An hour later, I'm ready to face what might be waiting for me at the apartment. As we walk out the door of the Tavern, Caleb places his hand on my lower back, guiding me to my car. "I'll drive."
"I can drive. Besides, you have no idea where we're going."
He stares at me and shakes his head. "You've been drinking a lot more than me."
Sighing, I hand him my keys. This man is too beautiful to be driving my car.
The farther we drive down Harris Boulevard, the clammier my hands become. I can't seem to shake the nerves that have suddenly come over me. As we pull into the apartment complex, my heartbeat picks up and I start to feel sick. Shouldn't have mixed beer and whisky. Caleb reaches over and takes my hand.
"This is my building," I whisper, pointing.
Caleb glances around as Lizzy and Mason park next to us. "Is he here?"
I shake my head. "I don't think so." I climb from the car, but my legs feel like wet noodles. I wonder how I will ever make it up the stairs.
Lizzy slides up to me and puts her arm through mine. "Let's make this quick."
Her reassuring smile gives me strength and I am able to make it up the stairs without crumpling. Mason and Caleb push ahead of us and check the door. It's unlocked. Caleb signals for us to wait as he steps into the apartment. Mason follows.
Lizzy and I giggle at their lack of stealth.
Mason steps back into the doorway and signals the all clear before shaking his head slowly at Lizzy. She steps in before me, but comes to abrupt stop and I run into her.
"That son of a bitch!"
I step around her to see why she is so outraged. Connor clearly took out his aggression for me on the apartment. My favorite pasta bowl is in pieces on the kitchen floor. Before anyone can stop me, I walk down the hall into the bedroom.
Everything appears normal as I walk in. Then I see the pile on the floor near my desk. I kneel down and recognize a few pieces torn from my Evan's uniform. I choke back a strangled, nervous laugh at the hatred Connor seemed to have for my work uniform.
An unfamiliar light blue envelope catches my eye. Pulling it from the mess, I recognize the insignia in the return address: The Charlotte Culinary Course. The envelope is empty. I swear under my breath as I dig through the mess, looking for the letter. Damn you, Connor, if you messed this up for me, I will hunt you down myself.
I find a piece of torn paper. It's part of the letter. Hallelujah! Several other pieces are nearby. But when I assemble them to read the response, my excitement dissipates. Dear Ms. Bishop, unfortunately... I shove the pieces back into the mess.
I hear footsteps shuffling behind me. Caleb kneels down beside me and lightly places his hand on my back. It is my undoing. The events of the evening suddenly catch up to me—discovering that Connor was cheating on my, confronting him, and the slap—and in my frustration and anger, I collapse into Caleb, sobbing. He wraps me into a hug.
"No one deserves this." he whispers, kissing my forehead. "Come on, let's leave." He picks me up off the floor and leads me into the living room.
Lizzy and I gather what we need for the next few days. I don't know what I'm going to do about my Evan's uniform.
As we walk outside, I start to shake again. Caleb's arm around me tightens. At the cars, Lizzy hugs me and whispers, "Call me if you need anything."
Caleb turns the key in the ignition and looks over at me. "Sleep, Hannah. I'll wake you when we get there." I don't even argue as waves of exhaustion crash around me. I rest my head against the cool glass and close my eyes.
"Don't fucking touch me!"
Where's he hiding?
Everything is dark. I pull at my clothes. They're stuck to my sweaty skin.
Where is he?
I squint, trying to see through the darkness.
What if I move and step right into his trap?
My heavy breathing thunders in my ears. I focus on slowing my breathing and realize the room is not completely dark. A soft glowing light comes from a clock to my right. It's ten-thirty. Before I can stop it, a thought pops into my mind: If I had just kept Connor satisfied, if I had gone to the party with him, maybe we could have avoided this entire mess.
The door opens, a crack of light taking over the room, and I jerk around, hugging the sheets around me.
He's here! He's found me!
Paranoia sweeps over me. I shake the feeling away as fast as I can. What is wrong with me?
"Hannah?" The voice is deep, soft—definitely not Connor's. "Are you okay?"
I let go of the breath I've been holding. Caleb stands in the doorway. I rub my face. "Just a bad dream."
"Do you want to come out here with me and watch some TV?"
As I climb out of the bed, I pull the small blanket with me. Caleb wraps an arm around me. I refuse to allow myself to flinch. He leads me to the couch, then heads into the kitchen. When he returns, he holds out two aspirin and a glass of water. "Take this." I look up at him, but don't move to take the proffered pills. His face softens. "I figured your head probably hurts."
I take the aspirin, somewhat irritated that he was right. "Thanks." I swallow the pills, pushing them past the lump in my throat. I tell myself to stop confusing Caleb for Connor. I nod at the screen. "What are you watching?"
Caleb grins sheepishly. "An American Pickers marathon on the History channel." He sits next to me.
"Great show." I sip on the water. Its coolness feels good on my throat, and soon the glass is empty.
"Thirsty?"
"Apparently so."
I sit back to watch the show. Caleb shifts on the couch. His arm closes around me, pushing my head to rest on his chest. I refuse to let the closeness suffocate me, especially as my body fits so perfectly with his. With each breath, I relax into him.
His hand lightly rubs the top of my head, brushing through my hair. "Do you like history?"
"My mom used to teach history at my high school."
He chuckles. "That must have been fun."
"I never got to take a class with her." I shrug. "I did help with her lesson plans. She said my help made her the most popular teacher in school."
We were quiet for several moments.
"What about you? Should I just call you Mr. History Buff?"
"You saw right through me, huh?" He chuckles, his body rippling beneath me. "Are you even comfortable like this?"
"The twisting is hurting my neck and back." I am surprised by how thick the disappointment is in my voice.
He lifts my head off his chest and takes my arms, pulling me into his lap, my blanket falling away. Wrapping his arms around me, he picks his feet off the floor and lies down on the couch, so that I'm on top of him. He nudges me forward so my face is at his neck. I'm thankful it's dark. I can't tell if the tremors running through my body are my anxiety about being in such an intimate position or my excitement.
"It's where we all came from—history, that is. To me, it's the one thing we all share."
I nod in agreement. We continue to watch TV, even though I can't seem to pay attention to it. My heart is pounding, and the butterflies in my stomach are out of control. His breathing turns heavy and I can feel his heartbeat. I steal a glance and he's staring right at me, sending my butterflies into a frenzy. He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. It's an intimate gesture, and I nuzzle into his neck.
He kisses the top of my head. His hand slides down to my shoulders, then further to my back. I wince when he glides over the spot that hit the wall. His hand jerks to a stop. He wraps his arm around me, hugging me closer. I bury my face further into his neck, inhaling his warm, earthy smell that makes my body throb in a way it hasn't in far too long.
His hand brushes against my cheek as he shifts underneath me. My breath hinges as his lips finally find mine, their soft sweetness enticing me. I open my mouth, inviting his tongue in. He rolls me over onto my side so that we're both on the couch. His hands are in my hair, pulling my face closer to his. My fingers are digging into his back, tearing at his shirt.
He suddenly sits back and looks at me, his eyes searching mine. "I'm sorry," he breathes.
"Don't be," I whisper. I move my hands to his neck and pull him to me. His hands travel down my body, squeezing my arms, my lower back, before resting on my hips. I feel him growing beside me, and a moan escapes my mouth. I ignore the pain from my wounds, focusing instead on a deeper, more primal throbbing within me.
I want this. I want him.
I let my hands trail down to his chest, and I grab his shirt, my fingers tracing his buttons down to his stomach as he groans. The anticipation is thick between us. I realize I'm going to lose my control right as my hips start swaying in rhythm with him. I'm shamefully aware that I'm begging for his touch.
Pushing his hips into me, he rolls me over, his body enveloping mine. I run my fingers through his hair, holding his head close to mine. He breaks apart from me, breathing heavily with his forehead pressed against mine. I start to unbutton his shirt, exposing more of his broad chest with each twist of my fingertips.
I start to push his shirt off his shoulders, but he stops me to stare at me. The expression on his face is calm, almost loving. His fingers run down my face, gently whispering over my bruised eye. They travel down to my neck, and he tugs on the neck of my hoodie. I lift my neck toward him, and he kisses each of the small finger-sized bruises. I squirm as his warm breath blows across my skin.
He chuckles. "Hannah."
"Yeah?"
"We should stop."
I stifle my groan. Is he serious? The rejection must be clear on my face.
He traces my bottom lip with his finger. "You know I don't want to." He presses his hips into me slightly and it's obvious that he's telling the truth. "But let's not get carried away. You've had such an emotional day."
I pout. I really hate how right he is. He rolls over behind me so that I'm facing away from him and tucked under his chin. He wraps his arms around me and holds me close. My heart is still racing, my limbs numb from arousal.
Caleb kisses the back of my head. He lifts my sweater up and gingerly moves my tank top. He reaches above him and turns on a light. He grunts deep in his throat, then traces my spine. I shiver. He turns off the light, but continues rubbing my back.
My eyes are heavy, but I fight sleep. I'm half scared of dreaming once again and half hopeful Caleb will change his mind.
"Sleep, Hannah," he whispers into my ear, his breath warm and inviting. "Sweetest dreams."
I close my eyes, trying to ignore the need I feel for his mouth to be on me. "Caleb?"
"Yes?"
"Please don't leave me tonight."
"I never intended to."