Carry You Home (Carry Your Heart #2) (14 page)

Caleb swallowed hard and then I felt his hand rest on the small of my back to lead me inside the house. Once we approached the door, he promptly pushed it open to reveal the disaster inside. For a few moments, I just stood there, frozen in place with my trembling hand covering my mouth. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be our house. This was someone else's life.

With a gulp, I stepped around Caleb, who'd skidded to a stop at the sight, and surveyed the damage. Our TV and my computer were demolished. All the shelves of books and movies had been upended. The curtains were ripped to shreds. Our couch and chair were slashed up like Freddy Krueger had been there. The kitchen table was overturned and crushed, like someone had stomped on it. Every drawer, every cabinet...everything was destroyed.

This was what I signed up for when I'd agreed to be Caleb's old lady and somehow figure out how to fit in this life. In
his
life. This was the consequence. Or at the very least, one of them. With a deep exhale, I squeezed my eyes shut and told myself that what had happened to our house wasn't actually about me, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Against my better judgment, I started heading for my studio.

"Iz," Caleb called out desperately and I could feel him right behind me. "Let me go in first. Just—"

I just pressed forward and flung open the door anyway. At first, relief flooded through me and almost knocked me sideways. Everything was fine. Padilla hadn't gotten far enough to destroy all my hard work...and then I smelled that pungent, sour odor that could only be one thing. In complete disbelief, I turned back to Caleb only to find him pale with grief.

Every painting I'd ever done, save for the ones still hanging around the house and the three still at school, were in this room.

And now, they were all destroyed because Diego Padilla had pissed on every single one of them.

Unable to control myself any longer, I lurched forward until my hands came in contact with some canvas and I kicked right through it before heaving it into the wall. I'd gotten my hands on another one when a pair of strong arms closed around me and gently tugged the ruined painting from my grasp. I collapsed into his chest, allowing him to bear the brunt of my weight, and finally released all the anger, frustration, devastation, and terror I'd felt since the moment I stepped up to my front door earlier today.

I had nothing left to do but weep in his arms. I just felt so violated. And, really, these were just possessions and materials. Everything could be replaced, with the exception of my paintings, and I knew I needed to just be grateful I'd managed to get away when I did, but the impact of this, the hatred and animosity it must have taken for anyone to do something like this, it just wouldn't compute.

He let me cry it all out before tenderly taking my chin in his hand. "You're okay, babe. This is all gonna be okay."

"What happened, Caleb?" I whispered hoarsely. "Why would he do this?"

He blew out a deep breath before cradling me against him and tangling his hands in my hair. "This is my fault. This had nothing to do with you, Iz. Long story short, I got Padilla kicked out of the Lobos because he sucked dick at his job. He blamed me for it and even though it was his fault, he came back at me personally, through you, through our house."

"So what did you do to him?"

In light of everything already knocking at our door, we both understood how important it was that he tell me exactly what was going on and why.

He exhaled deeply and ran a hand over his face before finally speaking. "I tracked him down through his old prez, kicked down the door, and taught him never to mess with a Horsemen's old lady, especially mine."

There was a part of me that was more than a little thrilled he'd clearly beaten Diego Padilla to a bloody pulp for me. That he'd went into a rage and tracked down the man responsible and brought him to outlaw justice. The alpha male act was one Caleb knew well and the more I was exposed to it, the more I wanted it. And there was another part of me that didn't know how to feel about that. Didn't know how to feel about the fact that he was capable of that kind of violence.

"Is that all, Caleb? You beat him up. That I can see," I gestured to his bandaged knuckles as I spoke. "But is that it?"

I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down, instinctively knowing I wasn't going to like whatever was coming next. At this point, I was ready for it.

Just keep it coming. How could things get any worse?

"I held his girlfriend at gunpoint in front him," Caleb murmured hoarsely next to me, unable to meet my eyes. "He needed to know what it felt like."

That wasn't exactly what I'd been expecting to hear, but it was more or less on par with my understanding of the way the club operated and the way Caleb operated within the club. There was most definitely a catch-22 when it came to the club—being around them was both the safest and the riskiest thing a person could do in this town, but it was better than the alternative. It was better than living without him.

"Thank you for telling me," I pressed my face into his neck and all the tension in his body seemed to slip right through my fingertips as I wrapped them around his waist.

He kissed my hair and I could feel the relief radiating off him. "Let me get you outta here, Iz."

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Caleb snapped his phone shut and tossed it a few inches away from where I sat on the bed. I gestured with my head toward the spot next to me and he flopped down on the mattress. He leaned into my shoulder, wrapping an arm around me, and I scooped up my bare legs underneath me so I could rest my head on his shoulder.

"Pizza'll be here in about 45 minutes," he told me. "I'm gonna have to make a mad dash for it though so Tiny doesn't get to it first."

I smiled into his shoulders, but that was the most I could muster. My body was too tired and my mind was too spent.

Tomorrow, we'd have to begin the process of going through the house to see what could be saved and what needed to be replaced, but I guess that was the least of my worries right now.

"I'm going to make that doctor appointment tomorrow," I murmured into his shoulder. "I promise."

He nodded and kissed my hair. "Good."

"Hopefully they'll be able to get me in right away. I'm sure everything's fine though. When you think about it, given everything that's happened the last couple days, I think I'm doing pretty good."

At least he was still in good enough humor to huff out a laugh before blowing out a deep breath. He had to be as tense and as worn out as I felt, so I reached out to gently knead the tight muscles in his neck.

"Hmm," he murmured. "That's nice, babe. I should really be doing this for you though. Or, you know, rubbin' your feet or some shit like that."

"Not tonight," I smiled. "You're always taking care of me. Why don't you just let me take care of you for once?"

"You know, I think there might be a double meaning in that, Iz."

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Do you want the neck massage or not?"

"Do I get another kind of massage after?"

"Shut it."

He just shrugged. "Okay."

After a good 10 minutes, his calloused fingertips grazed my hands to tell me it was okay to stop and then he shifted on the bed, sliding his hands down my bare thighs, until he faced me on the bed. A slow grin tugged up his lips and he leaned forward to kiss me, gently pushing me back onto the bed.

Caleb hovered over me as he situated himself between my legs and skimmed his hands up the Horsemen T-shirt I wore.

"I like seeing you in my clothes," he murmured, leaning down to press his lips against my stomach. "But I think my shirt'll look better on the floor right now."

"Oh wow," I laughed. "What a line."

"Hey, that's not even my best stuff," he rested his chin on my stomach as he spoke.

It was his eyes that got me every time, those deep sapphires that shimmered with love, devotion, and a healthy dose of mischief. I wished I could swim in those eyes, drench myself in their warmth, and sink into that liquid silk.

As if he could read my thoughts, Caleb shot me a wolfish grin before shifting his attention back to my stomach.

"Hey there, little buddy," he told my stomach. "Mommy did a pretty good job protecting you today, didn't she?"

I just laughed. "I see you haven't accepted that it's gonna be a girl."

"Okay, fine," he relented and gestured back down to where our baby was resting. "Hey there, little princess. If you turn out to be anything like your mom, and I suspect you will, I am shit up a creek. Seriously. You and your mother will be the death of all my hair."

"Oh God," I shook my head. "You're crazy."

His lips found my stomach again before he rested his chin against my skin. "Yep."

The smile that slipped across his face now was softer than before and had me reaching down to touch his cheek.

"Caleb?"

"Yeah, Iz?"

"Make it go away," I whispered.

He nodded. He knew exactly what I was asking and I knew that anything I asked for, anything I wanted, he was going to give me. And even if his mind had been on a rougher, faster track tonight, even if he'd needed to work out a little more aggression from the day's events, I needed him to go slow, to be tender with me, and to just love me.

"Okay, Iz," Caleb murmured.

He leaned forward and gently brushed his lips against mine, his fingers skimming all the way underneath the shirt to slide it over my head. My legs wrapped around his waist and a moment later, my fingers were pulling his own shirt over his head. He bent down to place feather-light kisses on the insides of my thighs, my stomach, my chest, my neck, before finally settling over my lips.

I loved this about him—matter what was going on with us, whether it was the club, school, or just plain old life, sex was always something that just worked between us. It was where we met up at night. Where we found each other again in spite of whatever happened that day. Tonight, even in his worked-up state, was no exception.

He swirled his tongue in long, leisurely circles inside my mouth, taking his time in getting me to relax. I needed him to take his time, but I also needed him to get somewhere else first and slipped both his shorts and his boxers down to his ankles so he could kick them off. I hoisted myself up on my elbows and watched him with hooded eyes as he lazily freed himself from the layers keeping us apart. Two seconds later, he thrust his hands underneath me and playfully yanked me closer to him.

He gripped my hips, digging his fingers into my skin and he easily slipped inside me. My hands tangled in his hair and he rocked against me, finding that easy rhythm and hitting exactly where he knew he needed to go. It was slow, lazy lovemaking and it was exactly what both of us needed tonight. His lips never seemed to stray far from an inch of my skin, trailing up my neck, pressing into my mouth, lingering around my jaw.

We'd done this leisurely, easy pace before and we had all night to enjoy it, but this was different.

Every movement, every kiss, every touch seemed to heighten the emotions we were feeling—the love, the need, the desire. It felt like a piece of my soul had splintered and his had meshed in with mine to fill in the empty spaces. We were forged as one, melded together in the heat surrounding us.

And when my release shattered through my body and Caleb trembled above me, I knew that, in spite of the day's drama, we were going to have the best night of sleep we'd had in months. All the weight had been lifted and now, we could finally breathe.

"I'm gonna marry you," Caleb hummed against my ear.

"Uh huh," I sighed lazily. "You are."

"When?"

"Soon."

"Tomorrow?" he asked hopefully and his tone suggested he wasn't being entirely facetious.

Somehow, I still had the energy to laugh. "Not tomorrow. Soon though."

"Fine," he huffed and tugged me against his chest as we settled back into the pillows. "I guess I can wait."

"You're going to have to."

"Well, it's a good thing you're worth the wait, Iz."

This time, I totally had enough energy to smack him right in the chest.

Caleb

There were a lot of things I'd rather be doing right now. Tuning up my bike, for instance. That seemed like time well-spent. Or maybe working out. Again, time well-spent. Painting my house. Mowing my lawn. Patching up that crack in our driveway. Eating Isabelle's cooking. Yeah, I'd rather be doing that too. Watching
Project Runway
. Yep, I said it. Pulling out my own teeth with a rusty pair of pliers. Oh yeah. Letting Chloe give me a hair-cut. That'd be okay too. Or, even better yet, I could finally join the 21st century and sign-up for Facebook. And Twitter while I'm at it because, why not?

All of that was better than how I found myself spending this particular Saturday afternoon: sitting at my table with its mismatched chairs, directly across from Isabelle's dad. The business I had with him was something I could've easily done over the phone or hell, I could've just sent it to him in the mail. But that wasn't what Isabelle wanted and, to be fair, she had no idea that I planned on asserting my role in her life today. She probably wasn't going to be very happy with me—okay, she was going to be
pissed
as
shit,
but if I told her ahead of time, she'd argue and fight with me beforehand.