We finish the food, and by the time we’re back in the truck, he’s calmer. Less jagged around the edges.
But as I drive us toward the condo, his hand sneaks over the middle seat, fingers threading with mine. His thumb runs back and forth over my knuckles like he’s grounding himself.
Or me.
Maybe both.
Home smellslike a combination of fresh laundry, weed, and so much like Caleb. As soon as we’re inside, Caleb toes his shoes off, drops his bag, and heads straight for the couch like it’s muscle memory. I lock the door behind me, setting my keys in the little dish by the entrance, and watch him for a second.
There’s a looseness to him now that I haven’t seen all day—shoulders a little lower, jaw unclenched, expression softer. The game’s still in his body, though. I can see it in the way he moves.
Caleb turns when he feels my eyes on him. “What?” he asks, a little self-conscious.
“Just looking,” I say. “Trying to decide if I should feed you again or throw you in the shower first.”
His mouth tilts up. “I just ate, Miggy.”
“You say that like I don’t know you’ll be hungry again in an hour.” I step closer, fingers finding the hem of his hoodie, playing with the fabric. “How’s your head?”
“Loud. But not… screaming.” His fingers catch mine, holding them there. “Quieter when I’m here.”
Good.
This is why I wish he didn’t have to leave.
I close the space between us and press my mouth to his, gentle and unhurried. Just lips against lips, a gentle press, a question more than a demand.
He answers with a soft sound, hands sliding up my chest, bunching in my shirt. When we part, his pupils are a little blown, but his breathing’s steady.
“Shower?” I ask. “You smell like sweat.”
“Mmm, so do you,” he shoots back.
“Yeah, but I’m hot enough to pull it off.”
He snorts. “Jackass.”
“You love this jackass.” I tug at his hoodie. “You still want this jackass to get naked with you?”
His ears go a little pink. “Maybe.”
I jerk my head toward the hallway. “Come on,hermoso. Let’s rinse today off you.”
Steam curlsaround us in the bathroom, fogging the mirror and turning the light soft. I twist the knob until the water is hot enough to soothe but not enough to scald, testing it with my wrist. Behind me, Caleb strips without hesitation. Just quiet efficiency, shirt off, sweats down, socks kicked into the corner.
He’s closer, clingier, his fingers skating over my back, my sides.
“You getting in or just gonna stand there and watch me?” He asks, voice a little rough but laced with a whole lot of teasing.
“Don’t tempt me,” I murmur, but I peel my own clothes off and step into the shower with him. The water beats down on our shoulders, rivulets sliding over ink and scar and muscle. “You know I’d watch whatever show you’d put on for me.”
Now normally, I’d take over, washing his hair and his back, making it a slow ritual. Tonight, he turns first, palms flattening against my chest, pressing me lightly against the tile. His usually bright blue eyes are dark and intent. “Let me take care of you,” he says quietly.
Something in my chest stutters. “Caleb?—”
“I know you’re worried about me,” he cuts in, thumbs rubbing small circles just under my collarbones. “I know you’re still replaying that fight with my dad in your head. But I’m not… glass right now. I’m here. With you. Please let me.”
His hands slide up to my shoulders, kneading at the tension there. He leans in and kisses along my jaw and my throat, slowand deliberate. There’s heat in it, yeah, but there’s something else too… something new.
