I want to tell him, but I don’t even know what to say, so until I can figure this out, I decide to keep it under wraps. “Nothing. Oh, my God. I feel so violated. If you hadn’t come…”
“But I did,” he interjects, placating my panic. “I’m just sorry…” He abruptly pauses, smashing his lips together to stop anything further from escaping.
“Sorry for what?” There is no way I’m going to let him off the hook that easily, though.
He exhales and ardently cups my cheek, fisting my hair. “I’m sorry I allowed it to happen. I should have been more careful.”
“Unless you’re the one who drugged me, then you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.” His nostrils flare as he averts his gaze. He’s angry with himself. “Cayden. Cayden, look at me.” When he does, I say, “Thank you.”
He scoffs, not wanting my gratitude. But I ignore him. “You saved me from being a statistic. You’ve saved me since the first moment we met.”
He hisses and instantly severs our connection. “I’m not the hero here, Peyton. Don’t mistake me for something I’m not.”
“I don’t care what you think. You are to me.” He forgets I can be as stubborn as he is.
“Thank you,” he says, finally accepting my compliment as he looks up at me from under his long lashes.
My head is reeling because I still can’t believe this happened. Over the past five days, I’ve uncovered some crazy shit, but this, this is something else. “Do I report it? I mean, the police should know this, right?”
The more I speak, the angrier Cayden becomes. The blankets twists in his fist as he claws at them like they’re the only thing stopping him from punching a hole through the wall. “Yes, you should,” he replies slowly, but there is hesitation in his tone.
“But…?” I prompt, flinching when he rockets off the bed and begins to pace. I follow his big, angry strides with my gaze, awaiting his reply, but after a few seconds, I get seasick with all the moving around.
Rubbing my temples, I groan. I’m frustrated and confused, and I really want a shower.
“But the cops won’t do anything. It could have been anyone,” he finally replies, continuing his laps around the bedroom. He’s right. Who’s to say Mason and his group of friends didn’t want a little retribution for what I did.
A thought then occurs. Where was Darla? I vaguely remember staggering through the bar and seeing Penny and Ronnie, but Darla was nowhere to be found. But I don’t have any proof other than the fact that she makes me want to puke without being roofied.
All this thinking is adding to my monster headache. “I need a shower.”
Cayden thankfully stops wearing tracks in the floor and nods. “You can shower here.” I appreciate his hospitality, but I don’t have any clothes.
“Thanks, but if I could borrow a T-shirt, I’ll just go back to my house. All my stuff is there, and I can be less…naked.” When a glimmer of a smile tugs at his lips, I’m tempted to rub my eyes to ensure I’m not seeing things.
“I’ll come with you,” he says while I press the sheet even tighter to my chest.
“Again, thank you, but that’s really not necessary. I just want to shower, take some medicine for my headache, and go back to bed.”
He is clearly opposed to the idea, and on any other day, I’d attempt to get to the bottom of the reason. But today, I barely remember my own name. “Peyton—” His pause has me sitting taller. “After last night, I really don’t want you out of my sight.”
I swallow, rooted to the spot when he strides over slowly and sits by me. A ray of sunshine streaming in from the window catches the elegance of his tattoo, and my attention drifts to the detailed linework. There is no denying Cayden’s protectiveness over me since the day we met, but what happened last night really shook him up.
I shouldn’t, but I just can’t help myself. “Why not?”
He blows out an exhausted breath. “Because…I can’t seem to stay away from you.”
I blink once. “O-kay,” I murmur, measuring my words. “And why is that such a bad thing?” There is no denying our attraction, and we’re consenting adults. So why is giving in to what we both want such a big deal? Cayden is torn, and I have no idea why. Yes, I come with baggage—a lot of baggage—but he doesn’t seem so fickle as to allow that to stand in the way of something he wants. And by the way he’s looking at me right now, all feral-eyed and possessed, it’s fairly obvious what he wants. But what he says next steps up the ante.
“Because…I would ruin you.”
A threat shouldn’t sound this…wicked, but it does.
He can’t say things like that to me when I’m naked. “No, you wouldn’t…you can’t ruin something that is already damaged. And that’s what I am. Damaged goods.” I’m not saying this because I want sympathy. Or pity. I’m saying it because it’s the truth.
But he shakes his head animatedly. “Don’t you dare say that.” It seems to be an unspoken agreement between us that it’s better if we don’t touch. “You are brave. And strong. Don’t you ever forget it.”
His words hold so much passion that an unexpected sentiment overcomes me. But I don’t give in. “Thank you,” I whisper, my throat almost closing up.
We have so much more to discuss, but we’re both beyond exhausted to delve into a discussion that demands our utmost attention. “So will you stay?”
He’s pleading that I say yes. So I do. “Okay. But I need a change of clothes.”
“Of course. Lacey can go over to your house and grab something. Or you’re welcome to my wardrobe.”
The thought of being wrapped up in his clothes really shouldn’t be this appealing, but knowing they’ll be about three sizes too big, I decide to settle on my own. “If Lacey wouldn’t mind.” I feel bad for asking, but I don’t have much of a choice.
“Of course not. I’ll ask her.” He stands, his nakedness suddenly warming my cheeks. Averting my gaze, I tug at a loose thread on the blanket. “You can shower in here. Take your time.” I appreciate his kindness because I will. After being told you were found passed out in a public bathroom, one has the urge to bathe themselves for a very long time in bleach.
I’m thankful he doesn’t linger and allows me some time alone.
My muscles protest when I shift, and I take three deep breaths before placing my feet on the carpeted floor. I have no idea if they’ll hold me up, but my shaky legs remain steady as I test my weight and stand.
The room starts spinning.
When it slows to a tolerable pace, I unwrap the sheet from the bed around my body and begin a staggered walk toward the en suite. I really wish I was in a better frame of mind to take in my surroundings as I am in Cayden’s bedroom, but the hot water and soapy bubbles are calling to me.
The moment I open the door, I groan at the sight of the shower because it’s huge. The glass screen highlights a large chrome showerhead which looks like it has some sort of massaging device attached. A small shelf houses all the products one needs to bathe their skin in luxury. There is also a small bench seat affixed to the marbled wall.
Without further ado, I step inside and turn the water to hot. It streams from the showerhead like a waterfall from the gods. When it warms to just the right temperature, I stand beneath it and tip back my head, gulping in lungsful of fresh air.
My tender body relishes in the warmth of the water as I simply stand beneath the spray and comb over everything these past five days have presented me with. Even though it’s been far from smooth sailing, I’ve never felt more myself than I have by coming here.
I’m still no closer to uncovering what that ribbon or the lake means to me. Though I did get roofied and told I was some bed-hopping party girl, I’m starting to realize those moments, those things, don’t define me.
Not many people get the chance I have to start over and make amends. I can dwell on incidents like last night, or I can focus on the now and hope the pieces aren’t too painful when I finally gather them all.
With my muscles and my mind slowly unknotting, I reach for Cayden’s shower gel and open the bottle. Unable to stop myself, I draw in a breath with it under my nose, expecting to smell the ocean—Cayden’s trademark scent. But instead, I get hit with an aromatic cloud of woodsy and citrus undertones. It smells divine, but it reveals Cayden’s comforting, rich scent is all him.
I lather myself in the gel and scrub my body until I feel every trace of last night gurgle down the drain. Cayden thinks he’ll ruin me, and in some ways, he already has. But after last night—actually, after the first time we met—he’s done nothing but the opposite. He’s given me hope.
My breath catches just thinking about him, and I know that’s because my heart is in concert with his. It’s too early, not to mention completely absurd, to say something like I’m in love with him, but with these feelings, these persistent butterflies, and the constant need to seek him out in a crowd, what else can it mean?