Carry You Home (Carry Your Heart #2) (49 page)

He was my siren call, beckoning me into dark waters, tempting me to give in, promising me everything but giving me nothing.

And so I fell once again, diving in headfirst with my eyes closed and my heart wide open.

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Caleb

I swung my fist into the bag, hoping this
hit would finally take the edge off, but the connection wasn't enough to burn away this emptiness. The little bit of pain that cracked through my knuckles all the way up to my elbow was almost enough to break down that wall—frustration, disappointment, and pain all cemented into one.

Hitting my boxing bag usually helped me work out the aggression keeping me stagnant, but today, not so much. Landing blow after blow just made it worse. Just made me angrier. Just made me want to hurt myself a little bit more.

I landed one more furious hit into the bag and let it sway from side to side in the garage, my chest heaving, but without the release I needed.

Well, this was really fucking productive.

All I'd gotten out of it was sore knuckles and a decent workout. Still no release. No redemption. No absolution. That just left me with the sting of Isabelle's rejection. Add that to my self-loathing and I was well on my way to reaching for that bottle of Jack I kept hidden in the bottom drawer of my desk.

By the time I'd taken a shower, changed, and headed back down to the garage, I didn't feel any better. Or any cleaner for that matter. I tried to be productive and listen to Lucas report the status of specific projects, but I just ended up tuning him out instead. Aside from his shitty judgment, he was still a good kid and a good employee, one I'd incidentally just given a raise to not too long ago, and he didn't really deserve me ignoring him right now.

It was only when he trailed off that he actually had my attention and when I glanced up again, Lucas was staring off into the distance at something in the parking lot. My eyes followed his gaze and my blood simmered a little when Jared's truck pulled into a space right next to the office.

"What the hell?" I muttered. "Is someone covering his shift at the house?"

Lucas blinked back at me, probably too stunned by my hard tone than anything else.

The schedule was very clear and I'd made it just as clear that under no circumstances were they supposed to leave Isabelle's house until their replacement had arrived.

"He'd better have a good fucking reason for being here right now," I growled and set off toward the parking lot.

I only made it a few paces before I skidded to a stop with Lucas practically running right into my back. Jared had already gotten out of the truck and was grinning at me sheepishly with his hands in his pockets, but that wasn't what held my attention.

It was Isabelle.

Stepping out of Jared's truck with her arms folded protectively around herself, she glanced around the lot and I swore I felt my heart literally swell in my chest. It didn't matter that she'd had a delayed reaction. All that mattered was that she was here.

Once the initial shock wore off, my eyes drank her in. The tight black leggings coupled with her black heels and leather jacket had my mouth watering. The way her short hair curled around her neck and flipped up at the ends. The way she nervously clenched her hands around the straps of her huge purse. Every time I saw her was just another reminder of how long I'd been deprived of her. How many nights I'd spent dreaming of her. How much I'd missed her. How much I loved her.

"Hey, Isabelle," Lucas called out to her with a wave as she met us right outside the edge of the shop.

My head snapped in his direction.

"You, um," the idiot stammered on. "You look real nice today."

"Thanks, Luc—" Isabelle started, but didn't get much further when I abruptly fisted a hand into Lucas's shirt to push him backward.

"Get your ass back to work," I snarled at him, pointing into the shop.

Lucas's eyes just about bulged out of his head and he nodded anxiously, shuffling backward before turning on his heel and just about sprinting back into the shop. My eyes didn't leave him until I heard Isabelle's light laughter in front of me.

"Oh, come on, Caleb," she smiled shyly and bit down on her bottom lips as she stepped even closer. "He seems like a nice kid. A little naive maybe, but nice."

"He is," I admitted. "He just needs a few lessons in how to respect women is all."

And maybe I just don't like anyone else drooling over what's mine.

Good thing I knew better than to admit
that
particular thought out loud.

Her head tilted to the side, no doubt seeing right through my bullshit as usual, but she didn't call me on it. Instead, she chewed on the inside of her cheek, waiting for me to make the first move.

"What are you doing here, Iz?"

I already knew the answer, but I needed to hear her say it.

She swallowed tightly and pressed a smile on her face. "I changed my mind."

I wanted to grab her face and kiss her, but I had to tread lightly here.

"I can see that," I grinned.

Her eyebrows lifted at my light tone and she laughed. "Maybe we should figure out how to make this day a good one instead of a bad one. What do you think?"

I rocked back on my heels and didn't bother trying to mask the wide, happy smile that crossed my face. "I think that sounds like the best idea I've heard in awhile. Where should we start?"

The question hung in the air for a few long moments. This had to be on her terms. Every single step, every single move, and wherever this day led us, it all needed to be at her pace.

"How about a tour?"

"Well," I laughed. "What the lady wants, the lady gets, I guess."

Her eyes sparked as I gestured toward the garage and waited long enough for her to step in front of me so I could gingerly place my hand on the small of her back to guide her. She jumped a little at the contact, but relaxed just as quickly, leaning into my touch as I led her around my shop.

I needed to pinch myself. This was my reality right now. She was really here, listening with rapt attention as I explained the various ins and outs of the machinery and our routine here. And it didn't help my disbelief when she graciously shook each one of my guys' hands as I introduced them and glanced up at me with such unabashed pride.

I found myself hanging on to every word, every glance, every smile, and now that she was here, I'd forgotten why I hated this day so much in the first place. Her mere presence had eradicated all the ugliness surrounding my memories of this day and now I was just looking forward to whatever today had in store.

"So," she exhaled a little nervously when we stood right at the bottom of the stairs that led to my apartment. "You live up there, huh?"

"I do."

Isabelle kept chewing on her bottom lip as her eyes flitted up the stairs again. "Can I, um, can I see it?"

My heart stuttered in a panic because I was pretty sure my tiny apartment wasn't in any condition for her to see it. If she wanted to stay there for any length of time, I just didn't know where to go from there. But hell if I'd deny her now.

"Sure," I swallowed hard and gestured with my head toward the stairs. "Let's go."

She trailed after me, following my lead, and I sucked in a deep breath when I held open the door so she could pass through. It wasn't much, but it was all I really needed. I had a bed, a TV, a few shelves, a tiny bathroom, and an even smaller kitchen. As far as I was concerned, the downstairs of this building was the part that really mattered.

Isabelle took a few tentative steps inside, taking her time as she surveyed the small space. I shuffled in behind her and on reflex, rushed to kick a pile of dirty clothes under my bed and then made a beeline for my makeshift kitchen, which was really just a stove and a sink, and started shoving some stray dishes into the sink when Isabelle's light laughter came up right behind me.

"Caleb," she called out to me. "Don't worry about it. I remember your dorm at the clubhouse looking way worse than this. In fact, this place is pretty clean compared to that."

I huffed out a laugh and ran a hand over my head. "Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure that was when I was just a stupid kid who only cleaned his room when his mom told him to. I don't really have any excuse now."

I flinched a little at the mention of my mom. God, I hadn't seen her in months. Maybe even a full year if I was being honest. No. I shook that off. I wasn't going to let any painful memories bring us down today.

She seemed to pick up on this shift in mood and padded lightly over to my bookshelf, calling over her shoulder, "The more things change, the more they stay the same."

"Right," I chuckled and again, following her lead, moved closer until my shoulder brushed hers. "Besides, I'm totally living in the lap of luxury now. Can't you tell by all this space I've got?"

Her eyes followed my gesture out into the pretty small space, but she just shrugged. "It's not so bad. How much more do you need?"

"I guess you're right," I grinned down at her.

If I had any regrets about my shop, it was that I'd had to sell the house for some of the start-up cash I needed to get my business off the ground. It just hadn't made sense to basically pay two mortgages—one for the house and one for the building—and watching the house I'd bought for Isabelle, with all those plans we'd attached to it, slip right through my fingertips had stung more than I'd expected. But, then again, that was also part of the reason I'd been able to help her dad and I didn't regret that for a second.

When she leaned into me ever so slightly, my fingertips pressed into the small of her back. I just couldn't stop myself from touching her when she was this close and I couldn't apologize for something that came so naturally. Thankfully, she didn't shy away. If anything, she just leaned in even closer as her eyes scanned the contents of my bookshelf. She reached out to skim her fingertips along the bindings and murmured some of the titles.

"
Huck Finn, Of Mice and Men, One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, The Outsiders, A Lesson Before Dying, The Shining..."
she cocked an eyebrow at me. "Classic lit and Stephen King, huh?"

"Hey," I nudged her in the side with my elbow. "Stephen King
is
classic. Don't make fun of me, Iz. I'm very sensitive."

Her lips curled up into that beautiful smile and her head dipped back a little as she laughed. "Sorry. I wouldn't dream of making fun of you for reading. This is just—I just didn't expect you to be this
different,
but in a good way. I'm so proud of you, Caleb. Everything you've done, how far you've come...I just can't believe it even though I know I should."

"I wouldn't give myself all the credit," I told her quietly. "I was just surviving. That's all."

"You did exactly what you had to do," she nodded and inhaled shakily.

"Hey, Iz?" I murmured.

"Yeah?"

"I really missed you."

She sucked in a shaky breath and I resisted the urge to run my thumb over her lips when they tilted up.
 

"I know," she smiled. "I missed you, too."

That was all the encouragement I needed and I closed the space between us to capture her lips, pressing into them with all the words right on the tip of my tongue I still couldn't say. Maybe she could taste them and taste what I needed to say to her, taste what I needed from her. Maybe that could be enough.

Her hands twisted around my neck, skimming up around my head, and it was all I could do to just grip her tighter, pulling her flush against my body and not pull her right onto my bed. It would be so easy to lose control right now and slide my hands down her body to take what I'd been denied for so long. But that wasn't why she was here and if I let things get too out of hand tonight, I could easily wake up in the morning to an empty bed and never see her again.

With this new conviction, I reluctantly pulled myself back and ran my thumb across her cheek.

"Can I make you dinner tonight?"

She laughed and I had to steel all my control just so I didn't ruin this moment by kissing her again. "Can I help?"

My eyes widened and my mind immediately jumped back to every single one of Isabelle's cooking disasters in the past. Chicken, spaghetti, lasagna, even homemade pizza—each one more horrific and traumatizing than the last.

"You know, Iz, I think my stomach's finally recovered from your cooking. Maybe—ow!" I ducked when she swatted at me again.

"Oh, shut up," she laughed again. "It wasn't that bad."

I just cocked an eyebrow her way. Enough said.

Her eyes lifted to the ceiling and she sighed. "Okay, fine. Maybe it was that bad,
but
I'm much better now. I can actually make an entire meal without getting anybody sick or burning down my kitchen."

"Tempting," I held my hands up. "But you're my guest. I'm gonna cook for you whether you like it or not."

"Oh boy," she muttered under her breath and whether
I
liked it or not, she sank down right onto my bed.

To be fair, there really wasn't anywhere else to sit, but I still wasn't prepared for the sight of her sitting there, waiting for...something. I took that as my cue to get my ass to work and after a quick inventory of what little food I had in my barely-existent kitchen, I got down to business. Isabelle observed me with careful curiosity as I got the sauce going and mixed up some batter before tossing the chicken in.