by K. Ryan
Of course, that was right up until Saul called me.
. . .
Isabelle
"Aw, shit," I murmured under my breath and threw all my cards down. Beat again. Go figure.
"It's alright," Saul called out from across the table. "Happens to the best of us."
"Well," my dad chimed in from his place at the table. "It's probably a good thing we're not playing with actual money, otherwise you'd be SOL, Isabelle."
I rolled my eyes and shook my head, glancing down exasperatedly at Cooper, who dutifully kept watch at my feet. "Wow. Thanks, Dad."
"Just you watch," Saul nodded to my dad like they were old pals. "When Caleb gets here, things'll take a turn. I've taught that kid everything I know, but no matter what I did or how hard I tried, he just never really got the hang of poker. He always had a good poker face. Still does, to be honest. He just never had any patience. Always wanted to go all in before all the cards were dealt."
"Sounds about right," I muttered under my breath.
Saul just shot me a wide, toothy grin as he shuffled the deck again and dealt out another hand.
"So," my dad started and the effort seemed to make him a little out of breath. "What are the sleeping arrangements going to be tonight?"
I sucked in a harsh breath and shifted uneasily in my chair. Up until now, I'd managed to curtail the fact that he saw me wearing Caleb's clothes yesterday.
"Honestly, Dad, I don't know. We haven't really talked about it yet."
We.
I didn't know how I felt about referring to us in those kind of absolute terms.
Oh my God. I just did it again.
My dad's eyes lingered on me for a little too long before nodding. "Alright. Just let me know if you'll be home tonight."
My breath hitched at the word home. I wasn't even sure how to define the idea anymore. Home used to be mean where I felt the safest, the most loved, the most accepted, the most at peace. This house had always felt like home and in a way, it still was. After leaving town for good, the idea of home became more tangible, more concrete. An actual place rather than an abstract ideal. After spending two nights in a row in Caleb's arms, I didn't know what to think anymore.
Luckily for me, the conversation shifted to the latest episode of American Pickers my dad and Saul had just watched before we sat down at the table and at this point, I would've been happy even if they wanted to talk about football or anything else I didn't care about.
Any more discussion of Caleb and I would've had to leave the table.
I'd made a split-second decision yesterday, two of them actually, and I still hadn't caught up. All I knew was that helping him, sleeping with him, wanting to be with him, feeling a little crazy because he wasn't here right now...it was as natural as breathing.
And just like that, the tiny wave of panic I'd been holding at bay since this morning finally burst right through the dam.
That was also the moment my dad stood up from the table on shaky legs, shuffled a few paces, and crumbled to the floor.
. . .
The emergency room was exactly the way I remembered. Frenetic. Sterile. Terrifying. Sad. In my past experience, all places like emergency rooms could do was prep you for the inevitable, make you comfortable, and then send you on your way when there was nothing more they could do for you. This time, just like last time, really wasn't much different.
I sat almost catatonically in a chair next to my dad's hospital bed, listening to the monotone beeps from the machines attached to him, and stared at my feet. There wasn't much more I could do. There wasn't anything anyone could do and I'd always known that. Always known this day would come where he'd turn a corner and it'd be all downhill from there.
Some movement at the window caught my attention and Caleb was there, extending a hand to Saul with his chest heaving like he'd sprinted all the way here. They lowered their heads together for a moment, murmuring lowly to one another, and then the door opened so Saul could poke his head through.
"I'm gonna head out now," Saul told us and my dad lifted a hand to shoot him a weak goodbye as Caleb stepped through the door.
He shoved his hands deep into his front pockets and glanced at me out of the corner of his eye to make sure I was okay. I wasn't.
His hand ghosted over my shoulder and then he pressed a kiss into my forehead. I leaned into his chest, basking in this little reprieve from all the darkness swirling around me, and I felt like I could finally breathe again. Part of me could've stayed like this for hours, letting him hold me, letting him comfort me, letting him love me, but the other part, the shell-shocked part, pulled away.
Even as I leaned away from him to put some space between us, Caleb's hand stayed right where it was on my shoulder as if to remind me he wasn't going anywhere.
"How you feeling, Sam?" he called out softly to my dad.
My dad just lifted a shoulder from his hospital bed. "I'm dying, but I guess things could always be worse."
I huffed out a laugh and shook my head. Of course he'd joke now. Try to play it off like everything was fine. Like the doctors hadn't just given us the news I'd been dreading for months.
"Yeah, I guess," Caleb grinned at him, but the smile was wistful, like he already knew without either of us having to tell him.
Now, my dad leveled his gaze at me. "When are you busting me out of here?"
I sighed and rubbed my face with my hands. "Dad—"
"I meant what I said, Isabelle," he told me, his voice firm despite the fact that it barely carried over to my chair. "I'm not being admitted. I want to die in my own home and in my own bed."
A fresh set of tears stung my eyes and I had to squeeze them shut. Caleb's eyes had widened the size of baseballs and he shot me a worried glance, willing me to explain what was going on here. When I couldn't find the strength to say it out loud, my dad filled in the blanks.
"Apparently, a blood vessel burst in my stomach tonight," he told Caleb in such a calm, easy voice I almost got up and left right there. "I guess that's just one of the many complications from having liver cancer, but there you have it. My stomach filled up with fluid, or so the doctors said, and all signs point to my kidneys and just about every other organ in my body getting ready to give out on me. They said I've got a few weeks if I'm lucky and I've never really been all that lucky, at least not where it counts."
"They want to keep an eye on his vitals and help keep him comfortable," I murmured and squeezed my eyes shut.
Caleb blew out a slow breath and nodded tightly, squeezing my shoulder in an effort to give me that little bit of comfort I needed. It wasn't enough. I didn't want to face it, didn't want to accept that my time with my dad had a real, tangible expiration limit and that he was racing toward the expiration limit at breakneck speed.
"Isabelle," my dad called out to me again. "I just want to go home. There's nothing they can really do for me here anyway."
He was right. I knew that. I just didn't want to believe it. And as my eyes found my dad, sitting on his hospital bed with tubes and machines attached to him, looking so miserable, so weary, and so, so unhappy here, the choice was simple. It had never really been my choice to begin with.
"Alright, Dad," I relented with a heavy sigh. "Let's get you home."
After that, the process was fairly easy. Some paperwork and forms to sign. Prescriptions for higher doses of pain meds to fill. A few instructions from the ER doctors in case we needed to come back anytime soon. The whole time, Caleb stood by my side, giving me that quiet strength I needed to get through this and through it all, I found myself inching further and further away from him.
Every time I stepped away, he moved closer. Every time I leaned back, he leaned forward. As if he could sense me pulling away, as if he could feel those walls sliding back into place. He never faltered. He never backed away. He just stayed right next to me with his hand on my shoulder, forcing me to acknowledge his presence.
It wasn't until we got back to the house, settled
my dad into his bed, and shut the door behind us that I finally felt myself slipping. Panic was inevitable. Fear had me by the throat and it wasn't just because my dad was sleeping in his bed waiting to die. My eyes flitted shut as those familiar sensations flooded through me, shooting all the way down to my toes. My fingertips tingled. My throat felt like sandpaper. My chest cranked tighter and tighter, winding up into an air-tight vice.
"Iz," Caleb murmured as he pivoted in front of me, approaching me slowly with his hands out almost like he would a caged animal. Maybe that's exactly what I was.
He could feel it. Sense the anxiousness and the alarm probably flying off me in waves. I'd finally reached my breaking point and now the inevitable crash was upon us.
"Maybe you should just sit down or something. Take it easy for awhile."
"I'm fine," I shot back a little too harshly. "Just give me some space, okay?"
His eyes widened at my clipped tone and he swallowed hard, but he still didn't move. I couldn't take it anymore and side-stepped around him so I could hustle down the stairs to put more physical distance between us and he was hot on my heels, just like I expected. And so, I whirled around at the bottom of the stairs and set out to help that inevitable crash along.
"I really appreciate you being here tonight, Caleb," I told him tightly. "I think I've got it from here. Just—I don't know, go home, okay? I don't need you here anymore."
His sapphire eyes darkened at my words, but still, I couldn't stop myself from pressing on.
"I mean it. Just go home."
His eyes flashed one more time and then he was advancing on me, stepping into the space I'd tried so hard to shape, and wrapped an arm around my waist to tug me even closer.
"I get it, Iz," he murmured. "You're scared. I get what you're scared of too. I really do. Just don't push me away. Not after—"
"Don't say it," I whispered, my voice trembling at his closeness. I wanted to be even closer. And I didn't. That was the problem.
He cocked an eyebrow at me. "What? Not after we slept together last night or not after your dad ended up in the hospital today? Which one is it?"
"Both."
"That's what I thought," he nodded at my honesty and leaned back just enough to give me a little more space. "Let's talk about that, Iz."
I shook my head abruptly and pivoted away from him, but he caught my arm to pull me back again.
"There's nothing to say. Let's not make this a bigger deal than it has to be."
"What are you talking about? This," he gestured in between us, "is a big deal, Iz. And it doesn't have to be this way. All you need to do is talk to me so we can work through it."
I jerked out of his grip and skidded into the kitchen, desperate for some relief I knew I'd never find, not as long as Caleb was still in this house, forcing me to face things I hadn't even been able to admit to my therapist.
Cooper had followed our voices, padding down from my dad's room and didn't stop until he'd positioned himself directly in front of me, careful to keep himself in between Caleb and me. I leaned down to kiss the top of his head and scratched his ears, looking for another distraction that wouldn't last.
"Look, Caleb, I just got caught up in the moment. Both of us did. It didn't really mean anything and it doesn't really matter because when I have this house ready to sell, I'm just going back to New York and you're just going to stay here."
All the color seemed to drain from his face and suddenly, without a moment's notice, everything changed on a dime. It was like all the air had been sucked right out of the room and now, Caleb's features had contorted into a dark, furious mask.
"It doesn't matter?" he snapped. "The fact that I told you I loved you yesterday doesn't matter? The fact that I've always loved you doesn't matter? What happened last night doesn't matter? That's bullshit, Iz, and you know it."
"It doesn't matter," I whispered, shaking my head furiously. "We might as well just quit now while we're—"
He advanced on me, groping for my hands to bring me closer to him and force me to stay put. "Look me in the eye, Isabelle, and tell me you don't love me."
There was no escape from this. No way I could lie right to his face. He was daring me to tell the truth, daring me to come to terms with everything I'd spent years pushing away. And so, I gave him that as I shoved out of his grip.
"Of course I still love you, you asshole."
Triumph flickered across his face for a brief moment and, for reasons I wasn't quite ready to admit, I sought to squash it.
"I wish I didn't," I whispered hoarsely, watching all the light fade from his eyes with every word. "Everything would be so much easier if I just didn't."
Still, he wasn't deterred and reached for me again. "Iz, listen to me. I know we have a mountain of shit to work through, but that doesn't mean we can't do it."
Shrugging myself free of him, I sidestepped around the island in the kitchen to put more space between us. "Just stop, Caleb. We both know how this ends. We both know this whole mess with Wallace and the club isn't over. And when it starts to get worse than it already is, when you decide it's too dangerous, you'll push me away again because you'll just be trying to keep me safe. Because you'll just be trying to protect me from you and the club and everything else that goes along with it even though you're supposedly done with all that now. And then I'll just be abandoned and left behind again to pick up the pieces, just like the last time."
He flinched as if he'd been physically struck by my words and he shuffled backward in a vain attempt to regain his bearings.
Somewhere, deep down, I knew exactly what I was doing. I wanted it to hurt, I wanted it to sting, and in the end, I wanted him gone. I'd already had so much loss in my life...it was better to just cut him off now before he got even closer, before I got even deeper, and before he could hurt me even more than he had before.
Then I just let it fly.
"I don't know what I was thinking last night," I shook my head bitterly. "Going to a hotel with you? Sleeping with you? I just didn't think about it. I just did it. And I really wish I hadn't. We didn't even use protection. How stupid is that?"
He folded his arms across his chest, staring me down and keeping that hard, impassive mask carefully in place. "What're you saying, Iz?"
"You know exactly what I'm saying," I laughed bitterly. "It's not like I expected you to be celibate. I know I wasn't. And I guess who you've been messing around with wasn't any of my business until last night."
On the inside, I was screaming. Just the thought of him with another woman sent a wave of crazy possessiveness tingling my entire body. Even as I said the words, I knew how wrong they were, how hurtful they were...to throw his past in his face like that, to even suggest that he'd fallen back into old habits when there was absolutely no evidence that was true. It was just a bitchy, low blow and I hated myself for it.
Caleb's face twisted darkly and from the looks of it, I'd hit every bullseye without even trying that hard.
With his face an impassive mask of stone, his jawline rippling with anger, and his fists clenched tightly against the edge of the island, Caleb struck a menacing figure. If I hadn't known better, I might've been a little scared of him.
He exhaled tightly and leaned across the island. "There are a lot of things we need to talk about, Iz, and a lot of things I have to say to you, but I think we should start with what you just said. You know the part about me not being celibate? Let's start there."
Now all I could do was backpedal. "I shouldn't have said that."
"Yeah?" his eyes glowed with frustration. "Well, you did. I can barely count on one hand the number of other women I've been with since you and you wanna know why? Because I don't wanna be with anyone but you. And you wanna know something else? I'm not the guy who thinks he can just screw his way through his problems anymore. I've been done with all that shit for a long time and that's because of you. And I don't wanna hear about anyone else you've been with since you left town because just thinking abou
t it makes me sick."
Even if I had the ability to speak right now, I wouldn't have had the balls to tell him that the number of men I'd actually been with since him were few and far between. I hadn't been celibate, just like I said, but that also didn't mean I was happy about it. Not like I'd ever admit that out loud.
"I've never really wanted to be with anyone but you," Caleb went on, his voice rough with determination. "And I'm sorry I waited this long because I didn't want to push you, Iz, but there're so many things we have to talk about. So many things I gotta say."
"It's too late, Caleb," I sighed. "We can't just pick up where we left off and act like everything will be fine. It doesn't work like that."
His face twisted with grief and he tilted his head to the side, like he was in physical pain, as he ventured a cautious step around the island. "The biggest mistake of my life was not listening to you about that goddamn run. You have no idea how much I wish I could take everything back, that I hadn't been such a stubborn, stupid asshole, how much I wish I'd just talked to you about all that money shit instead of trying to figure it out on my own...so many things would've been different for us. There's not a day that goes by that I don't live with that regret, that I don't wish I could do something, anything, to take it all back, but I can't."
"You're right," I shrugged nonchalantly despite the tornado of emotions rolling through me. "You can't."
He stalked around the island, refusing to take that as my answer, determined to prove me wrong, and took my face in his hands. "I still love you, Iz. And you still love me, too. We can't just walk away when we can get it right this time."
"Caleb, stop—"
His mouth closed over mine, swallowing my words and some of my resolve in the process, and every movement of his lips burned. Maybe that was what he wanted. Maybe he wanted it to burn, to remind me of what I'd be missing if I really walked away.
"I love you, Isabelle," he murmured against my lips.
I pushed roughly against his chest, needing to get away from him, and stumbled backward as I readied to deliver the blow.
