“It’s late.”
“It can’t wait.”
When I hesitated before opening the door, he took that as a sign I might not be comfortable inviting him up.
“We could go get a cup of coffee or just take a walk, if you want.”
I dug into my purse for my keys. “No, it’s fine. I want to change out of my work clothes anyway.”
The elevator ride was awkward. The doors were silver and reflected Caine looking at me. I kept my eyes trained up, watching each floor illuminate as if the car was dependent on me for movement. The damn thing moved at a snail’s pace.
Inside my apartment, I went to the kitchen, dug a bag of frozen peas from the freezer, and handed them to Caine. “Your cheek is swelling.”
“It’s fine. Use that for your hand.”
I set the bag down on the kitchen counter and practically ran to my bedroom to change, needing to gather my thoughts. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Twenty minutes ago, I’d been angry-singing “Fight Song” in the car, wishing the man a good riddance, and now I was getting my hopes up because he’d showed up at my door. I was pathetic. What was he doing here? Had he been drinking? He’d better not think he was showing up for a booty call. Sex with Caine. I cursed my libido for even considering it.
I changed into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, brushed my hair, and washed up. I might have even spritzed on some perfume. (Don’t judge.) As I was about to walk back to the living room, I realized I wasn’t in the right frame of mind yet. Grabbing my iPhone, I opened my playlist and scrolled until I found something to change my mood back to pissed off. I stopped at Three Days Grace’s “I Hate Everything About You.”
That’ll do.
Lying back on my bed, I shut my eyes, popped in my earbuds, and reset myself. After, I felt stronger and ready to face Caine.
He was in his usual spot, looking at the photos on the wall when I finally emerged.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I walked past him and headed to the kitchen for a bottle of water, though I really could have used something stronger.
“No, thanks.”
Twisting off the cap, I took a long drink while his eyes followed my every move. “So what do you need to talk about?”
“Could we sit?”
Caine waited for me to take a seat. I was closer to the couch but intentionally sat in the chair across from it so we wouldn’t wind up sitting too close. Tonight our roles were reversed. But I needed space to think straight when he was near.#p#分页标题#e#
After he sat, he clasped his hands together, rested his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head, staring down at his feet. I’d never seen Caine look so nervous. He was generally the epitome of composure. The longer the silence stretched between us, the more anxious I became.
After what was probably only two or three minutes, yet seemed like an eternity, Caine blew out a ragged breath. When he finally raised his head to look at me, his eyes were glassy and filled with pain. I wanted to reach out so badly, but I had to protect myself. Whatever was hurting him would soon be hurting me.
“I don’t know where to start,” his voice was hoarse.
There’s only one answer when a person looks as troubled as Caine did. “How about at the beginning?”
He nodded. “That’s where I should have started weeks ago.” He searched my eyes. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but can you promise me something?”
“What?”
“Hear me out until I finish.”
“Okay…”
Caine just kept shaking his head. “Do you remember the first night we met?”
“In the bar? Yes.”
“I said you looked familiar to me. You thought I was feeding you a line. At the time, I couldn’t place it, but after finding out you went to Brooklyn College, I chalked it up to having seen you around.”
I furrowed my brows. “Are you saying we met before?”
Caine nodded. His face was so solemn. “It was a long time ago.”
“Where did we meet?”
“In church.”
What the heck was he talking about? My head tilted to the side. “Church?”
Caine dragged his fingers through his hair and stared at me. The look on his face was breaking my heart.
“Do you remember going to St. Killian’s to talk to a priest every Saturday?”
My eyes widened, and my body went still. “How do you know about that?”
He searched my eyes. “It wasn’t a priest. It was me.”
I think I was in shock. I didn’t understand what I was feeling. I wasn’t upset or angry—I just felt sort of…numb, like I was lost in a heavy fog and couldn’t figure out which way to go. My palms were clammy and legs heavy, even though I was sitting. A wave of lightheadedness mixed with nausea washed over me, and I held on to the sides of the chair.