The Coffee Shop Ch. 04

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some of you might be wondering why this story is posting again. I accidentally submitted the unedited version of this chapter to Lit a few days ago. This is the EDITED version, the one that was supposed to have been posted the first time around. If you read the unedited chapter...I'm so sorry, LOL. Anyway, I apologize for this chapter's delay, and I hope y'all like the story so far. As always, this story copyrighted, and all feedback and comments are appreciated. Enjoy!

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When Peyton arrived at Creek Hollow, she reached for her cell as she slowly drove down the gravel road through the park. On either side of her were rows upon rows of RVs and mobile homes, the upkeep varying by yard. As she studied the last names on the row of mailboxes at the end of each gravel drive, Peyton searched for "Vaughn", but couldn't read a single one of the tiny stamped names. Braking briefly, she looked around and sighed before going forward again.

Just call him, she chastised. You don't know where you are.

Her fingers were hovering over the phone's touch pad when she saw a large white Ford pickup flushed against the side of a fairly clean golden yellow mobile home, Caleb's newly restored red Schwinn braided within the front grill.

Peyton parked her car behind the Ford, just briefly wondering if she should have brought her father's shotgun for protection.

She stepped out of the car and glanced around the neighborhood, finding the silence unnerving. All windows that she could see had the blinds drawn shut and every door was closed. The place was an absolute ghost town, like a seaside city boarded up before a hurricane.

Shaking off those thoughts, Peyton walked to the mobile home, her ears aware of every crunch of her feet on the gravel drive and how her heart was in her ears. A chill went down her spine when the mobile home's front door opened to the lightest touch and she took a step back, eyeballing the ground at her feet for a good size stick. She found a large rock instead -- better than nothing.

Following the concrete steps up, she ducked through the doorway and looked around at the mess, shaking her head. Overturned furniture, broken glasses and random cooking pans littered the space, making a trail of debris from the den on her right to the small kitchen and dining area to her left. Taking another step forward, her shoes crunched on a plate. The next thing she knew, a sweaty, bleeding pale body flung itself at her, strong arms gripping her tight in their hold.

"You came," a hot breath whispered at her ear, the following exhale a ragged sigh of relief. Recognizing the voice, Peyton pulled back and found a pair of ice green eyes gleaming down at her with unshed tears.

"You look terrible," Peyton whispered, her chest tightening at the sight of the new layer of bruises and scratches across Caleb's face and neck.

Caleb tangled his shaking fingers through her loose hair, a weak smile playing on his cut and bleeding lips. "Not for long. I never do," he sighed, dropping his forehead to rest against hers. Peyton swallowed hard at the sight of the cuts on his neck and arms where it looked like fingernails had clawed into his skin and the numerous rapidly darkening splotches on his jaw. Closing her eyes briefly, she told herself to put a barrier between her emotions and what had to be done, knowing she couldn't handle it any other way.

"Your ability to make a joke at a time like this worries me, but right now we have more pressing matters to deal with," Peyton responded as evenly as she could. "Get your stuff and park it in my front seat. Now where's your father?"

At the mention of his father, Caleb straightened and a cloudy expression crossed his face. His eyes went over her head and he pointed one finger in the direction of a hallway. "I put him in there. He has a pulse, but he isn't moving. Which is fine by me," he tagged on, his expression darkening into something that made Peyton shiver a little.

"What happens when he wakes up?" she pressed, a little torn between figuring out the problem and just getting Caleb the hell out of here. "If he was looking for you yesterday, he will come looking for you again."

Caleb's face hardened and his jaw muscles bunched. "I don't know, Peyton. All I know is that you were right yesterday. I can't stay in this fucking trailer."

"I didn't say that explicitly," she corrected automatically, shutting her mouth when his eyes turned back to hers.

Peyton's breath caught with an audible gasp in her throat as Caleb's fingertips brushed over the bruising at her neck. "You asked me to never raise a hand to someone," he said quietly, his eyes going distant. "I broke that promise."

"You did it in defense," she reminded him, placing her hand over his. Worry filled Peyton as his touch grew bolder. As much as she wanted it -- and him -- she didn't want him doing this for the wrong reasons. And as she stood in a destroyed kitchenette surrounded by pots, broken cups, and a shattered table set, she guessed idly that his physical touch was made for a many number of wrong reasons.

"I struck first," he countered, his rough thumb brushing over the dip of her throat. "I shoved him down the front steps. When he fell, he broke our birdbath."

Their eyes met and Peyton couldn't help but smile a little. "Let's get you out of here, please?" she pressed softly, catching his hands in her own before he could continue a torture he hadn't realized he had even elicited.

Caleb nodded once before taking her by the wrist and leading her down to the opposite end of the trailer. The farther they went away from the den, the cleaner the trailer seemed to smell. Peyton smothered a sigh and told herself screaming in frustration wouldn't help. She found herself recanting that thought when they reached his room.

Caleb's room was bare of anything apart from the four-drawer chest that had seen better days and a small cot shoved into the far right corner. No posters of his favorite bands or idols hung on the walls, there were no bookshelves or telescopes or anything of value in his entire room. It was as though no one had even been in this room, let alone lived here.

Caleb retrieved two navy blue duffel bags from his bed and turned to her, ready to go.

For a second, Peyton couldn't breathe. In her move from Los Angeles to Maine she had taken at least two large suitcases and a duffel carry-on alone, not coming anywhere remotely close to the rest of the clothes back at her apartment. But Caleb could fit his entire life, his entire eighteen years of existence, into two duffel bags.

Instantly, and without needing to rethink her actions, she crossed the space to squeeze him to her.

Caleb must've known where her thoughts had headed, because his hold on her back was gentle as he reciprocated the touch. He stroked his long fingers through her hair before resting a scruffy, battle-worn cheek on top of her head and inhaling deeply.

"Let me take you home, Caleb," she whispered against his stomach, trying to fight the sting of tears in her eyes.

Caleb said nothing, just pulled away and took her hand in his, leading her out of the bedroom and back into the chaotic remnants of the bloody and messy battle with his father.

Peyton did not stop at the door and did not mention going to check up on his father. Caleb didn't ask her to either. The man could rot away on that bed for all she cared.

Peyton unlocked the car and Caleb scrambled in, clutching the bags to his chest. A few trailers over, the screen door opened and she saw Chelsea standing at the stairs. For a second, they locked gazes and Chelsea gave the tiniest of nods.

She knew this day had been coming. She knew that one day Caleb would have to leave.

Peyton got into the driver's seat and hesitated before turning on the car.

"Do you want to speak with her?" Peyton asked. She was a little surprised Caleb had not waved back, or even acknowledged Chelsea was there. He must've seen her.

Caleb glanced out the window again, catching Chelsea's frantic wave and tear-stained face. He lifted his hand in acknowledgment, his face completely expressionless.

Peyton suddenly didn't know what to think of the situation anymore. And for a fleeting moment she couldn't help but wonder that maybe taking in a complete stranger, no matter his situation, was a bad idea, even if the decision was made with good intentions.

Caleb shook his head to answer Peyton's question, catching her surprised look before it slipped away. "Chelsea knew this would happen one day," he said in his usual aloof but polite tone. "I just wish she wasn't so close to him. That she was in a better place." A safer place, she knew he meant.

"She has her family," Peyton reasoned.

Caleb said nothing, leaving the moment awkward.

Peyton smothered a sigh as she put the car into gear before reversing out of the drive. Taking a brief moment to collect her thoughts, she eyed Chelsea in the side mirror. The girl was still standing on the steps, though her parents were standing at her shoulder now.

"Caleb," Peyton began, her voice as gentle as she could make it through her tidal wave of emotions, "I know that what I suggest next you won't like one bit, but you need to consider going to the police about this," Peyton said slowly as she drove them away from the RV and mobile home park. "You're eighteen now, so you don't need to worry about being sent off to a home. You can press charges against your father and he can be taken into court. Maybe even prison."

Peyton watched Caleb nod slowly, his eyes distant. She had a gut feeling though that he wasn't thinking about her suggestions, but in fact the blonde girl she was driving him away from.

Peyton smothered a sigh, turning back to the road in front of her.

Caleb was in love with Chelsea, she told herself, ignoring the harsh pinch in her chest as she did so. Caleb was not hers, and she had no claim over him whatsoever. And besides, Chelsea was his age, his best friend, from his side of the tracks. What right did she, a complete stranger, have to a boy who just needed a way out? She had gotten into this mess of sorts to help Caleb, not seduce him. He needed to be shown that there were people in the world who wanted to help without any form of reciprocation.

Peyton told herself she would have to sincerely be one of those people.

As the car turned out of the stifling forest and into the openness of the cliffs, Peyton felt herself relax. Being out on the cliff edge had its definite disadvantages, especially during shoddy weather like yesterday, but as she drove up to the Barn Peyton couldn't help but look over all the good things about the spot. Being able to see the town in the distance, the fishing boats pulling into the docks, and the lack of trees bearing down at her back gave Peyton a sense of freedom that the forest simply took away. Even as a child she had dreaded trips into the forest, eventually making it a part of the scenery as she grew up and focused more on the town and those who dwelled within it.

Peyton pulled the car into the garage and cut the engine before looking over at Caleb.

"You okay?" she asked quietly, not wanting to shatter the illusion of peace between the two of them, but her voice ruined it anyway.

Caleb blinked, the ice fading from his distant green eyes as he contemplated her words. He looked around as though confused as to how he got there before looking over at her.

"I'm fine," he vowed. He gave her a crooked smile and unlocked his seatbelt before grabbing his bags and stepping out of the car. Peyton followed suit, unsure if he was being sincere or not, but knew that only time would tell with Caleb.

The two walked to the backdoor of the Barn, side by side, and more than once she noticed Caleb glancing over at her, as though he was worried at any moment she would take the offer back.

Determined to prove him wrong, she opened the door and stopped him. He watched her in confusion as she pulled on her key ring and held out a small silver key to him.

"It's the spare house key," she told him when he didn't move. "If you decide you want to stay here, you probably don't want to have to worry about being locked out of the house, hmm?"

Caleb reached out slowly, revealing again his cut and bruised knuckles as he took the key from her fingers. Peyton watched as he bit down on his bleeding bottom lip with his front teeth, his eyes not leaving the key.

"Come on, let's put your things in your room," she told him, picking up one of his duffel bags and slinging it over her shoulder. The hesitant plodding of footsteps a few seconds later told her Caleb was following.

Peyton opened the door of the guest room and inhaled deeply, smiling at a job well done. The spare bedroom had smelt a little musty, so she had gone to the trouble to clean up after he had left for work. The room now smelt of lemon-scented Pine-Sol and fresh linen. Peyton knew Caleb didn't really care, but to make the room feel homier, she had placed a large baby blue vase of sunflowers on one of the large paned windows, the bottom sill pushed up to let in the fresh scent of the ocean. The room was picture-perfect, like something out of the home and garden magazines her mother always liked to flip through.

"If you don't like it, there are plenty of other rooms in the Barn to pick from," Peyton told him as she set the duffel beside the bed. "Don't be afraid to add your own stuff either. It's your room until you find your own place."

Caleb walked in further, his green eyes flickering over the room. He wordlessly set the duffel bag down beside his feet and took off his jacket stiffly, reminding Peyton that he was bleeding and bruised and was going to need more than band aids this go-around.

"I like it, Peyton," he told her finally in a thick voice, looking over at her with a soft smile.

Peyton sighed in relief and took a step forward, examining the cuts on his knuckles and the swelling joints. The examination continued with her amber gold eyes looking over his chest, neck and then his face. Caleb suddenly turned to her and took her hands in his before lifting them to his cracked and dry lips to run them over her knuckles. Even that soft contact sent her pulse rampant and her toes curled up in her sandals as heat tingled softly down her body.

"Thank you," he murmured as the pads of his thumbs ran softly over the backs of her hands.

She swallowed hard and gestured to his chest. "You're bleeding through your shirt. Did he...?"

Caleb's face tightened but he shook his head in the negative. "I ran into a few things, but no big deal."

"It is a big deal," she corrected, her voice like a whip. "Shirt off, I want to look."

Caleb sighed but lifted up the hem of his borrowed shirt, swallowing as he tugged it over his head. Peyton noticed he kept his eyes down on her toes and was surprised when he started smiling a little.

"What are you smiling at?" she asked him curiously. Caleb chuckled and gently nudged her sandal with one booted foot.

"Your toenails are Barbie pink. And I had thought you were a bit of a tomboy."

Peyton snorted and took his dirty shirt from him, her throat thickening as she got her first look at his chest in its entirety.

"Most of it would be on my back," he told her, flinching when her fingertips just barely grazed over the ripening bruise on his shoulder.

Peyton said nothing. She couldn't. All she could focus on was her fingertips as she traced over every cut and burn on Caleb's chest against her will, the appendages running over raised scars that had required stitching, the discolored and wrinkled cylindrical marks that dotted his torso, and the evident cut of his muscles beneath the pale skin. Most of the scars looked old, the marks silvery and thin, almost invisible. Some, though, weren't; a few appeared only weeks old.

Peyton couldn't believe it. A lifetime of abuse was mapped out on Caleb's skin, the visible evidence of a monster that should have been locked up years ago for his crimes. It made Peyton almost sick with anger, and she fought to keep herself under control as she turned Caleb to see his back.

Bruises marred his shoulder blades and lower rib cage where he had been shoved, his sharp intake of breath as she ran her fingertips over them telling her that the ribs were especially tender.

"I'll go get the kit," Peyton whispered.

Caleb turned slowly with a sharp nod, exposing his scarred chest to her again. She didn't meet his eyes just yet, her fingers touching the one scar she missed: a scar starting from the center of his chest and ended at the hollow his throat. Caleb caught her hand when she reached the bumpy start at his chest.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Peyton said quietly as she met his eyes, misreading his tension for discomfort. "You probably didn't want me to see you, I didn't even think—"

"Peyton," Caleb cut her off gently. "If I hadn't wanted you to see me, you wouldn't have. I can be far more stubborn than you."

Her eyebrow quirked up in response and she started to retort with something snarky but saw that his eyes were slowly swelling.

"Come on," she sighed. "You need ice for those eyes. I have some ice compresses in the freezer downstairs."

Caleb squeezed her hands tighter, refusing to let them go. Peyton swallowed hard, reminding herself of the promise she had made on the car ride over. No matter how badly she wanted to touch him, she couldn't. Hugs were the closest contact she could make, she thought firmly.

"Caleb..."

"You aren't grossed out by the scars," he said quietly. "But you're afraid of touching me. Actually, you're afraid of being touched by anyone."

Peyton stiffened, feeling a chill run down her spine. What was this? Was he lashing out at her now?

"For nearly four months I've watched you at the coffee shop," Caleb continued. "You speak to no one, except Margaret and only because she makes you. You sit in the corner and hunch over like you're scared that someone will want to come up to you. You even flinch when I give back your change, and now you always give me the exact count. You hate to be touched."

Peyton shook her head slowly, her eyes not rising above his chin as she fought to keep her emotions in check.

When she continued to say nothing, Caleb took the final plunge.

"You don't have a problem with scars, because you have some of your own, don't you Peyton?" he asked softly, his green eyes softening as he looked over her face. Too taken aback to argue, she shook her head, astonished how this conversation was going.

And this conversation was going downhill. Peyton shook her head, sharper this time, refusing to let his words get to her. He was just fishing. Caleb just needed to take out the anger and cause someone else pain. Unfortunately, he was doing a very good job at it.

"Someone hurt you, didn't they?" Caleb murmured. "They didn't leave a mark, not in any place I could see."

"No," Peyton croaked, jerking her hands from his grip and dodging his hand when it went to catch her. Chin trembling and knees shaking, she stared defiantly up at him; ready to give him a piece of her mind when she realized in that moment that she was just confirming every single thing he was saying.

Caleb pulled her to him suddenly, her body turning stiff in his grip out of habit. Clearly they were opposites in this regard: where he wanted touch, she repelled it. Caleb gathered her up tighter into his arms, as though to reassure himself that she would not move away. Peyton struggled for a second, both panic and confusion getting the best of her, but Caleb surprised her with his strength and kept her close to him, their proximity both surprising her while melting her insides.

"When people have been scarred as badly as we have, we can recognize another's pain," Caleb said quietly, drawing her attention back to the conversation he was forcing them to have. "That's what drew you to me and that's how I noticed you." Peyton's breath caught in her throat at hearing him say he knew of her attraction to him aloud and for a long moment she was too astonished to speak. After gripping at straws for a few minutes, she thought of something to counter back with.