The Coffee Shop Ch. 04

"Let me get the kit," Peyton whispered hoarsely against his neck, realizing then how lame and repetitive she sounded. With her hands she gently pushed away his hips from hers, cringing internally at the intimacy of that gesture.

Instantly Caleb reacted, tightening his grip around her almost painfully, his swelling eyes pinning her with a look torn between anger and panic. "I'll be fine," he growled. "I want you to stay."

Peyton closed her eyes and swallowed hard before opening them again. "Please," she whispered, taking a gentler stance. It was obvious that Caleb reacted badly to aggression in any shape or form, so maybe babying him would make him react differently. "Your ribs could be bruised. I may need to get you to the doctor. I won't know unless you let me look." Gently Peyton tucked back his hair, revealing that once upon a time Caleb had worn earrings. Tell-tale scars on his lobes told her why he didn't any longer.

Caleb looked like he had half a mind to reprimand her, but when she carefully patted the concave between his shoulders he tensed up and went rigid, his grip on her instantly slacking. Three seconds later she was moving towards the door.

"Come back," Caleb demanded, pulling her to him hard. Peyton caught his hand in her attempt to dispel it and cursed when he pulled her back to him anyway, their bodies colliding harshly together.

"Did I hurt you?" they asked in unison, both of their eyes pleadingly looking over the other person before meeting glances and laughing sheepishly.

Caleb dropped his forehead to hers, caressing her small back through her sweater. "Caleb, let me take care of you," Peyton tried again. "I want to. It'll make you feel even better if you got up, took a shower, and got into your jammies—"

Caleb put a finger to her full lips, chuckling. "My 'jammies'?" he repeated, a smile playing over his lips. "Peyton, I'm eighteen, not eight."

"I've noticed," Peyton murmured as her eyes focused on his lips. A second later her breath caught in realization and she felt her face heat up in astonishment. Sheepishly she met his eyes and he laughed softly.

"I didn't mean...I was just saying..." she stammered, trying to rectify her slipup. Caleb smiled down at her, his green eyes twinkling. In that exact moment, the reality of the situation hit her square in the face.

Peyton was in Caleb's arms, her palms resting against his bare chest, her face just inches from his. Everything about him teased her in that moment: the lingering aroma of coffee and baked bread that clung to his skin, the natural musk of male and sweat combining to create a scent specifically Caleb's. His hair fell like a curtain around their faces, framing them in a world all their own, barring the outside from getting in. A hint of scruff on his cheeks and chin told her that he hadn't shaved in a while, the observation more distracting than it needed to be.

What got Peyton, though, were his eyes. They were two polished emeralds, glowing against his pale unblemished skin thanks to the dim lighting and shadows his hair cast upon his face. She had never seen eyes like that.

Caleb suddenly smiled and gently stroked over the globes of her cheeks with a single finger, tracing the faint splatter of freckles as he did so. Heat crept up Peyton's neck and into her face before she turned away from his touch, a nervous giggle escaping her throat.

Caleb's eyes looked down to her lips, the look in his eyes sending a spike of icy cold fear into her heart.

No. This wasn't right.

Opening her mouth to say something -- anything -- she started to push Caleb away, but he easily tightened his grip again and shook his head slightly. Gently Caleb turned her chin with his fingertips, his rapidly darkening green eyes looking over her face before returning back to his main attraction, her mouth. Peyton fought a moan as Caleb leaned down and did what she had longed for him to do since the moment she set her eyes on him.

Caleb softly brushed his lips against hers, teasing the swells a second or two more before deepening into a kiss that was unlike any she had ever experienced. Like a levy breaking, her need and longing burst through, dragging her down under its strength. At first, she resisted, her stubborn nature warring with her weaker, romantic one until she realized it was useless; futile. Peyton felt Caleb relax the moment she did, his lips not leaving hers until she was a limp mess in his arms. When Caleb finally pulled away, her thoughts were scrambled and her body was a torrent of emotions. She closed her eyes when Caleb's soft exhale against her tender lips sent tingles all the way to her toes.

All that, she thought, from a kiss?

Something nagged at her then, something sharp and cold. This was Caleb. Injured Caleb. The younger Caleb.

Peyton pressed against his chest and finally succeeded in pushing him away. "Caleb," she whispered thickly, swallowing hard to clear the huskiness from her voice. "We need to talk."

"Okay," he murmured in a husky voice that sent a thrill of excitement racing through her. He brushed his lips over her left cheekbone before trailing down to her ear, the teasing touch sending her mind in a tailspin. "Talk to me, Peyton."

Peyton shivered at the soft but hungry tone in his voice. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed hard again and met his amused gaze.

"I want to help you, Caleb," Peyton reiterated carefully. "And I don't want you doing this," she gestured back and forth between them, "for the wrong reasons. You were scared to death when I picked you up from the park. Right now, you want to feel better because it helps you forget, but you can't run from your past." Her eyes ran over his scars, his muscles tightening under her gaze as though it had been a physical touch on her part. "You don't need to reciprocate my helping you by...by..."

Caleb snorted and pushed her back slightly with his hands on her shoulders, a single eyebrow arched down at her. "By what?" he asked, his tone clinical. "Whoring myself to you? Is that what you think I'm doing?"

Peyton's eyes grew big and she shook her head rapidly. "Nononono, Caleb, that's not what I-"

"I appreciate you wanting to take care of me," he interrupted, his tone biting. "I know you're trying to do the right thing, okay? Both of us are trying to say we don't want the other to feel indebted to them. I know that. I have nothing to give you, Peyton. We both know that." He laughed bitterly and took a step back, releasing her from his grip. "But if we pretend that for nearly four months we weren't thinking of what the other looked like naked, we'll be in serious denial." He shushed her by clamping a hand over her mouth, his expression torn between amusement and something else that she couldn't read.

"You want to heal the pain in here," he tapped his heart with the pointer finger of his other hand. "I want to do the same for you." He smiled and removed his hand before lowering himself down and kissing her forehead softly. "I know you prepared a pretty speech for me, but I don't buy a word of it."

Peyton coughed out a laugh, unable to believe how the conversation -- or her day -- had gone this crazy. She shook her head slowly before letting out a sigh. "Get a shower," she instructed, giving up for now. "I want you clean before I put on the bandages. Don't think I didn't notice you favoring your left arm."

Caleb rolled his eyes but nodded, backing off the bed to reach for his duffel bags. Peyton escaped to the kitchen, quickly gathering up the medical kit and gauze before placing them out on the kitchen table with a soft sigh.

Would everyday with Caleb end with the medical kit? She wondered idly.

Then her thoughts turned to the bedroom and a cold stone lodged itself in the pit of her stomach. With a stifled gasp, she fumbled to sit down, her heart pounding hard in her chest.

"Christ," she whispered to the open room, flinching at the sound of the water going in the guest bathroom. Peyton straightened out her shaking hands on the table, her chin trembling as the full force of what she had done crept up slowly into her aching heart.

"What have I done?" she asked the empty air, silently pleading that someone would have an answer to give her.

+ + + + +

When Caleb entered the kitchen, Peyton was struck with a sudden sense of déjà vu. Hovering next to the stove with her back to him, Peyton tried to gather up her courage to face him, to tell him that the kiss had been a mistake. But each reason, each framed argument sounded like a pathetic excuse to cover up how she really felt.

And she felt scared.

Caleb terrified her, and him shedding light on his curiosity of her didn't help matters any. It made her hands shake when he came near. It made her breathing quicken and her bones melt. She couldn't focus, she couldn't function...she felt like the naïve girl she had been back in high school, when she had fumbled for words around her biggest crush and blushed at every compliment or smile he had thrown her away. Granted, her crush had been a complete sleaze with more girlfriends than his IQ, but that hadn't mattered.

Now, everything mattered.

Now, everything had changed.

A pale masculine hand rested on one of her bunched fists, his grip dwarfing her own, the heat of his chest pressed softly against her back in a way that was too intimate. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to draw on the reserves of anger and pain that were lurking somewhere deep inside her. She needed all she could in order to put Caleb -- and herself -- firmly in place. There was a line they had crossed in the bedroom that could not be crossed again.

"You're upset," Caleb murmured, breaking the silent tension between them. Peyton opened her eyes and watched as Caleb's fingers coaxed her clenched fists to open, his palms warm from the shower. The lingering scent of sunflowers filled her nose and she bit back a sob, coaching herself to be strong. To be the caregiver and maybe, possibly, Caleb's friend.

Letting out a slow breath, Peyton gently patted his hand and moved away. Caleb let her, his green eyes curious but wary when she turned to face him.

"I'm fine," she said clinically, taking a page from his book. Then she got down to business. "I'll only cover the worst of the cuts," she promised him, motioning for him to sit. "And take a compress for your eyes. That left one looks...well it's pretty awful."

Caleb managed to smile as he sat in his usual spot, though he sat on the chair sideways so Peyton could reach his back. She sighed heavily when he sat there, unmoving, before reaching out and placing the cool compress under his chin.

"Spare me your stubbornness and take the compress," Peyton said firmly.

An eyebrow went up, but he took the bag, smacking it to his left eye. She rolled her eyes as she got out the Neosporin and antiseptic, muttering an appropriate swear word under her breath.

Caleb nudged her moccasin-incased foot with one of his boots. "Language, Peyton," he murmured, fighting a smile when she shot him another dirty look.

For the remaining few minutes Peyton played nurse, they were silent. Caleb seemed to know that the bedroom incident was bothering her, because every touch she made on him he shifted away from, as though he didn't want her to touch him more than necessary. She closed her eyes as she put the final touch of Neosporin to the cuts on his neck, feeling his pulse race beneath her fingertips, the pounding matching the time of her own.

Peyton felt his fingers wrap snugly around that wrist, the rough pad of his thumb pressing firmly against her pulsing vein. She opened her eyes and hesitantly met his gaze to find it unreadable.

Peyton scrambled for something to say, but Caleb beat her to it.

"You mentioned earlier about going to the police," Caleb said quietly as he lowered the compress from his face. Already the swelling had gone down and Peyton subconsciously nodded her approval, also answering his not-question.

"I can't go to them," Caleb whispered.

Peyton took the compress and gently pulled her hand from his grip before putting the compress back in the freezer. Quickly she made him some tea, earning a snort of disbelief and a soft laugh from Caleb. He thanked her and wrapped his fingers around the cup.

"Did you get in trouble?" she asked slowly as she sat down in a chair across from him.

Caleb nodded. "Ever since I was kid, basically. Any time I was in trouble, cops got called." Peyton stared at him in surprise, waiting for him to elaborate. "I got bullied up until the day I left high school. If it wasn't because I didn't play sports, it was about my ratty clothes, or how I smelt like I had crawled inside a cigarette..." He eyed her hesitantly. "It was never ending." He took a sip of tea, his eyes not leaving her golden ones.

"I fought," he stated, confirming her initial thoughts. "If they pushed, I pushed back. If they stole my jacket from my locker, I dumped my milk carton on their heads. In elementary, it didn't matter...I got a few talking-to's and notes home to dad, but..." he shrugged. "Nothing ever came of it."

"It changed in middle school," Peyton prompted when he went silent, watching how his lips went into thin bloodless strips. His fingers tightened on the mug before relaxing again.

"Yes," he breathed. "It was...torture. I was already a freak enough, being from the creek. It was worse because my dad's a fucking alcoholic deadbeat who is barely lucid enough half the time to remember his own name. Everyone knew my dad," he laughed bitterly, his head lowering slightly. "The first time I got in trouble -- real trouble - these guys from eighth-grade stole my bike and hid it in the girl's locker room. One of the guys who did it -- Brett -- had been nice and helped me find it. Turns out he wanted me to get caught walking in on twenty girls stripping down to nothing -- and I did." He eyed her. "I was suspended. When dad found out, he laughed -- he laughed and then threw me into my closet, so I wouldn't be 'tempted' to see anyone. Stayed in there for a week."

Swallowing hard, he took a sip of tea, his green eyes looking down at the table again. By now, Peyton's temper was back, and so was her fear. Her hands had been shaking so badly that she had hidden them underneath the table halfway through the first part of his tale.

"Go on," she croaked, swallowing hard when their eyes met.

"After the suspension, it just grew worse. Since I didn't play sports, I wasn't one of the bigger guys. I got shoved into lockers, my lunch would get stolen, my textbooks and homework would end up in a toilet somewhere..." He sighed heavily again and put down the mug, flexing his fists a little in his usual angry tick gesture. "Chelsea is the only person I've ever had. I mean, the teachers helped, but when you have a history attached to your name like I did...teachers can only help so much. In high school those coaches and teachers didn't give a shit. I was told to toughen up, to find ways to not attract attention to myself, I was sent to counselors, the whole charade. Not once did the school do anything to stop the problem. Not once did the principal or a teacher or anyone for that matter stand up for me -- or any of the other kids that got their lives turned into a living nightmare."

Caleb sat back in his chair, clearly riled up. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy exhale again, shaking his head. "Kids go through shit like this every day. A lot of guys had it worse than me. A lot of girls did too. One girl, Katie Hart, even shot herself." He eyed Peyton and shrugged. "Despite all that, nothing changed. A girl committed suicide, and no one did a damn thing about the bullying."

Peyton swallowed hard, knowing where this conversation was headed. "So what did you do?" she asked him. "It must've been something, since you can't even go to the police to defend yourself."

Caleb gave a ghost of a smile, one that chilled her to the core. "I set the school on fire."

She blinked, acknowledgment hitting her square in the face.

Peyton remembered that fire. Her dad had still been working as a police captain when it happened. The entire compound had gone up in flames, but...it had been ruled as an accident, not arson.

She told him that much and he nodded. "It was. I got stuck with like this 1920s version of a Bunsen burner with a ridiculously long cord. I tripped over it while going to get compounds for a color flame test and it fell on top of an old stack of textbooks. It caught the other wires and plugs on fire..." He shrugged. "Everyone thought I did it on purpose, police included. I was questioned for months afterwards about that fire."

"Some kids got badly burned," Peyton murmured, watching his face tighten a little. He nodded and looked down at his fingers. "My dad worked that fire," she said quietly.

Caleb winced and hesitantly her eyes. "Was he with the police?" he asked, watching her face closely.

Peyton nodded. "He was the captain."

"Daniel?" he asked in disbelief, his face lighting up. "Is that your dad?"

Peyton blinked. "Um...yea. You knew him?"

Caleb nodded, laughing a little. "Yea, he had been called to my dad's place a few times for public disturbance. He knew my dad pretty well...I think they went to high school together."

"Small world," Peyton murmured, her eyes drifting to the framed photo of her dad posing in front of his old cruiser, dressed to the nines in a crisp black suit with his honorary pins and medals pressed to his breast, his hat glossy and sharp.

Now Peyton was certain that she needed to talk to her parents. It wasn't pertinent before, but it entirely was now.

"Anyway, he uh..." Caleb chuckled a little, drawing her eyes back to him. "He knew about the bullying and I think he guessed that my dad was...you know."

Peyton honed in on that, her eyes narrowing when he avoided her gaze. "That your dad was what?" she asked quietly, not accusing him of cowardice in her tone, but definitely asking him to cop up.

Caleb's brow furrowed. "Your dad knew mine was beating me. He had to." His eyes met Peyton's again. "He would sometimes ask, but...I couldn't tell him. I didn't want to disappoint him and I was always worried about what dad would do." Caleb swallowed then suddenly smirked. "After I told Daniel how the fire started, he told the head of the fire department it was 'accidental anarchy'. I had burnt down the place I hated the most...by accident. I think he was just relieved I really didn't mean to set the school on fire."

Not like Peyton would say it aloud, but so was she. Hating to assume the worst, she squirmed in her chair before refocusing the conversation.

"Caleb, I know you think you can't go to the police, but you have evidence," she said as gently as possible. "For your sake, have the story on file at least. Even if they do nothing at least you can say you tried."

Caleb's brow furrowed deeper and he dropped her gaze. "What happens after?" he murmured, enunciating every syllable. "What if they don't do anything, Peyton?" His jaw tightened and his eyes swiftly locked onto hers, the ice green darkening to almost black as anger crossed his features. It was both breathtaking and frightening and Peyton fought hard to keep herself in check.

"I can't let anything happen to you, Peyton," he said quietly. His eyes dropped briefly, to her neck, before wandering back up. "I've already hurt you enough."

"Caleb-" she began, thinking now would be a great time to talk about the kiss, but Caleb put up his hand, tilting his head slightly.

"I hear the phone," he said slowly.

Peyton paused and sure enough, a muted ringing filled the air. She jumped up and hurried to the living room where she had tossed the kitchen phone in her hurry to help Caleb, managing to catch it on the last ring.