“No. It wasn’t—it’s fine.”
“Shit.”
“It’s fine,” Cal insists.
Zac takes a deep breath. “Do you want to stop—”
“No,” Cal snaps, and then pauses, taken aback by his own vehemence. Zac is too, his surprise and relief clear on his face. Cal imagines not touching Anya again, not having this...this possibility with Zac. The reality of her and the possibility of him. He doesn’t want it to end a second before it has to. More slowly, more purposefully, he adds, “Don’t even go there.”
“You seem sort of conflicted though.”
“I’m not good at change.”
“No shit. But there’s more to it than that, because you’ve always been bad at change, and you’re not breaking bottles on an average day.”
Cal can’t put it into words. The closest he can come is the feeling he’d get when he did something wrong as a child. Like something’s building inside him, a tension he can’t resolve, where the only way out is to drop the other shoe himself. He wants this, he does, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like a roller coaster without brakes. And he’s not sure he can hit rock bottom in his life again and come out intact on the other side. “I’ll figure it out.”
Zac tips his head to one side. “Tell me you’re going to let us help.”
Cal sighs. “Is there any point in fighting it?”
“Nope.” Zac smiles at him, sunny and sly at the same time, and Cal’s heart thumps. “So we should get what you’ll need for in the morning, and then we’ll stop at the liquor store on the way home. Oh, and you should get your bass too. We can work from home tomorrow.”
The way Zac says home, as if Cal belongs in the big gray house too, makes his heart thump all over again.
* * *
Zac goes into the liquor store while Cal stays in the car. The paper bag gets stashed in the trunk, and as soon as they’re in the house, Zac tells Cal in no uncertain terms to go kiss Anya. He stands there waiting as Cal heads deeper into the house, and Cal knows he’s going to hide the tequila.
Out of sight, out of mind has never really been a truism for Cal when it comes to drinking. Knowing he’d have to ask Zac to get the tequila for him is a far more effective deterrent. Zac wouldn’t only say no, he’d punch him. Or sit on him. Or call him names. It would be ugly and painful, whatever Zac did, and Cal finds himself as settled as he’s been all day, despite there being alcohol in the house.
Zac won’t let him fuck up. And even if Zac caved, Anya would be two steps behind, and she’d really handle it.
Cal finds her in a small bedroom upstairs that’s been converted into an office. She’s alone. PJ must be down for a nap.
Cal’s never been in here before. There’s a lot of equipment—a ladder propped up in the corner, a big stand against the wall holding what looks like giant rolls of wallpaper, all with different patterns. Backdrops, he supposes. The current one is eggshell white, pouring down from the frame and out across the floor like a waterfall. Lights on stands and big, gray umbrella-like screens loom over shelves overflowing with mysterious black gadgets. There’s a closed door with thick black padding nailed into place covering every crack that must lead to her darkroom.
She’s sitting at a large white table with glossy prints in front of her. She’s wearing skimpy little shorts made of baggy fabric and a too-big T-shirt, and she’s gorgeous, all tawny hair and long limbs. She looks up when he comes in, and there’s a wariness in her that he can’t help feeling shitty about, knowing he put it there. Anya should never be wary, and he walks over, cups her face, and kisses her.
She’s stiff for a second. But right as he gets scared that she’ll push him away, she melts against him. Her fingers slide through his hair and her mouth opens under his, soft and sweet. He loves how she feels against him, her hips and breasts round, her arms strong and possessive.
When he lets her go, she’s gratifyingly flushed. “I love kissing you,” she says, and he finds himself grinning, his first real smile of the day, maybe.
“I love kissing you too. Try to remember that for the next few minutes, huh? I’ve got something to tell you.”
“Is this the alcoholism confession?” One elegant eyebrow lifts, her expression steady.
He manages not to choke on air, but it’s a near thing. “Huh. Well. It was going to be. I didn’t know you were a mind-reader.”
“I’m not. But you’ve never had any wine or beer with dinner here no matter how many times I’ve offered, and you and Zac both freaked out about a broken bottle of tequila.” She sounds amused. “It’s not a case for Sherlock.”
“Fair point.” He plays with her fingers, which are, reassuringly, still in his hands. “You’re not mad?”
“That you had a problem eight years ago, dealt with it, and now occasionally need help?” There’s so much patience on her face that he can’t breathe. “Seems like a silly thing to be mad about. I wish you’d felt like you could tell me before now, but I understand why you didn’t. I can’t imagine you’ve ever volunteered that particular detail about yourself a single day before you had to.”
“I can see why that would make you mad—”
“A man who never uttered a free word in his life continues to not utter free words.” Her mouth takes on a wry shape. “It’s also silly to be mad at people for being who they are.”
He bends to kiss her palm, and then stays there, lips resting against her skin as the tension drains out of him. “I didn’t expect it to be easy to tell you.”
She tugs him up. “Don’t you dare crawl on your belly around me for past mistakes, Cal, whatever they might be. I’m not interested. The man you are now, today? He’s lovely. I find you so lovely. You don’t ever have to be afraid. All right?”
He kisses her again to cover up the way his throat goes tight at her words. He means it to be small, chaste, grateful. But like so many things with her, the kiss transforms on him, becomes something new. He didn’t know it’s possible to get so overwhelmed by another person. He isn’t prepared for any of this.
His feelings for Zac have always been sleeping dragons, resting right beneath the surface. Quiet enough to put aside for long stretches at a time, but powerful enough that the thought of them waking is a terrifying thing.
His feelings for Anya resemble the woman herself: unexpected, unpredictable and incredibly powerful. He feels like a teenager blundering headlong into first love, helpless to resist the force of his own emotions. It doesn’t matter if the loss of control scares him; like Anya, these feelings refuse to be put aside. He’s falling for her. It’s a fact as inflexible as the sun being hot or the sky being blue.