Deliver Us (The Sinful Duet Book 2) Read online

  “I thought I heard your voice,” he says. “I waited up for you.”

  His short hair is disheveled and spiky. Deep lines carve their way through his tired face, but they lighten when I fake a smile back at him. Can he see through it? Guilt twists my organs, and it’s the worst feeling in the world. I have to confess, I have to break up with him, but I can’t do it here in front of Caleb.

  “Come here.” Nick reaches out and grabs me. “I’ve missed you.”

  He wraps me up in his big arms, planting a kiss on the top of my head, and I grimace. It’s surprising how quickly his touch has become alien to me. How quickly it’s become unwanted and unfamiliar. Caleb’s tempestuous presence lingers at my back, raising the fine hairs all over my body. Will he snap? Like he did with the stranger earlier?

  “Caleb? What are you doing here?” he asks, turning my body in Caleb’s direction as he tucks me further under his arm.

  I avoid Caleb’s eyes in fear of what I might see. He said earlier he doesn’t find me disgusting for what I felt even though I’m in a relationship, but how does he feel now? Seeing me against Nick like this? I bet I’m repulsive. I bet now I’m not worthy of the ridiculous pedestal he puts me on.

  “I need to borrow some sugar.”

  My heart explodes in my chest as panic detonates. Sugar? At midnight? Really? As he looks at Nick, his devastatingly handsome face doesn’t betray his inner emotions, though it leaks through his voice. I’d even say he’s the perfect picture of indifference.

  “What do you need sugar for?”

  “I’m baking a fucking cake,” he snaps. “What’s it to you?”

  I flinch. “Caleb—”

  “Sorry,” Nick cuts me off, exposing his palms to Caleb, “didn’t realize cakes were such a sensitive subject.”

  His indifferent expression turns furious and his clear green eyes become stormy and clouded, their mossy hue swallowed up by darkness, as he seethes. “Yeah, well, now you know.”

  Turning away, Caleb stalks toward his apartment and throws the door open. I bite the inside of my lip and lift my shoulders as he slams the door shut, leaving Nick and me alone in the hall.

  We stare after him for a small eternity before Nick turns us around and escorts me into the apartment.

  “What’s his problem?”

  You’re his problem, but I can’t really say that, can I? Where would I even begin to explain it? I shrug. “How should I know?”

  Once inside, Nick releases me to turn off the TV and fold the knitted blanket sprawled on the footrest of his recliner. How long has he been waiting for me? I set my handbag on the floor and kick off my heels. I sigh and a shiver of relief sweeps over my sore, swollen feet. I’ve been in these torture devices for a ridiculously long time.

  I hear the click of his recliner as he sits it back in its normal position, then I straighten my posture, looking him right in his face. He’s not happy. Dread creeps down the back of my neck, but I do my best to keep it out of my expression.

  “Were you coming from his place?”

  I screw my face up in offense. What’s he implying? I’ve made bad decisions recently, none of which I’m proud of, but I’d never go that far. I could’ve. I haven’t had sex since Caleb, and I’m painfully aware how good he can make me feel. “Did I come from—no, of course not.”

  Smoothing out the chest of his black sweater, as if he’s wearing a tie, Nick pins me with a suspicious stare. “Then what were you two doing together at this hour?”

  Strolling forward, I step off the landing and walk toward the kitchen. “We had dinner.”

  The warm air in the apartment is heavy and thick, and I can’t stand it. I tug at my coat and pull it off, dumping it on the kitchen counter as I pass by it on my way to the fridge. Maybe cold water will help ease this nausea and clear my head enough for me to do what I need to do.

  “Right.”

  “At Benny’s,” I add, though I don’t think it matters where. I pull open the heavy fridge door and retrieve a bottle of water. “I drank a few Mai Tais, and Caleb punched a guy in the face. Hey, maybe that’s his problem.”

  Closing the fridge, I twist off the bottle’s lid and turn around, startling when I see Nick standing by the counter, his dark brows pulled in, his nice lips pursed into a line. Sighing, I tell him everything from the beginning of the night until now. Naturally, I leave out the flirting and the kiss, but it’s gnawing at me, a parasitic, flesh-eating guilt that won’t stop. He has to know, and I’m gonna tell him. Soon.

  “I thought you hated him,” Nick says, placing his palms on the black, granite counter.

  “I don’t hate him.” I take a giant gulp of my water. I feel the complete opposite of hate for Caleb. What I feel…is a significant, four letter word I haven’t been able to shake since I fell into it. I’ve wanted to hate him for not calling me, for bruising my pride, but…I can’t, and I don’t. “I’ve never hated him.”

  Nick watches me, and I slide my teeth together as he drums his index finger against the counter. My palms turn clammy, apprehension prickles along the back of my neck, and anxiety whips my organs into a frenzy. I think I’m going to puke.

  “I—”

  “—just dinner, huh?” Nick says, cutting me off for the second time tonight. “He just waltzed into your work? Out of all the food places he would’ve passed by on the way? What a coincidence.”

  “Yes. Just dinner.”

  And a kiss. I can’t forget the kiss.

  “Benny’s closed a little while ago,” he points out, and I drop my head back with a sigh as irritation stabs through me.

  “I told you I had Mai Tais so, obviously, we ordered from the bar.”

  He doesn’t look convinced, but everything I’ve said is the truth. It might not be a coincidence Caleb showed up at the restaurant, but I sure as hell didn’t tell him where I work, so the blame certainly doesn’t lie with me. Everything after? Sure, I’ll shoulder it. I could’ve handled this whole night better, but I let my feelings get the best of me, and now there’s no way for me to walk away from this without being the bad guy.

  I tug at the neck of my dress, hating the warmth that gathers at the collar. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  Nick’s eyes are narrowed and black, and I know no matter what I say, he won’t believe me because that’s how he works. In his head, I’m in the wrong regardless of anything I say, regardless of any proof he’s shown. His stubborn attitude and need to be right was the first thing I disliked about him.

  “You ignored my calls and my texts because you were at dinner. With our neighbor.”

  I shake my head. “I was ignoring your calls and texts long before Caleb and I went—”

  “The same neighbor who kept you up last night by throwing a party you supposedly didn’t attend.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “—and what are you wearing? Do you always dress like this when I go out of town?”

  “Will you let me speak?” I snap, slipping off the end of my rope with the help of the liquid courage in my veins. “What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”

  He pushes off the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “You look like a prostitute, to be frank. Why so heavy with the eye makeup?”

  I lift my eyebrows and wait for him to tell me what he said was a joke, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He’s had an issue with how I dress from the minute we started dating. Before that, he had nothing to say about the gross, minuscule clothes Damon’s backpacker bar made me wear. Every chance he could, he told me how nice I looked, how pretty he thought I was. We weren’t dating, but I felt his eyes on me every time I entered the room and he never let up. Now, suddenly, I look like a prostitute?

  “A prostitute?” I spit. “Are you kidding me? The only skin you can see is my face. I’m literally covered from head to toe.”

  Nick scowls, and it’s ugly and warped. “It’s all so…tight.”

  I throw my hands up. “It has to be! I can
’t exactly work in sweatpants and a hoodie. God! It’s not some hipster burger joint. It’s a five-star restaurant! You know that already. You know exactly what kind of place Marissa runs.”

  “What about those pantsuits I got you?” he asks, his brows furrowing in thought, and I openly shudder. “Those are nice.”

  “Pantsuits?” I scoff. It’s like he lives on a different planet. “Might as well send me out in an over-sized muumuu.”

  I don’t feel pretty in a pantsuit. After the mess with Thomas, my parents controlled just about every aspect of my life. They took away my clothes, leaving only the ones they felt weren’t provocative. At nineteen years old, I had to buy clothes and hide them away or risk my father cutting them into tiny pieces. If I ever dressed in ways that made me feel pretty, or if I wore lip-gloss, they’d tear me down for it. They always assumed I had a sinful ulterior motive, but I didn’t. I couldn’t care less what anyone else thought when they looked at me, and now I’ve taken my freedom back, I’m not about to return to that mindset. All I want is to feel pretty, and not for anyone else, but for me. I think I deserve to feel feminine and beautiful instead of ashamed. I’m not going to hide my blessings under loose clothing and flat shoes.

  “The girls around my office wear pantsuits all the time and they look nice.”

  I cut my eyes at him. Has he lost his mind? Did he fall down a flight of stairs? I inhale deeply through my nose and blow it out. Then I lift my water and take another sip, soothing myself.

  “Well,” I say, dead calm, “why don’t you date one of the pantsuit-wearing girls from your office if they look so nice? God knows you’d have more in common.”

  Nick tips his head. “Really, Cassia?”

  “Well, I can’t do anything right anymore, so what’s the point in this? In us?”

  His anger melts off his face as realization sinks in. He knows what’s coming…what I’m about to say…and the sudden look of concern and worry on his face twists my stomach.

  “I think we should…” I clear my throat. “We should…”

  Come on, Goddamn it. Say it. Say what you’ve been wanting to say since this relationship started.

  “Sia…” He circles the counter, looking like he wants to wrap me up in his arms and not let go. I don’t want that. I’m here now. I want to get through this and move on. I back away from him, the feet of my leggings slippery on the tiles below.

  “I-It’s not working,” I tell him, gulping. “It shouldn’t feel like this.”

  He shrugs it off. He always shrugs it off. “We’re fine.”

  “We sleep in separate rooms. We don’t have sex. I ki…” I kissed someone else. Like a coward, I can’t bring myself to say it. “I can’t give you what you want.”

  “You could if you fucking tried!” he booms, swinging his arm and knocking my water bottle off the counter. I bounce back with a gasp as it hits the tiles and spurts water in my direction, soaking into the ends of my leggings, wetting the tips of my toes. “You don’t try to co-exist with me. You don’t try to make it easy. You don’t even try to make me happy. You never have.”

  Rage boils beneath my skin, rage I haven’t felt since I lived with my parents. “I’m sorry I find it very hard to be attracted to a controlling, inconsiderate, tantrum-throwing man-child!”

  Nick rears back, like I slapped him in the face. “Fuck you, Cassia.” He turns away from me and marches from the kitchen, stomping his feet. “I don’t need this. I came back early and for what?”

  He says it like he came back because he missed me or he wanted to surprise me, but I know better. He came back to check on me. Nick scoops up his keys from the wide black coffee table and stuffs them into the pocket of his baggy gray sweatpants.

  “Where are you going?” I shout after him.

  He doesn’t glance over his shoulder. “None of your business. I’m done with you.”

  “Nick!”

  He stomps up the landing, yanks open the front door, and leaves, slamming it shut behind him. I clench my fists and growl so hard my throat burns. Ass! Where’s he going to go this time of night? Probably the same place he goes after all our arguments. His best friend, Blake, lives on the Upper West side.

  Cursing under my breath, I crouch to open the cleaning cupboard to my right, grab a roll of paper towels, and begin wiping up the water. When I’m done, I drag myself to the shower and wash today off my skin as best I can. By the time I’m done, I can barely keep my eyes open. I wrap a large blue towel around me, exit the bathroom, lift my handbag off the floor, and retire to my room. Anger still bubbles in my veins from our argument, but a part of me feels at ease, like Nick and I have reached the peak of our relationship and now we make the trek down to go our separate ways. If I’m lucky, Nick will allow me to stay here until I find something else since I don’t know anyone else in New York City.

  I dry myself, slip into my long pajamas, and drop onto the bed beside my opened handbag, falling back against the mattress. Vrrrrrrrrt. I turn my head as the vibration forces my phone to slide out of my handbag. My stomach, as heavy as a boulder, falls into my intestines, but I pick the phone up anyway and stare at the screen, confused.

  New message from: Daddy

  I frown. Daddy? My dad? I don’t recall ever saving his number, and I’ve never referred to him as “daddy” either. I tap the notification, and my messaging app opens.

  Daddy: It’s quiet. Are you okay? Do you need me to come over?

  I blink, slowly, my mind too exhausted and sluggish to put two and two together.

  Cassia: Who is this?

  My eyelids grow heavy and my grip on my phone grows weak, so I rest it on my chest and close my eyes until it vibrates again. Groaning, I open one eye and unlock the screen.

  Daddy: Oh. That’s right. lol

  I stare at the little laugh emoji for a minute before reading on.

  It’s Caleb.

  Caleb? My lips quirk, and the heavy stone erodes from my stomach.

  Cassia: You put your name as Daddy in my phone? Really?

  Who does that? I hit send, then quickly type another.

  And no. It’s fine. Good night.

  I get a response from him immediately.

  Caleb: Here if you need me. Good night.

  Another text follows straight after and inside the little blue bubble is a little pink love heart.

  *Caleb*

  The corners of my lips tug at the heart emoji I sent her, then stop as a sickness creeps through my veins. It’s thick and tar-like, a sludge of self-loathing made of guilt, regret, and anger. It was all so easy in my head. Move to New York, steal her out from underneath her current boyfriend, and reclaim my happily ever after. I didn’t care if I hurt her, or Nick, or anyone, so long as I got what I wanted in the end…but hearing them fight, hearing stomping feet and slamming doors, didn’t bring me any pleasure. In fact, I feel pretty shitty. Not for Nick. Fuck Nick. I feel bad for disrupting Cassia’s life and forcing her to make room for me—again. This is all my fault, really. I should’ve begged her to stay in Paradise Valley the day she wanted to leave, but I was confused. I was overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of my dead sister and learning about the mistakes my mother made that losing Cassia was an afterthought, one that didn’t hit me until the shock wore off and I needed someone to talk to. Until I needed someone to comfort me.

  At the time I texted Cassia goodbye, I felt I was doing the right thing by her. Previously, I’d told her I was all over the place, that I couldn’t regulate my emotions as well as I should. Who, in their right mind, would want to waste their time with me when I couldn’t guarantee I’d love them tomorrow?

  Then tomorrow passed.

  And the day after.

  A week ticked by—two weeks.

  Three of them.

  And I sank deeper into myself than I ever had, searching for the numbness I always found comfort in. Sometimes, it welcomed me with open arms. Other times, it refused and forced me to feel, and feel, and feel all the love I
had for Cassia and the pain of letting her slip so easily between my fingers. I hate it took me losing her to realize I’m capable of giving her one hundred percent of myself. It took losing her to realize I’m capable of loving her every day, regardless of my past trauma. Exhaling, I toss my phone somewhere on my bed and roll over onto my stomach, burying my head in my blankets. “Nothing worth having comes easy,” is something my father told me my whole life.

  My eyes flutter open and I squint as the warm sun beams through my windows, highlighting the dust light that circulates. A muffled, incessant ringtone bleeps from somewhere on my bed, but my eyes are too heavy for me to care. Groaning, I snatch a pillow, roll onto my back, and drop it onto my face, slipping back into unconsciousness.

  I don’t know how long I remain there, in the dark peace of sleep, but I open my eyes for a second time, coaxed into consciousness by my stupid ringing phone. I haven’t slept well in months, and now I’ve finally managed to sleep longer than an hour and someone wants to talk to me? Figures. I shove the pillow off my face and squint into my bright, clean room. With a yawn, I stretch my arm out and run it along the unmade bed. The phone stops ringing, but I keep up my lazy search until I brush my fingertips along the corner of the case. Crunching my body, I grab it and drop back against my pillows. Three missed calls from Bree, three texts from my voicemail service alerting me of the voicemails she left, and a snoozed alarm for my five a.m. run. I lift my thumb to clear the notifications, but it rings again, Bree’s name right in front of my face.

  I answer, muffling a yawn. “Hello?”

  She exhales. “Oh, thank God. I’m so sorry to bother you—yes! Yes, I’ll be right there. I don’t have much time, but it’s Agnes. I woke up this morning with voicemails from the hospital. She was rushed in for emergency surgery last night.”