The Coffee Shop Ch. 03

Peyton smiled against his stomach. "You already have," she replied, noting that their gravelly tones were one of the same. Caleb did as well and he pulled away, his hand reaching inside the refrigerator for...

"Milk?" Peyton asked hoarsely, watching as he went to the kitchen cabinets to pull out a mug. Caleb worked his way around the kitchen as though he had memorized the layout by heart. Only after he popped the mug into the microwave did he answer her.

"Warm milk. It'll help you sleep." Reaching for the emergency kit he pulled out the spare bottle of aspirin and shook out two pills, handing them to her. "And that will be for your migraine when you wake up."

Peyton gave him a curious look. "How do you know I'll have a migraine when I wake up?"

Caleb hesitated by the microwave, his back to her. "You aren't the only person in this room who has been strangled to near unconsciousness," he replied bitterly.

The microwave chimed long seconds later and no sooner had he skimmed the top off the milk did he thrust the mug into her hands and escape out of the kitchen. The bedroom door slammed shut and Peyton winced at the sound. She eyed the kitchen counter and smiled at the bottle of honey he had set out, a small silver teaspoon beside it.

With a heavy sigh, she stirred in the honey, her ears trained for any disturbance. Hearing none, she put away the kit, honey, and the broken medicine cabinet lock before stiffly moving towards the stairs.

Changing her route last second, Peyton ambled to the bedroom door and gently knocked on the wood. "Remember to set your alarm for work tomorrow," she croaked.

Caleb said nothing, but she hadn't expected him to. "Goodnight!" she called as she walked back down the hall, popping the two aspirin into her mouth as Caleb's prediction became true.

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Peyton squeezed the bike frame into the back of her car, shivering at the chilly wind that kicked up off the sea. Eying the light from the kitchen, she checked her watch. Caleb had woken up precisely on time, like she assumed he would. Quickly she made her way back to the house, not surprised to see Caleb already dressed and lingering over the stove, bowl in hand.

"What is it?" Caleb asked without preamble the moment she entered the kitchen.

"Cream of wheat," Peyton prompted, clearing her throat as she came to stand beside him. She stirred the pot and rubbed her stomach when it grumbled. "I have plenty of brown sugar, and if you want yours thinner, I'll add milk."

Peyton chuckled when he eyed the concoction warily. "It'll heat you up and keep you full. Just don't add too much sugar or you'll be running to the bathroom."

"Nice," Caleb snorted, filling up his bowl.

"Coffee?" she asked before turning to the machine to find two mugs already out.

"I'll put out the sugar, then," Peyton murmured in surprise.

Breakfast wasn't a talkative affair. Caleb had three bowls of breakfast, and had accepted her offer for eggs and bacon. While he went to get dressed, Peyton tried to think of ways to get Caleb to open up. Maybe she should let him take over the guest bedroom and make it his? That way he would feel less like a guest and come to think of this place as home.

Peyton sighed as she washed out the dishes. What if that's not what Caleb wanted? What if he had plans to save up money and jump on the next bus out of town and start over somewhere fresh? Caleb was eighteen now, he had little obligation to tell her what he had planned for his future.

She needed help, Peyton realized as she picked up the pan she had used to make the cream-o-wheat, which was fast becoming like concrete glued to the stainless steel since it had been left out for a while. Scrubbing hard, she thought about calling her parents, a friend, anyone. Someone had to have an idea on what she should do. The room makeover idea was a good one, but this wasn't her house. Her parents needed to know what she was doing.

After rinsing and drying the dishes, she put them away and started to reach for the kitchen phone to find Caleb sitting at the breakfast table, his eyes on her. For a long pause, Peyton sought to control her heartbeat and Caleb watched her in what looked akin to idle amusement.

"Ready?" she asked him, putting away the phone. Caleb nodded and stood up slowly. Suddenly, like a snake, his hand reached out and caught her elbow before she passed. Every muscle in her body tightened deliciously on contact, her pulse rising high and coloring her face and the area below her belly button began to tingle. Caleb's smell, a combination of fresh linen and the scent of his leather jacket, created a heady brew that Peyton had to fight against taking a deep whiff of.

"Thanks for breakfast," Caleb said simply, giving her arm a soft squeeze before stepping back and releasing her. Peyton met his eyes briefly and nodded, swallowing the remnants of her coffee.

"Let me get my things," she told him, practically bolting from the kitchen. Even as fast as she moved, she heard Caleb's soft chuckle as she ascended the stairs.

After dressing and gathering up a scarf to cover up the bruising on her neck, Peyton and Caleb made their way into town, once again lost in silence. Peyton couldn't help but sneak glances in his direction as they drove. What in the hell was he thinking so deeply about? Was he plotting how to leave town? Was he thinking about school? Was he missing Chelsea?

Peyton closed her eyes briefly and gave a soft shake of her head. Caleb would talk when he was ready. Probing into his life already gave her a strangled neck. Did she really want to risk the rest of Caleb's temper?

Peyton regretted that last thought almost immediately. Caleb had lashed out, but who wouldn't in his situation? Idly she remembered reading somewhere that if he had had a subdued reaction to her questioning, that meant he would have given up already. His lashing out was preferable to nothing. Anger was the first step.

She smothered a snort. Oh who was she kidding? A therapist she was not.

Peyton pulled into a parking spot on the side of the street, blocking the small Honda vehicle that had been trying to get in to the same small slot as well. The driver honked irritably and Peyton waved, chuckling slightly. Driving in Los Angeles had definitely prepared Peyton for quick maneuvering and the ability to park in whatever spot was available, no matter how small.

Peyton turned to Caleb to see he was giving her a closed smile. "I've been driving for six years in one of the biggest cities in the United States. I think I can handle small-town Maine traffic," she joked. She then gestured to the coffee shop halfway down the block. "Call me when you get off work. I'll come pick you up if the bike isn't ready, or if you just rather not ride it."

Caleb nodded slightly, saying nothing.

Well, Peyton thought, so much for conversation.

"Have a good day at work," she told him, smiling a little and hoping vainly he would smile back. Caleb didn't disappoint. He even one upped her and squeezed her right knee gently, releasing her before he could feel the muscles in her lower body tighten.

"Thank you, Peyton," he told her softly. He got out of the car and shut the door, quickly jumping onto the sidewalk before a paper delivery boy could clip him with his bike. Peyton watched as he shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets and walked in his graceful, long-legged lope down the street, never once looking back.

"You're welcome," Peyton sighed, putting the car into gear. She checked her mirrors and the road before pulling out into early morning traffic, easily making the few blocks to Camden's. Both women agreed that a new bike would be in order. Camden was positive she'd have something ready before the end of the day, and Peyton left feeling a bit more lighthearted.

After running a few more errands, including grocery shopping, Peyton was on her way back to the Outlook, a tension coiling in her belly as she drove slowly up the winding hill. Stagnation had always driven her a bit mad, and today's idleness probably wasn't doing her any good. It also didn't help that every thought was clouded with that of Caleb, a guy she couldn't have but wanted in a way that made her heart – and body – clench.

"You're here to help him," she told herself for the hundredth time as she put away the groceries before moving into the wash room to start a load of clothes. "Not seduce him."

The phone line in the kitchen began to ring, disturbing Peyton from her thoughts. Turning away from her morning chores that had lain neglected due to her schedule change, she hurried down the hall from the washing room and into the kitchen, catching the call on the last ring.

"Gray Residence?" she quipped, her voice still hoarse from Caleb's ministrations.

There was an audible swallow. "Peyton, it's me. Caleb."

Peyton had not known Caleb long, but even she could tell when someone sounded scared and Caleb, her Caleb, was exuding the emotion with astounding clarity.

A white hot bolt of fear shot straight through her as to the reasons behind the phone call, and the morning chores were quickly forgotten. "Caleb? What is it?" she asked, clutching the phone with both hands tightly enough to hear the plastic creak.

"I'm at Creek Hollow." He swallowed hard again. "Do...do you think you can pick me up?"

Peyton read between the lines easily. "Caleb, tell me what happened," she said as firmly as she could. Seconds later she had to pull her mouth away from the phone as she succumbed to a coughing fit, missing what Caleb had said completely.

"Caleb, slow down," she gasped, fumbling for a drink in the fridge. "S-Start over," she commanded, spluttering on an ice cold drink.

"I-I know we said we'd make a plan after I came home from work, but I finished early and I know dad stays at the Cowboy Bar until at least one, so I thought I would be okay." Peyton closed her eyes at his nervous rambling, reminding herself that he was a teenager, and at one point she had been as naïve, ridiculous, and impulsive as he was.

"Go on," she croaked.

"I had everything packed and I was just about to leave when he drove up. H-He ran over my bike and came barreling at m-me and...I hit him," he explained, his voice shaky and nervous.

Peyton tensed, her eyes searching for her car keys. "What happened then?"

"H-He was shocked, a bit. I've never hit him before and once he got over the shock of it, he came at me. When dad is drunk, his hits don't always connect b-but they hurt." He hesitated, his voice quivering. "H-He wasn't drunk. At all. He had been out, looking for me, completely sober. I thought he was going to kill me, Peyton. He's never been this mad before and—" Caleb cut off, sounding nothing like the calm, cool, and collected Caleb she knew.

Peyton found her car keys by her phone charger in the living room and struggled quickly to put on her coat. "What did you do, Caleb? Just tell me, get it all out."

"I found his baseball bat behind his armchair a-and I hit him," he bit out. "It was just one hit, but he went down – hard. P-Peyton, he won't wake up."

Peyton stopped short at the back door, her heart pounding in her ears.

Seconds ticked past before she said the first order that came to mind. "Caleb, stay where you are. I'm coming to get you."

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Readers: To some of you, Caleb's story may sound like pure fiction. I assure you, there are many "Caleb's" out there, and sadly, I was able to use some of their experiences for this chapter. If any of you know people around you who live in abusive homes or are the victims of an abusive spouse, parent, or caregiver, do not hesitate to help or to ask for it.

You might also be wondering why I chose to take this direction for Caleb's story. This *is* a romance, I promise you, but a difficult one. Caleb's past is much darker than many of our own, and I am determined to give him the story and love he deserves.

I appreciate any comments, messages, or votes, for they only serve to help me become a better writer and to give voice to those like "Caleb" who have found their own to be ineffective.