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17

Fane

After

I knew I’d lost her the moment the words left my mouth.

Softness didn’t work with this version of Cali. It wasn’t what she needed.

At the time, calling Ashton and telling him I needed a beer seemed like the right thing to do.

That was not a good idea.

“Let me get this straight,” Ash said, taking another deep swig of his beer before turning his glacial blue eyes back to me. “You’ve decided that being a dick to her is the best way to earn her trust?”

“I didn’t decide to be a dick,” I snapped.

“But that’s what you just said.”

“No.” I exhaled sharply through my nose. “It’s a fucked up knee-jerk reaction to, I don’t know, rile her up.”

“Right.”

“I’m angry at her too,” I admitted, though that didn’t even scratch the surface. I was furious. Two years of this pent-up shit, and the only person I wanted to talk it out with, scream it out with, fuck it out with, was dead set on keeping me at arm’s length. Not that I could blame her. I wasn’t completely blind to her side of things. It just didn’t make dealing with my side any easier.

We’d never fought like this before. When we argued, we did it together—no slammed doors, no cold shoulders.

“I know,” Ash said, not dismissing me. He’d been there when I was at my lowest, peeling me off the mattress when I disappeared for a week. “But I don’t see how being a dick is going to win her back.”

“I’m not being a dick. And you’re supposed to be helping me.” I glared at him. “This isn’t helping.”

“Because as it stands,” he said, ignoring me, “You’ve arrived in town,”—he held up a finger—“let her think you’re going to tear it all apart for your sperm donor,”—he raised another finger—“and fed her underwear to her dog.” A third finger joined the others.

Yes, okay, I fed her underwear to her dog. But she’d done nothing but ignore me and disconnected my car battery.

Fine, you know what? Yes. I was being a dick.

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “It’s like this reflex, okay? She pushes, and I push back. It’s the only time I get anything fucking real from her.”

“Mmm.” Ash nodded, taking another sip of beer. “Your plan sucks.”

“Gee, thanks.” I took a sip of my own beer, my head dropping to hang between my shoulders.

“And you won’t tell her why you’re really here?”

“She won’t believe me.”

“You won’t even entertain the idea of explaining why the last two years happened?”

Before I could answer, Dallas Grey walked right up to our table.

“Fancy seein’ you here!”

“Mr. Grey,” I said, standing to shake his hand. “Nice to see you. This is my friend Ashton.” I gestured to Ash before sitting back down.

Dallas Grey walked into the room like he owned it, radiating warmth with a sun-kissed smile that seemed to light up the whole bar. But behind the easy charm, there was a ruggedness that demanded respect. He was proof that a man could be hard without being cruel, a lesson I didn’t learn growing up.

Before I met him, I would’ve associated that kind of hardness with brutality. But Dallas proved otherwise. The crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, the lightness in his hazel gaze—so much like his daughter’s—made it clear: being hard didn’t mean being heartless.

The differences between this man and my own father, the foundation of what I had grown up believing, were black and white. It made that pulsing flare of rage that flickered in and out of existence in the center of my chest flair, just for a second.

The house had been quiet for so long that I’d started to find comfort in it. It was probably close to one in the morning now. I’d heard my mom walk up the stairs and gently close the door to her bedroom an hour ago.

Every single creak of the house made my eyes fly open.

Sometimes it was only minutes, sometimes seconds. The fleeting moments of sleep between each and every noise were things I wished I could have more of and less of all at once.

My eyes had started to droop just as the front door slammed shut. I didn’t even remember moving, only staring wide-eyed at the door to my bedroom and keeping as quiet as possible, huddled against the headboard of my bed. I wished it was the wind, wished it was a car outside.

Wished this was anybody else’s life but mine.

The way my father’s footfalls sounded on the stairs had always terrified me. He was so much bigger than me, and I swore sometimes I could hear them even when they weren’t there. They followed me around in the silent and empty house.

I clutched at the front of my shirt with small, white-knuckled fists. Hating, not for the first time, that I was so pathetically small. By far the smallest boy in the seventh grade. If I had a single wish, it would be that I could be so much bigger than him. That I could be strong enough to protect my mom from him.

I wanted him to look at me with the same fear that he loved seeing in our faces. That thought scared me most of the time because it made me feel like I was one decision away from becoming just like him.

My mom’s panicked pleading seeped in under the door of my room, sending my heart thrashing in my chest. I used to run out to her. To call out to her. But it had only taken the back of his hand connecting with the side of my face once to know that doing that only made things worse for her.

“Do you see what you made me do?” He’d seethed from above me, a hand knotted in her long, chestnut hair. A hold she’d fought against valiantly in an attempt to get to me. I’d felt the blood dribbling out the corner of my mouth, felt the tears that leaked from my eyes, but I stayed silent.

Silence was safe. Even when it wasn’t, it was still safer than making any noise at all.

The door to my room burst open, and the very center of all my nightmares filled the doorframe. Eyes red-rimmed. The buttons on his shirt missing like they’d been ripped off.

He stalked toward me, grabbed a fist full of the back of my shirt, and dragged me out of my room.

I saw her there, lying at the bottom of the stairs. The silent, racking sobs that made her body shiver. The only indication she was alive. He dragged me down the steps that were littered with the missing buttons of his shirt and stepped over my mother like she wasn’t even there.

Like this person, who he was supposed to love and care for and protect at all costs, didn’t mean a fucking thing to him.

He threw me into the corner of the living room, right where he loved to make sure I sat for each and every single ‘lesson.’ I collided with the wall, my shoulder making contact at a weird angle that made a sharp pain shoot up and into my neck. I didn’t do anything but slump to the ground and track my eyes back to my mom, desperate to see her move. When she did, I clung to it like a lifeline.

“When people don’t hear you, you make them listen, son,” he said. His face was so close to mine I couldn’t see him properly. “This is what it is to be a man.”

“Ash is fine,” Ash said, leaning across the table to shake his hand too, snapping me from the clutches of that memory. Ash flicked his eyes to me, a crinkle of concern marring the spot between his brows like he could also see the weight of it all still pressed against my ribs. See the oily residue of the things my father had left me with linger like a shadow in the corner of the bar.

“Pleasure’s mine, Ash. Though I’m pretty sure Cali told me your name was Aleron.”

Ash closed his eyes and chuckled softly, the kind of laugh that came with being in on a joke no one else understood.

“I’m not even going to ask about that,” Dallas said, crossing his arms. A broad, unrestrained grin plastered across his face.

“Would you like to sit?” I made a move to slide over in the booth.

“Oh, no. Isla’s expectin’ me back soon. Just out grabbin’ a few things she needed for some cookin’.”

“I’ve heard a lot of good things about your wife’s cooking, sir.” Ash piped up.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Dallas nodded, clearly full of pride.

“No one’s ever made a lasagna like Isla,” I said, patting my stomach.

“Not even Cali?” Dallas quirked a knowing brow.

I answered without thinking. “Sir, I love your daughter, but she can’t cook.”

Ash looked horrified, his face screaming, This is part of your plan? Your plan really fucking sucks . But Dallas just threw his head back, laughing so hard he had to lean on the table.

“Oh, I know you love her, but she’ll have your balls for that one.”

“Don’t worry about his balls, sir. They’re already toa— ow !” Ash whipped his head toward me, offended like I’d committed a mortal sin.

“Anyway,” I said, glaring at him, “I’ll tell Cali you said hi. I, uh…” I reached up and scratched the back of my neck. “Are we still having dinner on Monday?”

Dallas placed a hand on my shoulder. “Every Thursday, son.” His face softened. “We’re real glad to have you at our table again, especially after all you’ve done. I hope you know it.” He squeezed my shoulder, and it was like the rage ceased to exist entirely.

“It’s the least I could do.” I cleared my throat, avoiding Ashton’s eyes and the way I could feel them boring into me.

“Plus, since gettin’ better, there’s no stoppin’ that woman from cookin’ up a storm. Aleron, you’re more than welcome.” Dallas tipped his hat our way before proceeding to also say goodbye to everyone in the entire bar, stopping only to hug Mags who was sitting at a table near the door.

Before I could look away, she caught my eye and gave me a wink.

There were moments like this. With Dallas and Mags—a woman who really didn’t know me—where I thought if there was something inherently wrong with me, they’d see it. That Cali would’ve seen it and run.

She did run, though. I’d given her a reason. I wasn’t debating that. But she’d still run. The thing was, I always knew I’d chase her, and it made me wonder if that rotten part of me had more control than I thought.

A better man would have let her heal. Would have let her be.

I was not a better man.

Ash kicked me under the table. “You’re staring.”

“This is so fucked,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face.

“What did he mean?”

“What?”

“Fane—”

“If I knew you’d be this unhelpful, I would have left you at home.”

Ash sighed but let it go, taking a long drink.

“You’re just going to keep being a dick and trusting it’ll work?”

“Yep.”

“Trusting who?” The voice was low and smooth. Declan stood at the edge of our table, his eyes already much too sharp like he was dissecting us where we sat.

“Oh, that’s funny,” Ash said, his tone shifting to something darker. Harder. “Because you’re not in this conversation.”

“What can I do for you, Declan?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

“Just overheard. Thought I could help.”

“No thanks. We’re leaving.” Ash dismissed him without looking, but I was watching.

Declan’s expression flickered, The tic in his jaw, the way his eye twitched just once, before his gaze swung back to me. His smile spread slowly, wrong in every way. “Back to that girl of yours, huh?”

The air around us shifted. His words hung heavy, but it wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he looked at me. Like he was peeling me apart, stripping me down. I’d felt that kind of scrutiny before, but from Declan the intensity of it was new. At least, the intensity of it directed right at me was new. I couldn’t exactly place why it felt so familiar.

“Careful,” I said, my voice level and controlled despite every muscle in my body being wound tight. The instincts I’d spent years suppressing clawed at the surface, whispering how easily I could wipe that smile off his face.

Since arriving in Darling, Declan had made it abundantly clear exactly what he was. I hadn’t given him more than a second thought before, but now he was intentionally placing himself right in my way.

I wasn’t stupid, there was no possibility that it was anything but intentional.

I knew men like Declan, someone who thrived on provocation, who saw every reaction as a victory. The kind of man who would burn the chessboard just to win the fucking game.

He leaned in slightly, his gaze flicking briefly to Ash before landing back on me. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and whatever calming presence Dallas had instilled before he left corroded away. I didn’t succumb to violence, but where Cali was concerned, there was a part of me that I knew wouldn’t mind knowing what it felt like to have his blood coat my hands.

Then again, that wasn’t overly appealing to me either. Maybe something different. A way to render him a prisoner in his own body. A quieter sort of violence.

“I’m just saying, some things are better left in the past. But the past has a way of catching up, doesn’t it?” he said.

My hands flexed against the table, fingers curling into fists beneath it. For years, I’d suppressed this part of me—the part that craved to break something to stop it from breaking me first. Violence had always been a temptation. I’d slipped just once when I was seventeen, and since that moment I’d built my life around walking away from it. But where Cali was concerned? There was no line I wouldn’t cross.

“I wouldn’t know,” I said. But I could feel the shift under my skin, and I wondered if he could see it. If he’d been taking these jabs at me just to prove to himself that there was something wrong inside of me.

It had terrified me that there was, but when I felt it stir now, thinking of Cali, I couldn’t find it in myself to care that there was a part of me that would burn the whole fucking world down to keep her whole. Healthy. Safe.

“Good night, Declan,” I said, keeping my voice neutral, though my jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it.

“Sweet dreams, boss,” he replied, his tone light, but the words felt like a threat.

The fascination he had with calling me boss made Ash talk about how he was pretty sure Declan had some workplace romance kink. I definitely hit him in the balls for that one.

“You good?” Ash asked.

I just nodded. “Watch yourself around him.” I frowned at the door he left out of.

I didn’t have to be looking at my best friend to hear the eye roll in his words. “Yes, Mom.”

“And thanks for tonight.”

“Yep.” He nodded at me once before walking out in the same direction that Declan did. I had to bite my tongue to make sure that Ash wouldn’t go looking for trouble.

I drove home, replaying every moment between Cali and me since I’d gotten to town. It sure as shit hadn’t gone to plan, but it was either the path I was on now or being shut out completely.

And she’d do it too. She’d ice me out.

There was this hardness to her that hadn’t existed before. Something that developed in a person when they had only themselves to rely on. I knew it because I’d been fucking covered in it when I’d met her. This lack of trust in the world, in people. It was something I’d been intimately familiar with.

When I met her, she still believed in softness, in patience, in the idea that broken things could be fixed. Now, she moved through life like someone who knew the world would never meet her halfway.

She was soft with me then. Patient.

If Cali was angry, she could be angry. If she wanted to fight with me, I’d fight with her.

Those words were on repeat in my head when I got home. When I toed off my boots and left them by the door and stepped over Jerry to find Cali asleep on my side of the bed.

The sheets were rumpled, and I could tell where she’d started. My pillow was clutched tight in one fist, her face half buried in it.

I managed to slip into bed on her side without making her stir one bit. When I woke up hours later, when it was still dark and quiet, it was to her head on my chest and her heart beating right against mine.

Still in sync.