[Reluctant Hearts 01.0] Caged in Winter

by Brighton Walsh

  Caged in Winter

  Brighton Walsh

  Summary

  Winter Jacobson’s fought hard to escape the life she was born in to. She's only seventy-six days away from college graduation—and the future she's dreamed of for so long. She just has to stick to her rules: Don't lose focus. Trust no one. Hookups only—she doesn't want or need a man ruining her plans.

  But then Cade Maxwell, aspiring chef and Prince Charming in-training, comes swooping in to her life. All brash exterior and marshmallow center, Cade strips away her walls as easily as he strips away her clothes. One of the best in his class, he's on the fast-track to his dream job—as long as he keeps his eye on the prize.

  This close to graduation, neither of them can afford a distraction. Despite their explosive chemistry, nothing serious can develop between them. Thankfully, Winter's rules are keeping them safe.

  Except Cade's not playing by her rules anymore.

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  To Christina, because two little words from you sparked this entire thing.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Tessa Ever After Excerpt

  Other Titles By Brighton Walsh

  Have you read London Hale?

  About the Author

  One

  winter

  Seventy-six days.

  The number repeats as a mantra in my mind, echoing like a drumbeat with every hurried step I take.

  Seventy. Six.

  Seventy. Six.

  Stale air and dim lighting greet me as I tear down the hallway of my apartment building, jamming my key into the lock of my door and rushing inside. If I don’t get my ass in gear, I’m going to be late. If I’m late, I could get fired.

  I can’t get fired.

  I toss my bag on the floor, already stripping off my sweater and searching for the minuscule articles of clothing my employer considers a uniform. I find them piled in the corner of my tiny studio apartment. Like tossing them to the side and burying them among a hundred other things would somehow make them disappear. I hate this nightly routine. I hate walking out knowing what awaits me. Knowing what kind of front I’ll be putting on. Knowing it’s my only choice.

  Still, it beats living on the streets, and I’m about fifty bucks from having my ass kicked to the curb.

  As fast as I arrived, I’m out of there, grabbing a banana on the way. It’s not much as far as dinners go, but it’s all I’ve got. I inhale it as I head across campus, a hoodie and a pair of yoga pants thankfully covering the parts of me I don’t want to show every horny college guy I pass. Not that being in the pub is any better. But at least there it’s expected, and I feel somewhat protected while surrounded by other people. They can look their fill, but they don’t touch.

  Usually.

  When I’m working, I paint a lifeless smile on my face. Laugh. Flirt. Engage. It took me a day to figure out smiling got me bigger tips. Took me a week to figure out flirting got me even more.

  My head’s down as I book it two blocks from the outskirts of the opposite side of campus. Having to stay behind at my last class, I missed the bus I usually take to get to work, but I don’t mind walking. It’s warming up, the first traces of spring in every newly budded tree, in every sprouted flower. New beginnings, some would say. The season of love and light. The opposite of winter, when everything is harsh.

  Dark. Cold. Hollow.

  Fitting, really, my mother would name me that.

  It’s like she already hated me, even then.

  I’m only two minutes late, but to Randy, my boss, two minutes might as well be twenty. I keep my head down as I blow into the pub, trying not to draw attention to myself. I hustle into the back, clocking in and peeling off my armor before stuffing my hoodie and pants into my locker. I tug on the hem of my barely there shorts and crop top. Like all that adjusting will magically add three inches of material.

  I pause just inside the door of the break room. Walking out is always the hardest step. Coming into the pub, with my regular clothes on, my face down, is nothing. I’m still me. I’m still invisible.

  It’s hard to be invisible while wearing nothing but this. Hot pink top smaller than some sports bras I’ve seen. Black boy shorts that cover less of my skin than some of my underwear.

  Raucous laughter from the patrons filters through the door. Tuesday nights aren’t usually too bad. We have a few regulars, and sometimes people celebrating birthdays, but I generally don’t have to worry too much about guys getting handsy with me, or hanging around and waiting for me after closing to see if my flirting actually meant something. Those nights are the worst.

  Knowing I can’t put it off any longer, I push through the door.

  “Hey, sugar,” Annette says as she mixes up a drink behind the bar. In her late forties, she’s the floor manager-slash-bartender and the only one of us lucky enough to wear jeans and a T-shirt with the pub’s logo on it. What I wouldn’t give for that much coverage. “Randy’s in the office. He didn’t notice. You’re fine.”

  I breathe for what feels like the first time since I left class. “Thanks.”

  She nods and tells me what tables I’ve got, and I go to work.

  Shoulders rolled back. Shell in place. Smile plastered on.

  Seventy-six days to freedom.

  cade

  This is the reason I wanted to become a chef. This feeling right here. The rush of adrenaline, the high that comes from a well-done dinner service. The sense of accomplishment when someone compliments my dish. That’s me on a plate, every time, and there’s nothing in the world that feels better than when someone loves what I’ve created for them.

  The energy in the kitchen is buzzing, everyone pumped up after a great night, and I’m one of them, knowing we kicked ass tonight. I concentrate on cleaning up my station at the end of my bistro class, listening to my classmates bustle around me, excitement in the tone of their voices.

  “Hey, Cade,” Chef Foster says when he stops in front of my station. “Come see me before you leave.”

  “Sure thing.” I wipe down the stainless steel table and then pack up my knives. Once they’re secure in my bag, I stroll over to where Chef Foster is just finishing with another student.

  He glances at me, then tips his head to the back corner of the kitchen, the only place that’ll allow us a modicum of privacy. Once we’re there, he slaps a hand on my shoulder. “Excellent work tonight, Cade.”

  “Thank you, Chef.”

  “I really mean it. I always knew you had talent, even when you were younger, but what you’ve developed in to is more than I could’ve hoped for.”

  I stand a little taller at his words, pride swelling
in me. Chef Foster—Mark when we’re not in school—is an amazing teacher and someone I’m lucky enough to call my mentor. Hearing that from him feels like winning the lottery. “That means a lot.”

  “Well, you know I don’t bullshit.” A grin lifts the side of my mouth as I nod, and he continues, “You know these last couple months are crucial for your future prospects. Do you know yet what you’d like to do after you graduate?”

  I swallow, a million thoughts bombarding me. Tessa and Haley and working in a kitchen in New York or L.A. and studying in Italy… My responsibilities battling with my dreams. Though it’s not really a battle at all, because there’s no competition. “Well, my long-term goal will be to open my own restaurant. Before that, I’d just be happy to work my way up to executive chef somewhere.”

  “Are you looking at strictly Italian cuisine?” he asks, referring to my specialty.

  “No, but all the better if that was where I ended up.”

  “Have you started looking?”

  “Not yet. Should I be?”

  “Probably not, but I’d start mid-May. And, of course, you know you’d increase your chances if you were open to different locations.”

  “You mean—”

  “Outside the state.”

  I stare at him, unsure of what to say to that. In the past year, he’s been hinting at me broadening my horizons for where I’d look, but it’s never been anything quite so blunt. If anyone knows how difficult that would be for me, it’s him. He’s been a family friend for as long as I can remember, and he witnessed firsthand the devastation that rocked my family. Leaving now…leaving Tessa and Haley? That’s not an option.

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  He stares at me for a moment, his jaw ticking. Knowing him as long as I have, I have no doubt he has something he wants to say. Rather than doing so, he eventually gives a short nod, blowing out a breath. “Well, let me know when you need some recommendation letters. I’d be happy to send them.”

  “Thanks, Chef.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. Keep up the good work.”

  I nod, shouldering my bag and heading out of the kitchen after offering good-byes to a few friends. I’m not even halfway to the parking lot before my phone buzzes with a text message.

  Come out tonight

  I roll my eyes and quickly type out a response to my best friend before pocketing my phone. I haven’t taken five steps when my phone rings.

  Knowing it’s him, I answer, “Yeah.”

  “Why do you have to be such a shit all the time?” Jason asks.

  I laugh, shaking my head as I walk toward the street. “If that’s you trying to talk me into going, it’s not working.”

  Someone shouts in the background and Jason yells back before talking into the phone again. “Well, what the fuck else am I supposed to do? You haven’t been out in months.”

  “You’re an asshole. We just hung out when Adam was home a couple weeks ago.”

  “Hanging out on your couch playing Call of Duty does not constitute going out, dumbass.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been doing this thing called going to classes and studying and working. Not all of us have parents willing to foot the bill through four changes in majors and the extended college plan.”

  “Hey, I’ll graduate one of these years.”

  I snort. “Maybe.”

  “And if you’re trying to sound like less of a shit, you need to work on your tactics.”

  I chuckle, knowing exactly what he’s doing. Goading me used to be effective, back when we were fifteen, sixteen. Seven years later, not so much. “Still not working.”

  He groans. “Come on, man. It’s Sean’s birthday. Everyone’s out. I’ll even buy you a round.”

  Heaving a sigh, I drop my head back as my shoulders slump. After four hours on my feet in the kitchen, I just want to relax. I feel like I haven’t showered in a week. I feel like I haven’t slept in even longer. Even still, he’s right—I could use a night out.

  “Yeah, all right. Gimme an hour. Where are we meeting, Shooters?”

  “Not sure. Sean wants to barhop. Give me a call when you head out. I’ll let you know where we are.”

  “’Kay. Later.”

  I hang up, pocketing my phone as soon as I reach my motorcycle. It’s still a bit cold for it to be an enjoyable ride, but Tessa needed the car, so I didn’t have much of a choice. I straddle my bike and button up my coat before I rev the engine to life. The loud roar echoes around me as I peel out of the space and rumble down the street.

  Riding is my escape—the one thing I take for myself. I forget about my responsibilities—classes and bills and the people who depend on me. My mom always hated this thing, hated it the first day I brought it home, but I think she’d understand my love for it now.

  When I ride it, it’s my peace.

  I still forget, sometimes. Even after four years. When I walk through the front door, sometimes I expect to hear her in the kitchen, the smells of her cooking greeting me. The sound of her laughter filling my ears. The sense of security and ease I always had before everything changed.

  Tonight the house is empty, not even the sounds of Tessa or Haley echoing down the hallway. I check my watch, then shoot Tess a quick text, making sure everything is okay. They probably went somewhere after Haley’s ballet practice, but there’s still lingering doubt that gnaws at my gut. After living through the kind of tragedies I have, it’s hard to turn it off—that constant worry that’s always there, lurking under the surface.

  As I wait for her text, I jump in the shower, then throw on whatever clean clothes I can find scattered around my room. I’m ready to go sooner than I expected, and I grab my keys and coat on my way out the door, checking my phone for a reply. Finding one there, my worries fade, and I reply, letting Tess know I’ll be gone until later tonight.

  Before starting up my bike, I call Jason to find out where they are. He’s already well on his way to being shit-faced, and I’m not sure this was such a good idea. I love him like a brother, but I can’t help that bit of jealousy I get as an outsider looking in at his life. Wondering what it’d be like to be a normal, carefree twenty-three-year-old guy. Where the only thing I had to worry about was where I was going drinking that weekend and who I was going to fuck. Instead I’m worried about keeping my scholarships and paying bills, all the while attending school full-time and holding down a part-time job.

  Still, even if I had a choice, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love Tessa and Haley more than anything.

  By the time I get to The Brewery, I know the guys have already hit several bars before this one. I spot them in the back by the pool tables. They’re loud and obnoxious, roaring over the only other group taking up space inside.

  I walk in that direction, seeing Jason at the pool table, curled over the bent form of his latest conquest, no doubt “improving” her shooting skills. He notices me, tips his chin, and grins before returning his attention to the girl he’s probably hoping to get in the pants of tonight.

  I flag the waitress, ordering a beer, and get pulled into a conversation between Sean and Dave about last night’s game.

  After a while, a hard slap lands on my shoulder. “Hey, jackass.”

  I look over my shoulder and straighten to my full height. Jason is tall, but I’m taller, and I stare down at him. “You really want to start this? I kicked your ass in third grade. I can do it again.”

  A laugh rumbles out of him. “Yeah, only because you sucker punched me.” He shakes his head, landing another blow on my shoulder. “I can see you’re still pissy as hell. We need to get you laid.” Before I can retort, he continues, “You get a beer already? What’d ya think of Mandi?”

  With a furrowed brow, I ask, “Who?”

  “Our waitress. The food here sucks, but the uniforms definitely make up for it.”

  I stare at him for a minute, before shaking my head. “You’re such a jackass. I don’t understand how you even get girls to sleep w
ith you.”

  “Charisma, my friend. Charisma. And speaking of getting girls to sleep with me, where’s Tess?” He waggles his eyebrows, and I shove him so hard he stumbles back, laughing.

  “Fuck off.”

  Holding his hands up in surrender, he says, “I’m just playing.” He’s been just playing regarding Tess for as long as I can remember. The first time he said something like that, I ended up with swollen knuckles and he had a black eye. He tips his beer in my direction. “Drink up. You need to relax.”

  A-fucking-men.

  winter

  Sometimes I daydream. Think about what it will be like after I’ve graduated. Once I have a steady job. A real job. Something that doesn’t require ninety percent of my skin showing. I picture myself in Maine or South Carolina or Texas. New York, maybe. I’ve become so good at this, I can almost smell the scents of my nonexistent apartment in some far-off city, can name the colors of paint on the walls, can count the number of dirty dishes in the sink.

  When I’m working, it’s my escape. When I have to smile and bend over to pick up a customer’s napkin or get him something from the kitchen for the fourth time so he can watch my ass as I walk away…it’s what I think about to get through the hours, the minutes. It helps to remind myself why I’m here. What I’m working for. Why I put up with jackasses who smell of whiskey and cigarettes and cheap cologne. Who smell exactly like my childhood.