Heartless, page 35
I shake my head. She wouldn’t forget something. Emme went to her place today. Nothing of Calypso’s would be over here.
I peek through the peephole, heart galloping in my chest.
“Who is it?” Noelle whispers.
“Calypso.”
I yank the door open. “Hey.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. For a split second I think she’s come to apologize for her erratic behavior earlier. “I can’t find my keys. I think I might have accidentally put them in Emme’s diaper bag. Can I check?”
I widen the door and usher her in. She falls to her knees and practically empties out the contents of the bag on the floor. Noelle and I exchange looks. Even Noelle notices something’s off.
“Hello, hello!” Two little words suck all the air from the room and stop my heart from beating altogether as my mother stands in the open doorway.
Her faux smile fades in slow motion as her eyes dart toward Emme and then to Calypso and back to me.
“I . . . I can’t find my sunglasses. I believe I left them here?” She steps past me and between Calypso and a coffee table, keeping her arms squeezed in tight as if she’s afraid to touch anything in the process. Anything being Calypso.
I can imagine the ugly thoughts going through my mother’s head. The hippie girl in the flowing dress with the unkempt waves and the strong scent of lavender wafting around her is the last kind of person my mother would want associating with her pride and joy, Ivy league-educated offspring.
Calypso pulls a set of keys from the diaper bag. “Found them.”
She rises, meeting my mother’s curious stare.
“And who might you be?” Mom extends her hand toward Calypso, though it’s almost at an angle, as if she expects Calypso to kiss it. “Forgive my son for not introducing me. He can be rather rude at times. Too much time in the city, not enough time back home, I suppose. Susan Forrester. How do you do?”
“Good, thank you.”
My mother’s probably having an inner conniption fit because Calypso didn’t say “well” instead of “good.”
“I’m Calypso,” she adds, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
My mother’s second inner conniption fit is happening right now. Calypso didn’t share a last name, which isn’t a proper introduction in my mother’s book. I see that flash of dark in her grey eyes and the small quiver in her upper lip as she summons all her strength to keep from frowning.
“This must be your baby, yes?” Mom glances at Emme.
Noelle’s face washes pale. I’ve never seen her this speechless before. Calypso shoots me a look.
“Of course,” Calypso, as high-strung as she is, has the wherewithal to think on her feet. She’s a goddamned saint, and I could fucking kiss her right now. “I live next door. I was just stopping by to say hi. Emme and I were on our way out, and I saw Crew’s door was open. This is a really friendly little complex. He’s a great neighbor. Very courteous and respectful.”
Now she’s speaking Susan Forrester’s language.
“Oh.” Mom says, her voice lilting. She turns to me, brows raised. “Very good to hear.”
“Are those your sunglasses on the kitchen island?” Noelle points across the room. “The black Chanels?”
“Goodness, yes.” Mom throws her hands in the air and claps them lightly against her thighs. “There they are. I knew I left them here.”
She glides across the room and slips them over the bridge of her nose.
“All right. I should go. It’s not good to keep your father waiting out there in the car for too long. It’s bad for his circulation.” She gives a polite, yet distant wave and takes one last, discerning look at Emme. On her way out, I watch her give Calypso a final look up and down and struggle to keep her smile from morphing into a sneer.
I lock the door behind her.
“Holy fuck, that was close.” Noelle’s jaw hangs open. “Calypso, you didn’t have to do that, but thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
“Of course,” she says, swatting her hand. She steps toward the window overlooking the parking lot and watches for my mother to climb into her Escalade. “Otherwise, this afternoon would’ve been for nothing.”
I’m grateful for Calypso’s quick thinking, but I can’t stop thinking about how fucking pissed my mother’s going to be when I come clean about Emme. She fucking hates being lied to. She’s going to lose it.
“Everything’s going to be okay, Crew.” Sometimes I swear Noelle can read my mind.
“Oh. I hope I didn’t get you into more trouble,” Calypso says.
“Nah, it’s okay.” I hook my hands on my hips and stare off, lost in thought. I could never be upset at her for coming to my rescue, and in the end, it’s going to be one hell of a mess to clean up regardless.
“Your parents are gone now.” Calypso points toward the parking lot. “I’m going to head out. See you around?”
See you around?
I was balls deep inside her last night, and she leaves me with my own fucking line? See you around? That’s what you say to someone when you have no intention of seeing them again, but you don’t want to sound like a dick.
“Yeah,” I say. “See you around.”
20
Calypso
“Why don’t you go hide in your office and work on finishing that novel you’ve been writing for the last year, hmm?” Bryson watches me wash and dry a set of wine goblets for the third time. “You’re encroaching.”
“I own this place.” Kind of. Not really. Not for much longer. “I can encroach anywhere I want.”
Bryson rolls his eyes. “How many times are you going to wash those? They’re sparkling, sweetheart. I can see my reflection in each and every one of them.”
I grab an open bottle and pour a little bit of red into one of the clean glasses, down it in seconds, and dunk the glass back into the basin of soapy water.
“Girl, Presley said you sounded off earlier, but she didn’t tell me you were this bad.” Bryson pushes his lips out and cocks his head. “That crazy dude from that cult got you all worked up, honey, and I don’t like it.”
“Nerves, Bryson. It’s just nerves.”
I’ve been shaking life a leaf all afternoon. I hate that Mathias does this to me. And I don’t even want to be back with him. He could get down on one knee, tell me he made the biggest mistake of his life and that he never stopped loving me, and in the end, I’d dig my heels into the floor of my little bookstore and tell him to hit the road.
But it’s just the fear of the unknown.
What does he want? Why did he look for me? How the hell did he find me?
“This just goes to show you, our past is never dead and gone.” Bryson faces all the wine bottles and stands back to admire his work. “It always follows us. Please tell me nothing crazy’s going to go down in here tonight, because I spent the better part of today dealing with my crazy ex and, honey, I don’t have the energy.”
“It’s not going to get crazy.” I speak words I can’t guarantee. My hope is as good as his.
The door jingles, and my heart drops. My eyes snap toward the entrance where a man with flowing blond hair rolls in like he owns the place.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
From across the bar, I can see plain as day.
That’s not Mathias.
It’s his brother, Elijah.
The one who was obsessed with me.
The one who was excommunicated from the commune for having “less than a pure heart.”
My blood simmers beneath my skin, sending a prickling burn to my ears. I left that life. I left all those people. And Elijah Shiloh has the nerve to try and find me.
“Bryson,” I say under my breath, praying he can hear me. “I’m not here.”
I pray Elijah doesn’t see me as I duck down under the bar and rush back to my office.
I lock the door the second I’m inside.
And wait.
I’ll wait here all night if I have to.
Elijah’s bad news.
Elijah’s unstable.
I want nothing to do with him, and I’ll be damned if I give him a chance to talk to me. There’s nothing he could possibly need from me. I haven’t seen him since I was nineteen and he destroyed his father’s meditation room in a fit of rage when he discovered Mathias and I were exclusive.
I pull in a deep breath and sit by my phone, waiting patiently for the moment Bryson calls to tell me he’s gone.
And then I know exactly where I’m going.
Chapter 22
Crew
“Calypso.” I pull my door open, Emme sound asleep in my arms. “What are you doing here?”
She steps inside and falls into my sofa, nibbling on a fingernail and staring ahead.
“I need a favor,” she says after a minute.
“Let me put Emme down.” When I return, she’s braiding and unbraiding her hair. “Okay, you need to calm the fuck down and tell me what the hell is going on. Is this because of last night? Are you going to be all weird around me because we fucked?”
Calypso seems to pull out of it for a second, dropping her braid and furrowing her brows at me.
“God, no. Crew, this isn’t about that. At all.”
I’m slightly relieved, though I don’t let it show.
“Then what’s going on? You’ve been a fucking basket case since I picked the baby up earlier.”
“Someone came into the store today. Looking for me. Someone from Shiloh Springs.”
“That commune?”
“Yeah.” She looks away. “I thought it was my ex, but it’s his brother.”
I shake my head. “Okay, so . . .”
“He’s not right, Crew. He’s not right in the head. He was kicked out of Shiloh Springs years ago. I haven’t seen him in five, six years. Something like that. He was obsessed with me.” Her hands wring the air and red blooms from her cheeks. “I’m so fucking livid.”
I see that.
“How’d he find you?”
She rakes her fingers through the sides of her hair and pulls two perfect handfuls between her fingers as she paces.
“No clue.”
“Why’d you go back to the store tonight?”
“I thought it was his brother, my ex. He told Pres he had an important message to give me. I thought maybe it was about my parents.” She pulls in a quick breath, her expression tightening. “I hid in my office for three hours, Crew. That’s how long Elijah stuck around to wait for me. He refused to leave.”
“Where is he now?” I square my shoulders, pain searing through my tight jaw.
“He told Presley he’s staying in town. He’s going to keep coming back to look for me. That’s how he is. He’s obsessive. He came here to talk to me. He’s not leaving until he does.”
“What does he want?”
“I don’t know. Me?”
I slick my thumb along my jaw and exhale.
“Okay,” I say. “This is easy. Next time he comes in, have Presley tell him to come back at a certain time. He shows up again, it’ll be me he meets with.”
Calypso shakes her head. “That’d piss him off. Might make things worse.”
“You’re not going back there,” I say.
She scoffs. “It’s my business. I can’t stay away.”
“Then you’re not going back there alone.”
“I don’t need you to rescue me.”
“Then why’d you come here?”
Her jaw falls, her words sputtering. “I-I just didn’t want. I didn’t want to—”
“You said you needed a favor.” My arms fold.
“Yeah.” Her chest rises as she inhales. “I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”
Her voice weakens and her eyes fall.
“Does he scare you?”
She bites the inside of her bottom lip. “He used to. But I’m too pissed off to be scared right now. I left Shiloh Springs. I came here to get away from all of those people.”
I take her by the wrist and pull her against me. She doesn’t need a lecture. She doesn’t need the Spanish Fucking Inquisition. She needs a hug. A friend. Some shit like that.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” she says. “I shouldn’t bring you into this. Just didn’t know where else to go. Didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts tonight.”
“It’s okay to ask for help.” I press her cheek against my chest. She’s hard to move, resisting me. I’m not the best at comforting people, but damn it, I’m trying. Pretty sure this is as awkward for her as it is for me. “You don’t have to go through everything alone all the time.”
She exhales, and I look down, watching the tops of her lashes as she blinks in slow motion.
“Crew?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Stop talking.”
I laugh.
Noelle says it’s a bad habit of mine, to fill the silent spaces of awkward conversations with anything and everything. I’m relieved that she wants me to shut up, because I’m not good at these kinds of talks.
Her face nuzzles against my shirt, and her body eases under my arms.
“Can I stay here tonight?” she asks. “I can take the couch. I . . . I just don’t want to be home in case—”
“Of course, Calypso.”
“I don’t know what Elijah wants. I don’t know what he’s capable of. I don’t—”
She peels herself from me and glances up at me through wet lashes. My free-spirited, sweet-natured Calypso trembles.
I fucking hate this Elijah prick.
I shush her, running my finger against her full lips.
“You’re staying here as long as you need. And I’m not putting you on the couch. You can have my bed.”
“I can’t take your bed.”
“Fine. We’ll share.”
She bites away a millisecond-long smile. It’s so quick I think I may have imagined it.
“Just don’t try anything tonight,” I tease. “I know how you are. You women can never keep your hands to yourselves.”
Calypso laughs for the first time since she burst through my door tonight.
I take her hand and lead her to my room.
We step over piles of laundry, and I grab my comforter off the floor and spread it across my bed. I pat the edge and nod for her to have a seat.
I make my way across the room, pulling a drawer from my dresser and rifling around until I find a t-shirt that isn’t fifty stains of construction brown. I toss it at her and she catches it in mid-air.
“Thanks.” She peels off her peasant-looking blouse and pulls the t-shirt over her head. When she stands a second later, she shimmies her hips until her skirt falls to the ground.
My t-shirt hangs down enough to cover her ass cheeks. I can only hope she doesn’t notice the slight swell in my pants right now.
Calypso yawns, sliding back on her hands until she reaches the head of the bed. Slipping her legs one by one under the covers, she sinks back into a mountain of pillows. My mountain. I can’t sleep without at least five pillows built around me in a semi-circle fortress.
I glance at the one leftover pillow on the opposite side of the bed.
I’ll let her have my pillow fortress tonight. If she stays another night, then we’ll talk.
“I’m going to check on Emme really quick, then I’ll be back. You need anything?”
She shakes her head, covering her pouty lips as her mouth circles into yet another yawn. I bet she’ll be passed out before I get back.
I can’t sleep.
I need my pillow mountain.
And I’m distracted by the lavender-scented beauty hogging all my covers.
Each time she tosses and turns, the blankets wrap around her. She’s a human burrito, warm in my covers, and I’m laying here with my one flat pillow and half of my right leg under what little blankets I have left.
If she were anyone else, I’d jerk the covers my way until they were equally proportioned, but Calypso’s had a rough day. I’ll sacrifice a little sleep so she can get hers.
Karma.
That’s what it is.
Karma for all those sleepless nights.
I turn to my side, away from Calypso. Clear my throat. Close my eyes. Attempt to shut my mind off.
According to the alarm clock, I’ve been tossing and turning for three hours now.
Twelve minutes pass, and I’m no closer than I was before. I roll back to my other side to come face to face with Calypso. Her face scrunches, and she slides her hand under one of my pillows and presses her cheek harder against it.
I wonder if she always looks this pissed when she sleeps? Maybe she’s having a bad dream.
I shut my eyes, breathing in the warm air that mixes between us.
Emme wakes around seven. If I go to sleep now, I’ll get five hours of sleep.
It’s freezing in here. The ceiling fan above creates a cool draft I’ve come to very much rely on, but without any covers it’s a fucking arctic tundra in here. I may as well be sleeping in an igloo tonight.
“Crew. Go. To. Sleep.” Calypso mumbles through a clenched jaw.
“You’re awake.”
“You won’t stop moving.” Her eyes part. We’re side by side and face to face.
“You’re hogging the covers.”
She glances down, trying to pull her arms out of the little cocoon she’s tucked herself into. Adjusting the blankets a bit more, she sighs.
“There. Sorry.”
Our body heats mix under the covers. Warmth radiates off her. I’m not the spooning type, but damn, is it tempting.
“You’re an ice block.” She scoots away.
I smirk in the dark, wondering what she’d do if I shoved my ice block hands up the hem of her t-shirt.
“I’m wide awake.” I inch toward her. Even a fraction of her heat should help me thaw out.
She turns toward me, groaning. “Me too. Mind won’t shut off.”
“What are you thinking about?” I’d rather lie here listening to what’s on her mind than spend another waking moment listening to the sound of silence.
Calypso’s lips frown at the corners. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Elijah.”
I peek through the peephole, heart galloping in my chest.
“Who is it?” Noelle whispers.
“Calypso.”
I yank the door open. “Hey.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. For a split second I think she’s come to apologize for her erratic behavior earlier. “I can’t find my keys. I think I might have accidentally put them in Emme’s diaper bag. Can I check?”
I widen the door and usher her in. She falls to her knees and practically empties out the contents of the bag on the floor. Noelle and I exchange looks. Even Noelle notices something’s off.
“Hello, hello!” Two little words suck all the air from the room and stop my heart from beating altogether as my mother stands in the open doorway.
Her faux smile fades in slow motion as her eyes dart toward Emme and then to Calypso and back to me.
“I . . . I can’t find my sunglasses. I believe I left them here?” She steps past me and between Calypso and a coffee table, keeping her arms squeezed in tight as if she’s afraid to touch anything in the process. Anything being Calypso.
I can imagine the ugly thoughts going through my mother’s head. The hippie girl in the flowing dress with the unkempt waves and the strong scent of lavender wafting around her is the last kind of person my mother would want associating with her pride and joy, Ivy league-educated offspring.
Calypso pulls a set of keys from the diaper bag. “Found them.”
She rises, meeting my mother’s curious stare.
“And who might you be?” Mom extends her hand toward Calypso, though it’s almost at an angle, as if she expects Calypso to kiss it. “Forgive my son for not introducing me. He can be rather rude at times. Too much time in the city, not enough time back home, I suppose. Susan Forrester. How do you do?”
“Good, thank you.”
My mother’s probably having an inner conniption fit because Calypso didn’t say “well” instead of “good.”
“I’m Calypso,” she adds, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
My mother’s second inner conniption fit is happening right now. Calypso didn’t share a last name, which isn’t a proper introduction in my mother’s book. I see that flash of dark in her grey eyes and the small quiver in her upper lip as she summons all her strength to keep from frowning.
“This must be your baby, yes?” Mom glances at Emme.
Noelle’s face washes pale. I’ve never seen her this speechless before. Calypso shoots me a look.
“Of course,” Calypso, as high-strung as she is, has the wherewithal to think on her feet. She’s a goddamned saint, and I could fucking kiss her right now. “I live next door. I was just stopping by to say hi. Emme and I were on our way out, and I saw Crew’s door was open. This is a really friendly little complex. He’s a great neighbor. Very courteous and respectful.”
Now she’s speaking Susan Forrester’s language.
“Oh.” Mom says, her voice lilting. She turns to me, brows raised. “Very good to hear.”
“Are those your sunglasses on the kitchen island?” Noelle points across the room. “The black Chanels?”
“Goodness, yes.” Mom throws her hands in the air and claps them lightly against her thighs. “There they are. I knew I left them here.”
She glides across the room and slips them over the bridge of her nose.
“All right. I should go. It’s not good to keep your father waiting out there in the car for too long. It’s bad for his circulation.” She gives a polite, yet distant wave and takes one last, discerning look at Emme. On her way out, I watch her give Calypso a final look up and down and struggle to keep her smile from morphing into a sneer.
I lock the door behind her.
“Holy fuck, that was close.” Noelle’s jaw hangs open. “Calypso, you didn’t have to do that, but thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
“Of course,” she says, swatting her hand. She steps toward the window overlooking the parking lot and watches for my mother to climb into her Escalade. “Otherwise, this afternoon would’ve been for nothing.”
I’m grateful for Calypso’s quick thinking, but I can’t stop thinking about how fucking pissed my mother’s going to be when I come clean about Emme. She fucking hates being lied to. She’s going to lose it.
“Everything’s going to be okay, Crew.” Sometimes I swear Noelle can read my mind.
“Oh. I hope I didn’t get you into more trouble,” Calypso says.
“Nah, it’s okay.” I hook my hands on my hips and stare off, lost in thought. I could never be upset at her for coming to my rescue, and in the end, it’s going to be one hell of a mess to clean up regardless.
“Your parents are gone now.” Calypso points toward the parking lot. “I’m going to head out. See you around?”
See you around?
I was balls deep inside her last night, and she leaves me with my own fucking line? See you around? That’s what you say to someone when you have no intention of seeing them again, but you don’t want to sound like a dick.
“Yeah,” I say. “See you around.”
20
Calypso
“Why don’t you go hide in your office and work on finishing that novel you’ve been writing for the last year, hmm?” Bryson watches me wash and dry a set of wine goblets for the third time. “You’re encroaching.”
“I own this place.” Kind of. Not really. Not for much longer. “I can encroach anywhere I want.”
Bryson rolls his eyes. “How many times are you going to wash those? They’re sparkling, sweetheart. I can see my reflection in each and every one of them.”
I grab an open bottle and pour a little bit of red into one of the clean glasses, down it in seconds, and dunk the glass back into the basin of soapy water.
“Girl, Presley said you sounded off earlier, but she didn’t tell me you were this bad.” Bryson pushes his lips out and cocks his head. “That crazy dude from that cult got you all worked up, honey, and I don’t like it.”
“Nerves, Bryson. It’s just nerves.”
I’ve been shaking life a leaf all afternoon. I hate that Mathias does this to me. And I don’t even want to be back with him. He could get down on one knee, tell me he made the biggest mistake of his life and that he never stopped loving me, and in the end, I’d dig my heels into the floor of my little bookstore and tell him to hit the road.
But it’s just the fear of the unknown.
What does he want? Why did he look for me? How the hell did he find me?
“This just goes to show you, our past is never dead and gone.” Bryson faces all the wine bottles and stands back to admire his work. “It always follows us. Please tell me nothing crazy’s going to go down in here tonight, because I spent the better part of today dealing with my crazy ex and, honey, I don’t have the energy.”
“It’s not going to get crazy.” I speak words I can’t guarantee. My hope is as good as his.
The door jingles, and my heart drops. My eyes snap toward the entrance where a man with flowing blond hair rolls in like he owns the place.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
From across the bar, I can see plain as day.
That’s not Mathias.
It’s his brother, Elijah.
The one who was obsessed with me.
The one who was excommunicated from the commune for having “less than a pure heart.”
My blood simmers beneath my skin, sending a prickling burn to my ears. I left that life. I left all those people. And Elijah Shiloh has the nerve to try and find me.
“Bryson,” I say under my breath, praying he can hear me. “I’m not here.”
I pray Elijah doesn’t see me as I duck down under the bar and rush back to my office.
I lock the door the second I’m inside.
And wait.
I’ll wait here all night if I have to.
Elijah’s bad news.
Elijah’s unstable.
I want nothing to do with him, and I’ll be damned if I give him a chance to talk to me. There’s nothing he could possibly need from me. I haven’t seen him since I was nineteen and he destroyed his father’s meditation room in a fit of rage when he discovered Mathias and I were exclusive.
I pull in a deep breath and sit by my phone, waiting patiently for the moment Bryson calls to tell me he’s gone.
And then I know exactly where I’m going.
Chapter 22
Crew
“Calypso.” I pull my door open, Emme sound asleep in my arms. “What are you doing here?”
She steps inside and falls into my sofa, nibbling on a fingernail and staring ahead.
“I need a favor,” she says after a minute.
“Let me put Emme down.” When I return, she’s braiding and unbraiding her hair. “Okay, you need to calm the fuck down and tell me what the hell is going on. Is this because of last night? Are you going to be all weird around me because we fucked?”
Calypso seems to pull out of it for a second, dropping her braid and furrowing her brows at me.
“God, no. Crew, this isn’t about that. At all.”
I’m slightly relieved, though I don’t let it show.
“Then what’s going on? You’ve been a fucking basket case since I picked the baby up earlier.”
“Someone came into the store today. Looking for me. Someone from Shiloh Springs.”
“That commune?”
“Yeah.” She looks away. “I thought it was my ex, but it’s his brother.”
I shake my head. “Okay, so . . .”
“He’s not right, Crew. He’s not right in the head. He was kicked out of Shiloh Springs years ago. I haven’t seen him in five, six years. Something like that. He was obsessed with me.” Her hands wring the air and red blooms from her cheeks. “I’m so fucking livid.”
I see that.
“How’d he find you?”
She rakes her fingers through the sides of her hair and pulls two perfect handfuls between her fingers as she paces.
“No clue.”
“Why’d you go back to the store tonight?”
“I thought it was his brother, my ex. He told Pres he had an important message to give me. I thought maybe it was about my parents.” She pulls in a quick breath, her expression tightening. “I hid in my office for three hours, Crew. That’s how long Elijah stuck around to wait for me. He refused to leave.”
“Where is he now?” I square my shoulders, pain searing through my tight jaw.
“He told Presley he’s staying in town. He’s going to keep coming back to look for me. That’s how he is. He’s obsessive. He came here to talk to me. He’s not leaving until he does.”
“What does he want?”
“I don’t know. Me?”
I slick my thumb along my jaw and exhale.
“Okay,” I say. “This is easy. Next time he comes in, have Presley tell him to come back at a certain time. He shows up again, it’ll be me he meets with.”
Calypso shakes her head. “That’d piss him off. Might make things worse.”
“You’re not going back there,” I say.
She scoffs. “It’s my business. I can’t stay away.”
“Then you’re not going back there alone.”
“I don’t need you to rescue me.”
“Then why’d you come here?”
Her jaw falls, her words sputtering. “I-I just didn’t want. I didn’t want to—”
“You said you needed a favor.” My arms fold.
“Yeah.” Her chest rises as she inhales. “I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”
Her voice weakens and her eyes fall.
“Does he scare you?”
She bites the inside of her bottom lip. “He used to. But I’m too pissed off to be scared right now. I left Shiloh Springs. I came here to get away from all of those people.”
I take her by the wrist and pull her against me. She doesn’t need a lecture. She doesn’t need the Spanish Fucking Inquisition. She needs a hug. A friend. Some shit like that.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” she says. “I shouldn’t bring you into this. Just didn’t know where else to go. Didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts tonight.”
“It’s okay to ask for help.” I press her cheek against my chest. She’s hard to move, resisting me. I’m not the best at comforting people, but damn it, I’m trying. Pretty sure this is as awkward for her as it is for me. “You don’t have to go through everything alone all the time.”
She exhales, and I look down, watching the tops of her lashes as she blinks in slow motion.
“Crew?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Stop talking.”
I laugh.
Noelle says it’s a bad habit of mine, to fill the silent spaces of awkward conversations with anything and everything. I’m relieved that she wants me to shut up, because I’m not good at these kinds of talks.
Her face nuzzles against my shirt, and her body eases under my arms.
“Can I stay here tonight?” she asks. “I can take the couch. I . . . I just don’t want to be home in case—”
“Of course, Calypso.”
“I don’t know what Elijah wants. I don’t know what he’s capable of. I don’t—”
She peels herself from me and glances up at me through wet lashes. My free-spirited, sweet-natured Calypso trembles.
I fucking hate this Elijah prick.
I shush her, running my finger against her full lips.
“You’re staying here as long as you need. And I’m not putting you on the couch. You can have my bed.”
“I can’t take your bed.”
“Fine. We’ll share.”
She bites away a millisecond-long smile. It’s so quick I think I may have imagined it.
“Just don’t try anything tonight,” I tease. “I know how you are. You women can never keep your hands to yourselves.”
Calypso laughs for the first time since she burst through my door tonight.
I take her hand and lead her to my room.
We step over piles of laundry, and I grab my comforter off the floor and spread it across my bed. I pat the edge and nod for her to have a seat.
I make my way across the room, pulling a drawer from my dresser and rifling around until I find a t-shirt that isn’t fifty stains of construction brown. I toss it at her and she catches it in mid-air.
“Thanks.” She peels off her peasant-looking blouse and pulls the t-shirt over her head. When she stands a second later, she shimmies her hips until her skirt falls to the ground.
My t-shirt hangs down enough to cover her ass cheeks. I can only hope she doesn’t notice the slight swell in my pants right now.
Calypso yawns, sliding back on her hands until she reaches the head of the bed. Slipping her legs one by one under the covers, she sinks back into a mountain of pillows. My mountain. I can’t sleep without at least five pillows built around me in a semi-circle fortress.
I glance at the one leftover pillow on the opposite side of the bed.
I’ll let her have my pillow fortress tonight. If she stays another night, then we’ll talk.
“I’m going to check on Emme really quick, then I’ll be back. You need anything?”
She shakes her head, covering her pouty lips as her mouth circles into yet another yawn. I bet she’ll be passed out before I get back.
I can’t sleep.
I need my pillow mountain.
And I’m distracted by the lavender-scented beauty hogging all my covers.
Each time she tosses and turns, the blankets wrap around her. She’s a human burrito, warm in my covers, and I’m laying here with my one flat pillow and half of my right leg under what little blankets I have left.
If she were anyone else, I’d jerk the covers my way until they were equally proportioned, but Calypso’s had a rough day. I’ll sacrifice a little sleep so she can get hers.
Karma.
That’s what it is.
Karma for all those sleepless nights.
I turn to my side, away from Calypso. Clear my throat. Close my eyes. Attempt to shut my mind off.
According to the alarm clock, I’ve been tossing and turning for three hours now.
Twelve minutes pass, and I’m no closer than I was before. I roll back to my other side to come face to face with Calypso. Her face scrunches, and she slides her hand under one of my pillows and presses her cheek harder against it.
I wonder if she always looks this pissed when she sleeps? Maybe she’s having a bad dream.
I shut my eyes, breathing in the warm air that mixes between us.
Emme wakes around seven. If I go to sleep now, I’ll get five hours of sleep.
It’s freezing in here. The ceiling fan above creates a cool draft I’ve come to very much rely on, but without any covers it’s a fucking arctic tundra in here. I may as well be sleeping in an igloo tonight.
“Crew. Go. To. Sleep.” Calypso mumbles through a clenched jaw.
“You’re awake.”
“You won’t stop moving.” Her eyes part. We’re side by side and face to face.
“You’re hogging the covers.”
She glances down, trying to pull her arms out of the little cocoon she’s tucked herself into. Adjusting the blankets a bit more, she sighs.
“There. Sorry.”
Our body heats mix under the covers. Warmth radiates off her. I’m not the spooning type, but damn, is it tempting.
“You’re an ice block.” She scoots away.
I smirk in the dark, wondering what she’d do if I shoved my ice block hands up the hem of her t-shirt.
“I’m wide awake.” I inch toward her. Even a fraction of her heat should help me thaw out.
She turns toward me, groaning. “Me too. Mind won’t shut off.”
“What are you thinking about?” I’d rather lie here listening to what’s on her mind than spend another waking moment listening to the sound of silence.
Calypso’s lips frown at the corners. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Elijah.”
