annie."

  He paused and looked into her very soul — the way he always had. He found her spirit deep within her and thrust it forward.

  A jolt struck her, and instantly she was beside herself. Watts of energy traveled between them. Her lips curved into a partial smile.

  "I see a woman who loves so much she sometimes forgets to love herself. I see a woman with passion for everything close to her heart. I see a woman who is a wonderful mother, far surpassing anything I could’ve ever imagined. I see a woman"—he paused, clearing his throat, timing his sentimental drum beat—"who's not afraid."

  Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. Annie stared straight through his skin. She couldn't move. Cal had always paralyzed her from the start using choice words — and this time was no different.

  He’d always imparted strength by means of them.

  Few words sometimes but strength in each syllable.

  His tone, his damn self-assurance.

  Annie had forgotten, or she’d abused his kindness, or she’d become used to shoving his stark confidence to the back of the closet where she’d buried it underneath unimportant things.

  Reaching her hand across the table, she touched his forearm. Their magnets connected, causing her skin to prickle.

  Everything about Cal appeared strong and capable, ready to take on anything. He hadn’t been afraid to lay it all out on the table. After months of trying to find her way through the dark, she could finally see his heart — although it had been there, beating, all along.

  And she soberly realized she never wanted to lose it under the junk piling up over her soul … ever again.

  Tabitha and Benjamin were sleeping when the Prescotts returned home from their date.

  Cal stood in the bathroom, brushing his teeth in front of the mirror, wearing only blue cotton pants. Annie stood on his right, combing her hair, dressed in a long-sleeved, knee-length nightgown, the kind that easily opened at the breast for nursing.

  Cal watched her reflection.

  And Annie glanced at him too, out of the corner of her eye, while sliding the brush over her hair.

  Except … she wasn’t thinking about hair.

  She was thinking about skin — his skin — while attempting not to look at it. His chest, his arms, his shoulders. She failed, and blushed.

  Would it still feel amazing? The slightest kiss of his skin against hers. Would it still be magnetic? It had been for a moment at the restaurant.

  After finishing her chore, she stepped behind him, tucking away her smile. It had been replaced with a nervous tick. Please, please, please let the amazing return. The magnets. The goosebumps. The ache.

  Never more aware of each move she made — concretely conscious of the lack of space between them — she placed her palms flat against his bare back and dragged her fingers up and down his skin.

  She peeked around his torso, eager to take a gander at his expression in the mirror.

  He was stiff as a board — his body, not his dick. Beyond restrained. She could feel every single one of his muscles tighten. He had the look of a man who was in great pain from whatever it was he kept hidden. She heard his breath quicken.

  Hers had too.

  She’d barely moved, yet she was beginning to pant as though she’d been jogging.

  Cal put the towel aside and gripped the counter, studying her face, her movement. Her fingers slid to his front, trailing up and through his chest hair. He closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. Then she shifted her head side to side against his shoulder blades several times before resting her cheek against him.

  The air between them faltered, tripped over a cord or string. Her breath warmed him, needling him with gooseflesh.

  His eyes opened as though he’d awoken from a dream, and he started to turn because he needed to see Annie face to face — not through the mirror.

  Accepting her touch was difficult.

  He had to move slowly, cautiously. She’d literally pushed him away almost every time he’d tried to touch her, hold her hand, peck her cheek — anything — since Ben had been born.

  And so, he’d eventually stopped trying.

  His yearning was buried deep within him, but he was afraid his natural intensity might scare her away. He’d never had to hide his lust from any woman — certainly not with Annie. She was the one who’d allowed him to be freer than he felt he ever could’ve been.

  And she was also the one who had asked him to change.

  Sure, she’d never done so aloud, but nevertheless, it had been plain for several months she didn’t want him the same way she had before. She didn't listen or surrender. She didn’t let him lead.

  The control they needed was killing the both of them.

  She needed to submit. He needed to plan.

  It wasn’t just about sex. It was their dynamic.

  Facing her now, his spine against the counter, Cal gripped the edge of the vanity and stared into her forest-green eyes — woods he would gladly get lost in.

  But Annie looked away from his gaze and down at their feet, her hands lightly holding his waist.

  “Look at me,” he whispered, and she obeyed.

  Peering into those eyes — the ones pinning her in place — she was unsure. But the feel of his skin felt so right for the first time in a long time. It was magnetic. A pulse she could feel tapping against her pores.

  Cal didn't move.

  He kept his hands attached to the ledge of the counter.

  Annie knew he was being intentional with his actions … or lack thereof. She wanted to kiss him but was afraid.

  Would they make love? What if she couldn't give herself to him fully? What if it hurt? What if he wanted more than she could handle?

  Fuck. Whatever they were on the precipice of might only make matters worse.

  No. She pushed the nagging thoughts from her
mind and moved her hands to Cal’s cheeks. And then she leaned in farther, closer, deeper, and put her mouth against his. Mmm. She kissed his upper lip. Sigh. The taste, the texture, it tickled, and at the same time, it seemed ... weird.

  Her eyes popped open. His face felt and looked huge.

  Stepping back, still consciously aware of the moment, her breathing sounded off in her ears with great momentum.

  As much as she’d wished things could be as they’d always been between them, she knew they weren’t the same for her. Not completely.

  It wasn't because she didn't love Cal — she did. More than she thought possible. But her sexual feelings had disappeared after the birth of Benjamin. Every touch, every kiss, took effort. And sex … well, sex seemed like an obstacle needing to be overcome.

  God … how she wanted to overcome.

  It wasn't like riding a bicycle. Pedaling was easy. Marriage and babies were the Tour de France.

  Annie put her head on Cal's shoulder and breathed against the crook of his neck. However, his fingers remained glued to the counter — he still wouldn’t put his hands on her. She thought about those hands and those fingers and all the places on her body they’d been.

  Her ache for his touch was almost vanity.

  A test.

  She knew why he wasn't touching her, and she wasn’t physically aching for him to actually do it either, not the way she had in the past, but it upset her that he wasn’t doing it nonetheless.

  Benjamin's cries interrupted their attempt at halfway. They could hear him through the crackly monitor.

  Annie's entire body tensed. She looked back up at Cal, lost, then began to step away. A few tears gained the upper hand, but he yanked on her fingers just as she turned to go.

  "Wait," he whispered.

  Annie stood at arm’s length, holding his hand, then she pinched her fingers into the corners of her eyes.

  Cal pulled her against his sequoia tree of safety and wrapped his arms around her. Her ear to his chest, she released her breath and dried her tears on his skin, relaxing as he stroked the back of her hair. Annie tilted her head up, and without hesitation, she kissed him, tasting his upper lip, then his lower, pausing and doing it again and again.

  It didn’t take long for Cal to slide his hands through her hair and return the kiss with a grave intensity. Not faster or harder, but with an aching, magnificent insistence.