Idon’t know what I expected when Cade said he was going out with Tristan. After I word-vomited all my worries to his friend, I knew Tristan would do something, I just wasn’t sure what. And that was before Cade unloaded all his weird thoughts about custody battles, which we haven’t talked about since. Mostly because I hope he’s forgotten about it, and I’m scared to remind him.
Either way, Cade coming home sober and relaxed before it even got dark was not what I was expecting today. It is a delightful surprise, though.
He’s closing the door behind him just as I reach the entryway. I can hear Tristan’s car pulling out of the driveway and taking off, and I immediately do a once over of my boyfriend to get a lay of the land.
There’s no smell of liquor, which is nice. There is an acrid, burned sort of smell, but that could be a lot of things. And more importantly, his whole posture is loose and relaxed, even as he struggles to take off his shoes.
Cade looks up at me and his shoulders slump a little, like he’s sad. But the smile he gives me is soft and sweet. A real smile, not something he put on for show or when he’s desperately trying to make me laugh.
“Hey, baby,” he says so softly it’s almost a whisper. “Can you help me out here? My hand has given up for the day, I think.”
It takes me a few long seconds to process, then I move toward him all at once. I’m not sure what to say, so I focus on bending over and unlacing his boots while he leans heavily into my back. It’s awkward and he probably should have sat down first, but I like the feeling of him leaning on me.
It’s a little on the nose, but it feels good. I’m only wearing a t-shirt, and I can feel the chill of his wind-chapped skin where he rests his hand on me.
“It’s getting cold out there, man. We might be finished with the teeny-tiny window of hoody season and headed straight into real winter,” Cade says overhead.
As soon as I get his boots off and stand up, he makes a show of rubbing both his hands together and then wrapping his arms around me.
“Brr,” he pretends to shiver. “Warm me up, baby. I need my own personal space heater.” His cold hands splay across my back underneath my shirt as he squeezes me a little around the waist and pushes his face against my chest like a cat.
I huff a little, because I do run hot, and he tends to be on the colder side and more than willing to steal my body heat. Also like a damn cat.
“You’d probably conserve your heat better if you weren’t always yapping,” I mumble, even as I wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold him tighter. “Your mouth is open so often, all the heat zips right on out of you.”
Cade chuckles, even though the sound is muffled by my shirt.
“One of us has to yap, or we’d live in absolute silence. It’s all about balance, baby. I yap so you don’t have to. It’s self-sacrificing of me, really.”
I rub one hand up and down his back, letting myself truly relax into the embrace for the first time in god-knows how long.
“And what was your excuse for the first 22 years of your life?”
“It was a public service. Just making sure the introverts of Possum Hollow knew they had someone around to pick up their slack. What can I say, robot boy? I was made for you. You just kept me waiting.”
He leans back as he says this, looking me in the eye and giving me a crooked grin that makes me want to kiss him more than I want to breathe.
So, I do.
Cade kisses me back, and it’s a soft, gentle thing. It feels real, though, and I find myself settling inside more and more with each second that our lips are pressed together.
“Hi,” he says when we break apart, almost shy.
“Hi,” I reply. “Did you have a nice time on your play date?”
His expression shutters a little, becoming more serious, but he nods.
“I did. I’m glad Tristan took me out. I think I needed that.”
“Tell me about it,” I say, pulling away from him enough to snag him by the less-injured hand and lead him into the living room.
He follows me easily, letting me pull him onto the couch and arrange us so we’re lying down face to face, our bodies interlocked and overlapping everywhere we can. It’s not really necessary for this conversation, but I feel compelled by the need to keep him as close to me as possible.
While I manipulate us until it’s comfortable, he tells me about the day in bits and pieces. The shooting range; going for food. He tells me that they had a sort of heart to heart, although hedownplays it and doesn’t use those words. I can imagine what they probably talked about.
“I’m sorry I’ve been scaring you,” he says finally, after a long silence. His voice is small, but his grey eyes are meeting mine without hesitation.
It’s difficult to pick what to say. I don’t want to minimize it, because he has been scaring me. That’s the whole reason I ran to Tristan in the first place. Telling him it’s okay feels like telling him he can do it again, and even if this kind of stuff isn’t the end of the world, I’d really rather if he never did it again.
