Chapter 115: Coming Back

Chapter Sixteen

Charlie

By the seventh day, I hate myself.

Not in a dramatic way.

Not in a throw-myself-off-a-cliff kind of way.

Just in a quiet, persistent, deeply irritating kind of way.

The kind where I know exactly what I should have done.

And didn't.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The lab emergency ended three days ago.

Three.

Which means I've officially run out of excuses.

The freezer malfunction was real.

The long hours were real.

Sleeping on a cot in the break room was real.

The problem is that none of those things explains the last three days.

Those are on me.

Entirely.

I stare at my phone from my apartment couch.

The screen stares back.

Judgmental.

Mocking.

Accurate.

Because Cade's contact is still sitting there.

Waiting.

One tap.

That's all it would take.

One stupid tap.

Instead, I've spent the better part of a week acting like a complete idiot.

The longer it goes on, the harder it becomes.

Because now I don't just have to explain disappearing.

Now I have to explain why I disappeared for almost a week.

A normal person would've called days ago.

A normal person would've apologized.

A normal person wouldn't be sitting on a couch at ten o'clock on a Saturday morning, having an existential crisis over a phone.

Unfortunately, I'm me.

And apparently, I've inherited every avoidance tactic known to mankind.

I groan and drop my head back against the cushions.

The ceiling offers no useful advice.

Rude.

My phone buzzes.

I sit up.

Hope immediately sparks—

No.

Not immediately.

The hope hits before I can stop it.

Then dies just as fast.

Jordan.

Of course.

Jordan: \[Alive?\]

I stare at the message.

Then at the ceiling.

Then back to the message.

Me: \[Barely.\]

The response comes almost instantly.

Jordan: \[Dad made cinnamon rolls.\]

My heart does something embarrassing.

Jordan: \[I think he's trying to bake his feelings.\]

I bark out a laugh.

Because honestly?

That sounds exactly like Cade.

Me: \[Is that a thing?\]

Jordan: \[For him? Seems like it.\]

Jordan: \[You coming back?\]

The question settles heavily in my chest.

There it is.

The thing I've been avoiding.

Not Jordan.

Never Jordan.

Cade.

The thought of seeing him again makes my stomach twist.

Part excitement.

Part guilt.

Part fear.

A truly terrible combination.

Me: \[Maybe.\]

Jordan's response arrives so quickly, I know he was already holding the phone.

Jordan: \[That's not an answer.\]

Me: \[It's the best you're getting.\]

Jordan: \[Coward.\]

The accuracy hurts.

By noon, I'm standing in my apartment kitchen making coffee.

Badly.

Because it seems Cade has ruined coffee for me, too.

I stare into the mug.

Take a sip.

Make a face.

It's awful.

Not because I made it wrong.

Because it isn't his.

The realization annoys me.

A lot.

I set the mug down and rub my face.

This is ridiculous.

It's coffee.

Not a spiritual experience.

Yet somehow every cup I've had this week has felt... off.

Missing something.

The same way the week itself has felt off.

Because Cade isn't there.

No quiet morning conversations.

No judging looks.

No eye rolls.

No cinnamon and vanilla drifting through the kitchen while he makes breakfast.

My chest tightens unexpectedly.

God.

I miss him.

Not casually.

Not a little.

I genuinely miss him.

And maybe that's the thing that's been scaring me most.

Not the kiss.

Not the age gap.

Not Jordan.

The fact that I miss Cade in all the small ways.

The everyday ways.

The ways that matter.

By eight that night, I stop pretending I'm not going.

The decision settles over me with surprising clarity.

Enough.

Enough avoiding.

Enough overthinking.

Enough hiding behind work.

I owe Cade an explanation.

At the very least.

Hopefully more.

I throw clothes into a duffel bag.

Grab my keys.

Then spend ten minutes standing by the front door questioning every life choice I've ever made.

Normal.

Healthy.

Productive.

Finally, I leave before I can talk myself out of it again.

The drive takes longer than it should.

Not because of traffic.

Because every mile gives me another chance to turn around.

Another chance to postpone the conversation.

Another chance to keep hiding.

By the time I pull onto Cade's street, it's nearly eleven o'clock.

Most of the houses are dark.

The neighborhood is quiet.

The only light comes from a lamp glowing in Cade's front window.

My chest tightens.

He's still awake.

Guilt hits harder than it has all week.

I kill the engine and sit there for a moment.

Just breathing.

Then I grab my bag and force myself out of the car.

The cold air bites at my face.

I barely notice.

All I can think about is the fact that it's been seven days.

Seven days of silence.

Seven days of avoidance.

Seven days of wondering if I've already screwed this up beyond repair.

I knock.

Nothing.

Then the door opens.

Jordan stands there wearing sweatpants and looking annoyed. "About time."

I wince. "Hi."

"You suck."

"Fair."

Jordan steps aside. "He's in the kitchen."

My stomach immediately knots.

Jordan studies me for a second.

Then sighs. "Just... talk to him."

The seriousness catches me off guard.

I nod.

Jordan disappears down the hallway without another word.

Leaving me alone.

The kitchen light spills into the darkness.

I follow it.

And stop.

Cade stands at the counter with a cup in his hands.

He's staring out the window.

For a moment, he doesn't notice me.

The sight punches the air from my lungs.

Because he looks tired.

Not physically.

Something deeper.

Something older.

Like the week carved pieces out of him.

The floor creaks beneath my weight.

His head turns.

Our eyes meet.

Silence.

Heavy.

Fragile.

A thousand things pass between us.

Relief.

Confusion.

Hurt.

Hope.

Then Cade looks away first.

And somehow that hurts more than if he'd yelled at me.

"Cade."

My voice sounds rough.

He doesn't answer.

I step closer.

"Cade, I'm sorry."

His fingers tighten around the cup.

Still no answer.

The silence stretches.

"I should've called."

Nothing.

"I should've texted."

His jaw tightens. "I know."

The words come out quietly.

Tired.

"I know."

My chest aches.

"Cade—"

"You left."

The statement isn't angry.

That's what makes it worse.

It's hurt.

Simple.

Honest.

Raw.

"You left, and I didn't know if you were coming back."

The confession lands like a punch.

I stare at him.

Because suddenly this feels bigger than a missed phone call.

Bigger than a week.

Like I'm standing in the middle of a wound I can't see.

"I was working."

"I know." His laugh sounds hollow. "I know that."

Then he finally looks at me.

And the pain in his eyes nearly breaks me.

"But that doesn't change how it felt."

Something twists hard inside my chest.

I take another step closer.

"Cade."

He shakes his head.

Like he doesn't trust himself to speak.

Like if he starts talking, he won't be able to stop.

The distance between us feels unbearable.

Three feet.

Two.

One.

The scent of cinnamon and vanilla wraps around me.

Stronger than I remember.

God.

I missed it.

I missed him.

"Cade."

His eyes close.

Just for a second.

When they open again, they're shining.

Not with tears.

With emotion.

With weeks of restraint.

Months of restraint.

The bond humming between us.

Pulling.

Demanding.

His gaze drops briefly to my mouth.

My pulse jumps.

The room suddenly feels much smaller.

The air thicker.

Charged.

"I didn't leave you."

The words come out barely above a whisper.

Something in his expression cracks.

Just a little.

Enough.

I reach for him.

Slowly.

Giving him every chance to pull away.

He doesn't.

My hand settles against his cheek.

Warm.

Soft.

Real.

His breath catches.

Mine does too.

The pull between us surges.

Stronger than before.

Stronger than Christmas.

Stronger than the kitchen.

Stronger than the porch.

For one dangerous moment, everything else disappears.

The age gap.

Jordan.

The fear.

The years.

All of it.

There's only us.

Only the bond.

Only the impossible need to be closer.

Cade leans into my touch.

A soft sound escapes him.

The kind of sound that goes straight to my chest.

My forehead rests against his.

Neither of us speaks.

Neither of us moves.

Because we both know exactly where this is headed if we don't stop.

And neither of us seems capable of stopping.

Not yet.

Not when he's finally in my arms.

Not when his scent surrounds me.

Not when the bond is pulling so hard it feels impossible to think.

His fingers clutch the front of my shirt.

I pull him closer.

And for one terrifying moment, Cade lets me.

Completely.

The bond surges.

A living thing between us.

Demanding.

Hungry.

Mine.

The thought isn't mine alone.

I can feel it.

The same way I can feel Cade trembling.

The same way I can feel his resolve slipping.

Then I kiss him.

It's not gentle.

Not tentative.

It's hungry.

Desperate.

A week of absence compressed into a single moment.

His lips part immediately.

A soft gasp against my mouth.

My hands slide down his back.

Pulling him flush against me.

Body to body.

Hard to soft.

The friction sends sparks through my veins.

My fingers sneak under the hem of his shirt.

Tracing the warm skin of his lower back.

He shivers.

Presses closer.

Our tongues meet.

Stroke.

Tangle.

The bond thrums between us.

Electric.

Alive.

His hands tangle in my hair.

Holding me in place.

Like he's afraid I'll disappear again.

I rock against him.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

The friction makes us both groan.

My hands explore further.

Mapping the muscles of his back.

The curve of his spine.

The dip of his waist.

He's perfect.

Warm.

Real.

Mine.

For a moment.

Just for a moment.

Everything else fades away.

There's only the taste of him.

The feel of him.

The scent of cinnamon and vanilla filling my senses.

Then reality crashes back in.

Jordan.

The word seems to hit both of us at once.

Cade jerks backward.

Breathing hard.

Eyes wide.

Panic floods his expression.

"No."

The word sounds broken.

"Cade—"

"No."

He takes another step back.

Then another.

Putting distance between us.

Rebuilding the walls.

His hands shake.

"I can't."

My chest aches.

Because part of him wanted it too.

I felt it.

He felt it too.

The realization hangs between us.

Painful.

Impossible.

Real.

"Cade."

His eyes squeeze shut.

"I need you to go to bed."

The words sound exhausted.

Not angry.

Not rejecting.

Just tired.

Tired of fighting.

Tired of wanting.

Tired of resisting something that grows stronger every day.

I stare at him for a long moment.

Then nod.

Because pushing now won't help.

Not tonight.

Not when he's looking at me like his heart is breaking.

So I pick up my bag.

And head toward the guest room.

Leaving Cade standing alone in the kitchen.

But as I walk away, one thing becomes painfully clear.

The bond isn't the problem anymore.

The problem is that we're running out of reasons to pretend we don't want each other.