[Reluctant Hearts 01.0] Caged in Winter

by Brighton Walsh

  Everything about him is larger than life. His size, most notably, but there are other things I didn’t pick up on before when the only illumination we had was the moon and passing streetlamps. But here, under the harsh track lights of the bus, everything is accentuated. He’s imposing, even sitting there, his back curled as he leans toward me. His face looks like it was carved from stone, the angles of his jaw and cheekbones sharp and unforgiving. I feel like his shoulders are twice the width of mine, at least, though I know that’s not possible. Probably. His arms are massive, roped with muscle and completely covered in ink. I’d seen hints of tattoos before…pieces here and there, but this… This is more than I anticipated. Designs cover both forearms, disappearing into the short sleeves of the shirt wrapped tightly around the bulk of his biceps, tiny whispers peeking out of the neckline.

  I wonder where they stop. If they stop.

  “I guess it’s my lucky day then.”

  And his voice…low and deep and rumbly and so perfectly matched to the rest of him. I glance down once again at the name he’s had permanently etched on him. The idea that someone—a girl—means enough to him to have her name forever branded into his skin is foreign to me. I can’t imagine that kind of love…that kind of commitment. Not after the examples I’ve had in my life. The low hum of disappointment in my stomach at him being taken is a completely unwelcome sensation.

  Meeting his eyes, I recall what he said and ask, “Why’s that?”

  He stares at me for a beat, his smile growing even more until his entire face lights up with it. “You just agreed to dinner.”

  I sit back in my seat, brow furrowed. “Um, no I didn’t. What I said was I don’t do committed guys.”

  “Right. And then you said, ‘Too bad…I was going to say yes.’ And you should know…this?” He runs a finger over the flowing letters that make up the girl’s name on his arm. “Is my niece, not my girlfriend. That?” He points to the date. “Her birthday, not an anniversary.”

  I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. And then his hand is under my chin, coaxing my jaw up until my lips are no longer parted. With a single finger, he makes a path down the side of my neck, over my shoulder, down my arm to my wrist before he engulfs my hand in his, and I swear to God, I’m on fire. Every nerve ending in my body is setting off a CODE-RED alarm, and I’m helpless to stop it. He rubs his thumb back and forth on the inside of my wrist, his touch gentle and reverent, and I can’t remember the last time someone’s touched me so sweetly.

  And I realize with clarity it’s because I’ve never been touched this way.

  When I meet his eyes again, they are open and honest and beseeching.

  “So. What time can I pick you up?”

  Nine

  cade

  Tessa and Haley have the car tonight, so I have no choice but to pick up Winter on my motorcycle. I haven’t ever asked her if she has a problem with it, and I wasn’t going to now, too paranoid it’d give her a reason to say no. When I caught her in her words, I could see the panic in her eyes, trying to think up a plausible reason to go back on what she said. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to give her one.

  I roll to a stop in front of her apartment building, the outside rundown and unkempt. This isn’t the nicest neighborhood, and it’s farther away from campus than I would have figured she’d live, but if the exterior is anything to go by, the rent’s cheap. I park and hop off, pulling my helmet off and setting it on the seat before I head up the front walkway.

  The lock on the main door is broken, the speaker for the intercom system hanging open with wires spilling out. I let myself in, walking to the door marked 107 before I knock twice. And then I wait.

  And wait.

  I’m just about to raise my hand to knock again when the door swings open. “Hi.” Winter’s head is tipped down, and she won’t meet my eyes. “Let me just…I’ll grab my bag quick.” She turns and walks farther into her apartment, not sparing me a glance, but that just gives me time to watch her. The jeans she has on hug her ass in the most amazing way, and when she spins back toward me, I notice the sweater she’s wearing brings out the green in her eyes. Her hair is down, and her lips are full and pink, and I want to pull her to me and kiss her, if only to get her to stop fidgeting.

  I step inside and lean against the closed door as I wait for her to get what she needs, trying not to add to her obvious nerves. Her place is…tiny. I have no doubt if I stretched my arms out on either side of me, I’d take up half the width of the room. She walks over to where a futon sits against one wall and grabs her purse. Save for a couple of TV trays set up—one with a laptop on it—there isn’t any other furniture.

  A door on the left probably leads to the bathroom, and to my right is the disgrace of a kitchen with its mini-fridge and two-burner electric stove.

  “I’d give you the tour, but, well…” She shrugs, still avoiding eye contact.

  “Hey.” I reach out and grab her hand, tug her to stand in front of me. Bending my knees, I crouch until I catch her eyes. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you? Gonna back out on me?”

  “What? No.” She shakes her head, her hair tumbling around her shoulders as she finally looks at me. “No, I… It’s nothing. I’m fine.” She gives me a tight, close-lipped smile, and after a moment of studying her, I decide not to press. I know I need to tread carefully with her, and I’m not sure how much I can push, how much she needs me to stand back.

  “If you’re sure…” I don’t want to give her a reason to back out, but I also don’t want to force her into something she’s not comfortable with.

  “I am.”

  I nod, stepping back. “Okay. Grab your coat. It’s gonna be chilly.”

  “Why, taking me on a picnic?”

  I chuckle. “Not tonight.”

  She pulls on a coat over her sweater as she leads the way out of her apartment building. I try not to watch the sway of her hips as she walks in front of me, but my gaze travels down without permission, once again taking in her ass in those jeans. I’ve seen her in less—far less—working at the pub, but there’s something decadent about this. Knowing what she has underneath without being able to see it… I stifle a groan as my imagination goes to places better left for when I’m home, alone, and in my bed.

  When we get outside, I gently coax her to my motorcycle, and I know the minute realization dawns, because she stops short in front of me on the sidewalk. She looks at me over her shoulder, eyebrows raised.

  “Yep,” I say in answer to her unasked question, holding out a helmet for her. When she just stares at it, I step closer, gently brushing her hair away from her face and pulling the helmet onto her head. I gather her hair, pushing it behind her shoulders and tucking it into the back of her coat before I hook the chinstrap of her helmet. “Your hair will probably get tangled if you don’t do that.”

  Just staring at me, she doesn’t say anything. She looks ridiculous with this giant-ass thing on her head, and all I can think is how much I want to kiss her. She’s so close, her breath on my face, and I could just lean in, press my mouth to hers, slip my tongue between her lips, and finally taste her.

  I step back, clearing my throat as I try to refocus. “Ready?” I straddle my bike, reaching out a hand to help her on.

  Hesitantly, she closes the gap between us, and then she’s behind me, her hands on my hips, legs flush against the outside of mine, body pressed against my back. Her husky voice echoes in my ear. “Ready.”

  And I know I’m utterly fucked.

  winter

  Freedom.

  That’s the only word that describes the feeling of being with Cade on the back of his motorcycle. It’s chilly, the wind biting into me even with his massive body as a shield, but I don’t care. It’s exhilarating, this freedom.

  I feel like I’m flying.

  I grip his waist tighter, my arms clutching him as we round a corner, my head pressed to his shoulder. I close my eyes, getting lost in the movemen
t of his body as he maneuvers us down a twisty path. My nerves have all but incinerated by the time he rolls to a stop in front of a sprawling ranch house in a nice part of town. I’ve forgotten all my reservations, my anxiety at what agreeing to this date means.

  I don’t do dates. I do random hookups once in a while, but I learned a long time ago that letting anyone in only ever has one outcome for me. Heartache.

  I’ve had my whole life to perfect my defense mechanisms, the excuses and the brush-offs I’m so fond of, and yet I couldn’t come up with a single one with his eyes imploring me, begging me to say yes.

  And so I did.

  Against my better judgment, against everything I’ve taught myself, I said yes.

  Peeling myself from his back, I brace my hands behind me on the seat, not ready to stop touching him, but not ready to continue contact, either. “I can’t believe you’re actually going through with this whole make-me-dinner farce. You could’ve taken me to, I don’t know… Where do people usually go on dates?”

  A low chuckle rumbles from him, his shoulders quaking as he removes his helmet. Glancing back at me, he says, “You tell me, where do you go on dates?”

  I use his shoulder to balance as I step off the bike. Suddenly, I’m feeling claustrophobic, and I need as much space between us as possible. “I don’t.”

  He takes the helmet I offer him, one long leg swinging over as he dismounts the motorcycle. He doesn’t stop until he’s in front of me, mere inches away. “What do you mean you don’t?”

  I shrug, looking around his arm at the house spread out in the background, if only to give myself something to focus on. “I don’t date.”

  “Never?” His voice is disbelieving, his eyebrows raised. “I thought you were just spouting off before when you told me that.”

  “Nope.”

  “Wow.” He shakes his head, scratching the back of his neck as he regards me. “Never.”

  Laughing, I step around him and walk up his driveway. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “Uh, yeah.” He keeps step with me easily, his long legs moving at half the speed of mine.

  “Why?”

  He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Well, for one thing, you’re gorgeous. For another thing, you’re…what, twenty-one, twenty-two?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Right, so even if your parents were super strict and didn’t let you date in high school, you still had four years to work your way through the guys on campus.”

  “Well, now you just make me sound like I’ve had my way with half the guys at school.” I laugh, though he’s not entirely off the mark, even if the reasons aren’t what he thinks. In high school, I was too focused on my grades, the necessity of getting a scholarship so I could do something with my life and get the hell out of California consuming my every waking moment. I couldn’t even think about guys. Not that I wanted to intimately open up my shitty life to the judgment of others anyway. Especially then, being shuffled from place to place, never having a solid foundation I could count on.

  And then college came, and I realized I could get male companionship without the strings. In fact, that was what most guys my age were looking for. I took advantage of it, taking pleasure from them and returning the favor with no emotions getting lost in the mix. It’s a slippery slope I traverse, being lonely but still wanting to be alone. That arrangement was the perfect balance.

  I know now more than ever why that was a good idea. Being around Cade, talking and laughing and walking with him, my emotions are all tangled up in him, and I don’t know what that means for us. For me.

  “What? No, that’s not what I meant. I just mean…you know. Sowing your oats. Checking out your options.”

  “Well, I’ve done that. Dating? Not so much.”

  I climb the two steps onto his front porch, but before I can get any farther, he has a hold of my wrist and he pulls me to a stop. Turning, I’m eye level with him as he stands on the sidewalk. “That’s not what I brought you here for, you know.”

  His thumb is brushing against my palm, his eyes boring into mine, and I want to fall into him. Forget all my hang-ups and my hesitations and just…fall.

  “What, a date?”

  “No, I definitely brought you here for that. But I meant sex. I didn’t bring you here to sleep with you.”

  I can tell from the timbre of his voice, the constant eye contact, the reverent way he’s touching me, that he’s telling the truth. And the fact that this boy wants something more from me than my body is exhilarating.

  And terrifying.

  cade

  Winter is sitting on a stool at the island, her chin in her hand as she watches me prep everything. Her eyes are narrowed, and I can practically see the wheels spinning in her mind.

  “What’re you thinking about?”

  She raises her eyes to mine. “I’m thinking you tricked me.”

  I move my knife against the cutting board without thought, trimming the asparagus before I look back at her. “How so?”

  “I thought you were going to try to impress me with, like, spaghetti or something. You know, boil some noodles, pop open a jar, good to go. I didn’t know you were gonna”—she gestures to the spread of fresh ingredients laid out on the island—“actually cook.”

  Concentrating once again on what I’m doing, I laugh. “I’d get ostracized by my mentor if I did that.”

  “Your mentor for what? I don’t even know what you’re going to school for.”

  “BA in culinary management.”

  “Really.”

  I glance up at her dry tone, her mouth hanging open. “Why, is that so hard to believe?”

  She shrugs, her arms folded atop the counter as she leans toward me. “I don’t know…I guess not. I just wasn’t expecting that from you. Fireman? Professional bodyguard? Yes. Chef? Not so much.”

  “Yeah, I get that a lot, though some of the guys in my program are tougher looking than me.”

  Her eyebrows lift as she regards me skeptically. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “That there are tougher-looking guys than me, or that they’re in the program?”

  Laughing, she says, “Both, I guess. But I meant them looking tougher than you. You’re pretty scary looking.”

  “You weren’t scared of me.”

  “I didn’t have time to be scared. I was too pissed.”

  I cringe, remembering our ill-fated first meeting. “Yeah. Have I mentioned I’m sorry? Even though I hate that we met like that, I’m sorta glad, too. I doubt I would’ve gotten under your skin if I’d just walked up and asked you for your number after those douchebags left.”

  “No, probably not.” She tilts her head to the side. “Wait…you were going to ask me for my number?”

  “Well, I was going to talk to you, at least. Hopefully get your number. But yeah.” I look up and meet her eyes. “I noticed you as soon as I got there. And I was interested immediately.”

  She stares at me for a minute before dropping her gaze to the food stretched out between us. “I can’t exactly say the same.”

  “No, I’d guess not. I was actually a little scared for my balls. You looked pissed enough to punch me right in the junk.”

  A loud, unrestrained laugh erupts from her, and I grin at her, making a promise to myself to do everything in my power just so I can hear it again. “You’re not far off.”

  “I knew it.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes tracking every movement I make as I trim the steaks and season the meat. “You make it look so effortless. Do you like it? Cooking?”

  “I love it.” I grab my cast iron pan and place it on the stove to heat it up before I get the steaks ready to go on.

  “What made you decide to go to school for that?”

  I turn my head, talking to her over my shoulder as I set the steaks in the pan, the answering sizzle interspersed throughout my words. “My mom, actually. She loved to cook. She didn’t do it for a living, but I th
ink she wanted to. She would’ve been amazing at it.”

  “Would have? She doesn’t like it anymore?”

  Once the steaks have char marks, I move my pan into the oven and set the timer. Wiping my hands on the towel slung over my shoulder, I turn back to Winter. “She loved it until she passed away a few years ago. Breast cancer.” She doesn’t say anything, and I don’t give her a chance to offer platitudes. “She remodeled the kitchen shortly before she got sick. She loved being in here and saved to make it her dream kitchen. She got that, at least. Anyway, I think it was too big of a risk for her, being the only one to support Tess and me.”

  “Tess is your sister? Haley’s mom?”

  “Tessa, yeah.”

  “Your dad’s not around, either?”

  “Ah, nope. He died in a car accident when I was ten.”

  “Wow.” Something in the small catch in her voice makes me glance up from what I’m doing. Her lips are curved down in the corners, frown lines creasing her forehead. “So you’re all alone.”

  Something in the tone of her voice makes me pause. I clear my throat before I say, “No, I’m not. I have Tess and Haley. They mean the world to me. Things didn’t work out how I thought they would, but we’re doing okay.”

  winter

  Doing okay.

  From where I’m sitting, looking in, he seems like he’s doing a hell of a lot better than okay. He got into one of the best art schools in the country, so I know his grades are above average, and he doesn’t slack off. His house is well kept, big, and in a neighborhood I would kill to even just live next to.

  He’s like me in so many ways—navigating his life completely without parental guidance—yet so utterly different in others. In all the ways that matter. Above all, he has it together. What will it take before I feel like I’m doing anything other than floundering, barely treading water?