Bent Not Broken (A Cedar Creek #1) (16 page)

Jesus!

He could still feel it now. Her shaking body wrapped in his arms.

He couldn’t ask her what had sent her into that panic. She was too closed off and self-protective for that. He had to tread carefully or she would run, of that he was sure. Cal knew her panic had something to do with her feeling strong and safe hidden behind her walls and not coping with anyone breaking through.

Any
man
that was.

But she was still too raw, too afraid for him to ask her about it, to open up to him. He wasn’t sure she would ever trust him enough to share all her demons with him, but he would sure as hell try. But first, he needed his hooks in her deep before he could attempt a move like that.

Still, Cal realized he needed to do something to protect her from going through that kind of panic and pain again. He should have made his move years ago, he should have protected her from that sooner.

But now was now and he needed to do something.

So he made a decision. A decision that if she found out he did something about, he could lose her. He had promised her she could trust him. And she absolutely could. This was in her best interest, to protect her, to make sure she could feel safe, to make sure that whoever hurt her would pay for it and forgot she existed.

He had to use his contact to find out about her past, so he would understand her reactions, her need to push him away. He needed that information to navigate his moves.

And then he would make sure she didn't have to be scared ever again.

His friend would find out, he could find anything.

Decision made, Cal grabbed his phone from the nightstand to give his private investigator best friend Bane a call.

Chapter Eleven

Normal

Ivey

Merriam Webster defines normal as this:

Common. Usual or ordinary. Not strange. Natural.

Conforming to a type, standard, or regular pattern. Not deviating from a norm, rule or principle.

Something that is typical or expected.

For the first nineteen years of my life, my normal was not common or natural or ordinary. But for me, it was usual and typical, a regular pattern. I always knew what to expect.

Anger.

Hurt.

Humiliation.

Desperation.

Those were my constant companions. Wherever I went, whatever I did, whoever I met, that was what I always expected in the end.

The prospect of going to college was my dream.

My escape.

My freedom.

But in the end it only turned out to be the normal I had tried to escape from.

Still, call me stupid, but I refused to give up all of me, to drown in the darkness. I knew that pieces of me were forever gone.

Big pieces.

A lot of them.

So many that I would never heal completely.

But tiny little pieces of me I managed to keep intact at the core of me, and lying in that hospital bed, dealing with my grief and recovering from my wounds—the wounds you could see, the wounds on my soul I knew would never completely heal—I had sworn to myself I would protect those little pieces at all costs.

Keep them close and untouchable, hidden deep inside me.

So out of necessity I went and created my new normal. And I didn’t care if I conformed to the standard, to the common, or the usual.

I did what I needed to do to survive.

On the outside, I lived the normal life of a single woman. I was running my own business, a business that I loved. I had friends, few, but enough to not feel too lonely, enough to go have a drink with, laugh, have a gab, vent to after a terrible day. I had a sex life, took lovers, and enjoyed myself doing it.

But all this I did following a strict routine with even stricter rules.

The number one rule being, don’t develop deep emotions. Those were locked up tight.

I built walls around my heart.

Walls so high and thick that nobody would ever be able to penetrate them again.

They weren’t walls out of concrete. No. They were walls of steel.

Indestructible steel, which would keep people from getting too close ever again. To protect me from getting hurt and risking the loss of these last pieces of myself, without which I would be nothing.

Without which I might as well be dead.

I was content with my new normal.

It was predictable.

It was safe.

It made me happy.

Or did it?

Chapter Twelve

Sundays

Ivey

When my doorbell rang at 9:02 the next morning, I was so shaky that I almost dropped the bowl of fresh fruit before I made it to the table. Yes, I had made the decision last night to give this thing between Cal and I a chance, but making the decision and actually following through with it was a different story.

I was nervous.

Extremely nervous.

My hands were sweaty and my stomach thought it was on a roller coaster. Holding on to the counter, I had to take a deep breath.
Relax. It’ll be okay
. Tommy was coming as well and I liked Tommy. He could be our buffer. Focus on him and things would be all right.

Although my body was not reassured by my little pep talk—as proven by my shaky legs—I made my way to the front door to let the boys in. It was rude to make people wait.

I opened the door with a smile on my face—that hopefully didn’t give away my nervousness—and saw both Bennetts standing on my front porch, smiling back at me, boy Bennett in front, man Bennett behind him.

“Hey, Ivey! Cool house!” Tommy greeted me enthusiastically.

My head tipped down to him, “Thanks, honey. I’m glad you like it.” Tommy interpreted this as invitation to come in and shuffled past me into the hall and through it towards to kitchen. I took a step back to make more room for him, my head turning with him as he walked past me. At the feel of a big, warm hand cupping my cheek gently, I turned my head back until my eyes were on Cal standing right there, his wide chest only inches away from mine. His lips brushed my forehead, where he murmured, “Mornin’, baby.”

My insides melted and my stomach settled as I leaned into him.

“Morning,” I whispered before I leaned back to look up at him. He smiled down at me, and when I returned his smile, his hand at my cheek gave me a light squeeze as his eyes tipped down to my mouth. They came back up to meet mine, and I saw them change from gentle to something else.

Something warm.

I couldn't quite put my finger on what that change meant, but I knew I liked it. It looked like he was relieved, and maybe proud?

“You good?” he asked. I was. Freaking the hell out, but good. He didn’t need to know that, so all I said was, “Yeah, I’m good,” through my smile.

“Good,” he murmured and gave my forehead another brush of his lips before he let go of my cheek, grabbed my hand, laced his fingers through mine, turned, and led me through the hallway into the kitchen.

Seeing as I was a casual person who liked to be comfortable and assumed Cal was not much into decorum either, I had set the table for the three of us in the kitchen. I had a formal dining room, but I’d never used it for its original purpose. Right now it was covered in papers and catalogues and such. The table in there was nice and big and the lighting was great with its windows facing Southeast and the sunshine pouring in, making it a comfortable place to do my paperwork.

I followed the same principle of being comfortable with my clothing. Even when I had business meetings, I kept it casual. I was glad the book business in itself was more or less casual. When I went to book conventions to scope out new reading material, hardly anyone was dressed up. The most I’d seen was business casual, but even that was too fancy for me.

I wore jeans. Or sweats. Or pajama pants. But those were not always socially acceptable, so I usually stuck to jeans, which I was wearing right now. I had chosen a grey t-shirt with
Johnny Cash
across my chest and
I Walk the line
written on the back—which right now you couldn’t see since it was covered by my long, blond and, yes you guessed right, wild hair—to go with my faded jeans. I loved this shirt. It was one of my favourites. Seeing as I needed to feel as comfortable as possible this morning in an effort to calm my nerves, that was what I had picked. I had paired it with a white long sleeved thermal underneath, as fall had come upon us during the last week and it was a bit chilly. No socks. Those I tried to avoid wearing whenever I could get away with it. They made me feel constricted and limited. Weird, I know. But if I had to wear socks let’s say in my boots—I loved boots, I had several pairs and they were all kick ass—as soon as I took them off, the socks came off with them. Don’t ask me why, it was just something I did.

So I was standing in the arch that led to my kitchen with my feet bare—showing off my dark purple nail polish—surveying the scene. Cal had let go of my hand to go straight to the coffee and at this very moment was pouring himself a cup as well as me. Tommy had his head in the fridge, surveying its contents, coming out with a carton of chocolate milk—no, I don’t drink chocolate milk, I thought Tommy would appreciate it, so I had bought it special for him early this morning—grinning wide at me and I grinned back.

Then it hit me. I liked this. This was how it was supposed to be.

Comfortable.

Intimate.

Happy.

Normal.

That was exactly what I was feeling. And I liked it. No. I
loved
it.

I should probably be annoyed that, although they were guests in my house, Tommy was inspecting my refrigerator and Cal was pouring coffee as if they were in their own kitchen, but funny enough, I was not.

At all.

In fact I liked it that they felt so comfortable around me and by extension in my house that they didn’t hesitate in making themselves at home. But at the same time, it also scared the living daylights out of me. Here was a man with his son who I had known for nine years existed, but had really just got to know these past couple of weeks, comfortable in my kitchen, seeming to be completely at ease as if I had always been a part of their lives, as if they had always been a part of mine, as if it was natural for them to come over and make themselves at home. Yeah, that was downright scary. Never had I let anyone into my life that quickly, had felt anything remotely like I could trust a man,
wanted
to trust him. Not even with Kyle, who I had thought I had trusted completely, given myself to completely, had I felt like this. I closed my eyes to fight off the rising panic, took a deep breath through my nose, then opened my hands which had clenched into fists at my side without my knowledge, and reminded myself of the promise I had made myself—trying to have some faith. I opened my eyes to find Cal’s dark blue ones on me from across the room.

That warm feeling was spreading through me again.

I wanted to believe.

I wanted to believe this was real. It felt too good not to want this to be real.
Please let this be real
.

“I take it with a splash of milk,” I said quietly to Cal, still standing in the arch uncertain what to do next.

“I know,” was all he said, but that was enough to make that warm feeling spread further. He knew how I took my coffee without having to ask. I had never told him my preference, but now that I thought about it, every time he had brought me coffee, it was always exactly the way I liked it. How had he known?

As Cal walked over to the fridge, got the jug of milk, splashed a good amount into my coffee, then returned it back to the fridge, I asked him, “How did you know how I like my coffee?” Cal looked at me, surprised as if the answer was obvious. “We’ve run into each other for years at
Lola’s
and you’ve always ordered the same. Unless it’s Sunday or you’re in a really good mood and order one of those fancy coffees, it’s always a medium roast with a splash of milk.” He grinned at me. “Whole milk,” he added.

Wow. He had really paid attention. Did he generally pay that much attention to everything that was going on around him or had he paid special attention to me, I wondered. I couldn’t ask him that, though, so I shrugged and murmured, “Milk should taste like milk,” then in an effort to ignore Cal’s knowledge of my coffee preferences and wondering what else he knew about me, I looked at Tommy, who was sitting at the table, salivating over the food. I followed his gaze and thought that, yes, maybe I had gone a little overboard in my nervousness and insecurity.

Cal confirmed this by muttering a “Babe” under his breath when he saw the spread laid out on the table. There were pancakes topped with strawberries and whipped cream, French toast dusted with icing sugar and a drop of butter that was currently melting hence making it extremely yummy, bacon—lots of it, I loved bacon and thinking men were men and all men liked meat, I made the triple amount I usually made—, a variety of toasts and jams as well as the bowl of fresh fruit I had almost dropped upon their arrival.

Yup, definitely went overboard.