Redeeming: Part 2 – Chapter 18

She is both hellfire and holy water.

Which side you get depends on one thing.

You.

—Caitlin’s Secret Thoughts We sit in silence as Callen drives into the city to drop Declan off at his car.

No one dares to speak until we park next to Declan’s car.

He leans forward from the back seat and gently rubs my arm. “You’re going to be okay, Caitie. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you will be. And if you need anything at all, you know Annabelle and I will always be here for you.”

He presses a quick kiss to my head, this man who’s been an honorary uncle to me my whole life. “Anything, Caitie.”

I nod quickly. I have no words left to speak, and my emotions are all bubbling right there at the edge of my sanity. If I crack now, I’m not sure when or if I’ll stop.

“Thank you,” I manage to push past my lips almost inaudibly.

Callen waits for Declan to get in his car and pull away before he turns to me.

The car reeks of devastation.

It’s rolling off us both in waves.

“Do you need anything from the condo? I can call Killian and ask him to make sure no one is there.” I don’t know if I appreciate the kind gesture or if it pisses me off because I’m not ready to be anything other than mad.

“No. Can we just go to your house, please? I don’t want to see anyone.” The words whispered speak so much truth.

Ones I can’t even begin to understand the full extent of.

I don’t want to see a single soul.

Not even Callen.

I close my eyes, pull up the chunky blanket wrapped around me and turn away.

“Caitlin . . . we’re home.” His words are soft, but they hurt just the same.

This isn’t my home.

I can’t go home.

Not to where I’ve lived for the past four years and not to where I grew up.

Not now.

Callen helps me down from the truck, and I can’t help but pull away the second my feet hit the ground. “This was a bad idea.”

“Just come inside, Caitlin. We can talk or you can sleep. The decision is yours.”

I hate that I don’t hate him.

I can’t. But I want to.

It’s a weird thing . . . stepping into his space, but nothing about it screams Callen.

Whites and pale blues dominate the space with touches of navy and emerald. It’s soft and serene and completely unlike him, but it somehow fits. I stand in the center of the family room that’s open and airy and connected to the beautiful kitchen, and I’m suddenly clinging to my fury. “You really made this place your own, didn’t you?”

“We going with sarcasm instead of substance? I can do that, if it’s what you need. But I’m pretty fucking sure neither of us is going to sleep until we talk.”

What I need, not what I want.

Callen always knew the difference.

“I don’t think I can do this tonight, Callen. Me being here doesn’t mean we’re back together. It means I have nowhere else to go.”

Everything hurts.

My mind.

My heart.

My body.

My fucking soul.

“That’s not good enough, Caitie.” He steps into my space, careful not to touch me. Respectful. Always respectful. And I hate him. “Is it true?”

“What?” I snap but stand my ground. “Is what true?”

Why do his eyes have to be so expressive?

Why can I see his pain as if he sliced himself open and showed it to me from the inside?

“Are you pregnant?”

I move to one of two deep navy and white pinstriped chairs and ottomans sitting next to floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake and the falls and sit, staring out into the darkness before I work up the nerve to look at him. “Yes.”

“Fuck, Cait. When were you going to tell me?” he growls at me, and I manage not to claw his eyes out.

I nod my head slowly . . . not calmly.

“How do you know it’s yours?” Maybe I want him to hurt as badly as he’s hurt me.

Maybe I’m no better than my brother.

He leans over the chair, resting his hands on either arm, caging me in. “Because I know you, kitten. You didn’t go hop on some casual fuck. You love me.”

“Loved. Past tense.” I straighten, not wanting him to know he’s affecting me.

His fingers gently move my hair off my shoulders. “We’ll see about that.”

“Whatever, you cocky asshole. Of course it’s yours. But I only just found out on Thanksgiving. Today was my first appointment. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I wasn’t going to hide it from you. I just needed to know it was real before I put myself through the hell of talking to you.”

He straightens and shoves his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. His eyes lock on mine, and that same energy crackles in the air like it always does. “Are you okay? Is the baby?

“Yes,” I answer immediately because I don’t hate him enough to put him through that kind of hell. I’m not that cruel. “I’m due May first.”

The smile that stretches across his handsome face does me in. “Callen . . . I can’t do this. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. I appreciate you letting me stay here until I figure something out.”

“Glad you appreciate it because you’re not going anywhere until we find out whether someone was trying to kill you today. Whether you want to hear it or not, the only reason I broke your heart was because I was told your life was in danger, and it was the only fucking way to protect you. I loved you then. I love you now. You and this baby are my responsibility, Cait. Let me take care of you.”

“Fuck you, Callen. I’m no one’s responsibility.”

“That’s all you heard?” he groans and paces the room.

I don’t tell him I heard everything, even if I wish I hadn’t. “If I stay here, we have rules.”

“I’m listening . . .”

“Number one. This doesn’t mean we’re together. It doesn’t mean I like you. And it certainly doesn’t mean I forgive you,” I point out what I think is the obvious first. “Number two . . .” Shit. What the hell is number two?

“Number two,” Callen adds with a fucking smirk. “I want to go to every doctor’s appointment. You tell me everything.”

“Pertaining to the baby,” I clarify. “And I agree to the doctor’s appointments. Kenzie is my doctor.”

“Number three,” I point at him, feeling my fight drain from my body as I get sleepy. “Keep your declarations of love to yourself. There is no us. You broke that, not me. And right now, I’m focused on our pomegranate, not on fixing what you broke.”

“Pomegranate?”

I lean into the corner of the chair and pull my feet up under the blanket my mother is never getting back. “There’s a website that tells you all about the baby’s development, and it tells you what size it is each week. We’re seventeen weeks pregnant, and our baby is the size of a pomegranate.”

His brows lift. “The hard-shell thing or one of the seeds from inside?”

“Of course you know what a pomegranate is. Ugly, stupid fruit,” I mutter. “The hard-shell thing. And our next appointment is the week before Christmas. We can find out the sex of the baby then, if you want.”

Even I’m not so coldhearted that I’d keep him out of our baby’s life.

Callen drops to his knees in front of me and very slowly reaches out, probably waiting for me to smack his hand away. I don’t. I give him this one thing because I owe it to our little red fruit and take his hand and rest it on my still-flat stomach.

“Our baby . . . Christ, Caitie. We’re going to have a baby.”

The tears are back, and this time, they don’t stop.

No matter how hard I try.

“Test run, Callen. I make no promises on how long I stay.”

I can’t give him more than that.

My heart can’t take another break.

It wouldn’t ever recover.

Not again.