stopping and dropping me—that’s something I suppose.
That was then.
And now . . . well, now I’m unlocking the door to my apartment with an effectively mute, yet clearly seething Cade following behind me.
I don’t even have to contemplate whether to avoid the topic or face it head-on, because Cade drops his car keys on the dining table, pulls off his shirt, and gives a gruff, “I’m having a shower,” before stalking—yes, stalking—down the hall, shutting the bathroom door firmly behind him.
Guess that answers that question then.
I give him five minutes then make my own way down the hallway to my bedroom, changing into my ‘at home, vegging with the manfriend’ clothes—the ones you bring out of hibernation about 0.3 seconds past the time you know he’s hooked and won’t be absolutely offended when you don a tee and leggings the minute you walk through the door.
While I’m waiting, I call Mom to say we got home safe and send texts to Dani, Amy, and the rest of the girl gang. They all ended up in my phone after the anal sex discussion because really, once you’ve discussed the intricacies of anal sex, you’re bound for life.
I’m standing by my front window in the living room, pushing send on the last text when Cade walks back in.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” I ask, not turning around.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
I know he’s lying and for once, I’m willing to see this through. I want to know exactly what’s crawled up his ass. He can be pissed I didn’t tell him about the club, that’s his right, but it doesn’t mean he can shut down and not let it all hang out. That’s the best thing about a healthy adult relationship—you’re supposed to be able to talk things through with your partner, not hiding anything, especially when it involves the happiness of either one of you. It’s one thing my mother and father have always had—open and honest communication.
I know I should’ve told him—about a lot of things—but it wasn’t a long-term decision. It was six days at best. I just wanted some time to sort my head out about some long-held promises I’d made to myself that I found myself compromising without even realizing it. I’d needed to know whether they were positive decisions or not. Whether they were actually in mine—and Cade’s—best interests.
What I have realized—or more finally, admitted to myself—is that Cade’s had me off my game since the first time our eyes met across the club.
That’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s been a very, very good thing, but it means I’ve been rattled by every shot the Carsens have fired at me. I’ve just hidden it well. What’s gotten me through and kept me strong is Cade.
As a man, he’s everything I could want. As a friend, he has never let me down. As a lover, he rocks my world and broadens my horizons.
His family and the world they operate in have made me question every decision I’ve ever made: about life, about love . . . about Cade.
And I hate that. I’ve never regretted anything I’ve done, never lamented on anything I’ve had to go through to get where I am today. Any time I’ve been knocked down I’ve dusted myself off and gotten straight back up again.
What I wasn’t sure about—and why I haven’t told Cade any of this—is whether I was strong enough to withstand any further knocks that powerful people with their eyes on the prize might send my way.
But the biggest question I’ve been mulling over is whether a relationship that’s gone from convenient to real—that’s a hell of a lot more important to me than any other I’ve had before and likely will ever have again—can withstand all the efforts to drag it down?
“You’re a crap liar, Carsen.”
“I am not.”
“Are too.”
“Spitfire,” he growls.
“No take-backsies,” I shoot back, turning around to find him sitting in the one-seater chair.
He doesn’t smile as I expect him to. In fact, his lips don’t even fucking twitch.
I can’t read his face, which is unheard of, because I can always read him. Horny, hungry, happy—I can see it and deal with it.
Blank? I have no fucking idea.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs and staring at the floor.
“Cade . . .” I say, my voice breaking because honestly, I have no freaking clue what to say or do.
His eyes lift to meet mine, and I know I have to say something.
“This is about the