Caspian (Carolina Reapers 8)

“Space,” Caspian said with a little bit of a glower, repeating the last bit of what he’d heard from my and Chuck’s conversation.

“Yeah,” I said, but even my voice sounded defeated. Maybe I really should give up and move on. The idea of that stung every inch of my body with the panic of unknown.

The last time I’d felt that panic was when my father died, and he’d been my world. My best friend, my mentor, my everything. And he’d left the world before he’d seen me accomplish anything. The only thing he ever saw me do was make plans with Chuck, and he was so proud of that picture I’d painted. How could I give up on that dream now? How could I just give up on that stability and comfort when it was the only thing I knew?

Caspian pulled up outside the little house I currently rented and put the car in park. He shifted in the seat, turning to face me. “I know you don’t want to hear this—”

“Then why say it?” I cut him off.

“Because if I don’t then I’ll feel like an asshole.”

“And that’s different than any other day because?” I tried to tease, but it just didn’t work, my voice was too weak, too exhausted.

He glared at me, then shook his head. “You don’t know me, Ryleigh,” he said. “Not really. You can call me an asshole all you want because you remember the teenager I used to be, but remember, I’m here to help you.”

I sighed. “I know,” I said, rubbing my palms over my face. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged it off.

“Tell me,” I said when he seemed like he was going to drop it.

“I saw you watching my sister and Sterling today.”

“It was her shower,” I said, and he laughed.

“Did it look like those two wanted space from each other?”

I swallowed the rock in my throat. “No.”

Caspian pinned me with those eyes of his, and I felt totally, wholly exposed from that look alone.

“That’s different,” I argued.

“Maybe,” he said. “But the thing is, when two people are about to start the best part of their lives together? When they’re in the honeymoon phase? There shouldn’t be a need for space. Not if it’s really meant to work out.”

The truth in his words hit me all over again, and I just…I was so tired. I’m so damn exhausted from the last two months, the last year. “Suddenly you’re a love doctor?” I asked, a bit sharp. “When was the last relationship you ever had, Caspian?”

“We’re not talking about me—”

“Right,” I cut him off. “Because I bet you haven’t changed from that teenager who dated anyone and everyone, sometimes at the same time. You’re still him, just in a much more defined body.”

He cocked a brow at me for that. “As if there is something wrong with dating? Every woman I’ve ever been with knows I’m not a commitment guy. I can’t be with the life I live, and I haven’t heard one complaint so far.”

I pressed my lips together. I couldn’t fault him that. Not really. If I was being honest, I was mad at myself, not him.

“But sure,” he continued. “Keep on hating me like I’m the teenager who gave you hell when you hung out with my sister. It totally makes sense that you’d hold a grudge for something that happened decades ago. I never knew how much you disliked me until I came home, so thanks for clarifying—”

“I’ve never hated you, Cas,” I said, and his eyes flared wide at the way I said Cas. Like London called him, or his friends called him. I gave him an apologetic look. “This is all me,” I said. “I told you I’m such a fucking mess. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t want to get into this with you when our mothers went prying. It’s not fair to you to dump all my baggage on you just because our moms are besties.”

He snorted at that. “I volunteered, remember?” His eyes were so sincere, they cut me to the quick. How could he be so cocky one second and totally genuine and playful the next? And why did I like it so much? “So,” he said. “You didn’t hate me? Ever?”

I laughed then. “No,” I admitted. “I actually thought you were funny and entertaining and...” I held back that I’d actually had a huge crush on him. My cheeks flushed, and I cursed my body once again. That was a decade ago, how could I still be embarrassed over it now? I hadn’t even said it out loud. Maybe it was just the theme of the day, mortification for a table of one, please.

“Seriously?” he asked, and the shock was clear on his face.

“Yep.” His grin was a bit too wide so I added, “I got over it, obviously.”