Redeeming (Red Lips & White Lies Book 2)
Redeeming: Part 1 – Chapter 4

She remembered who she was, and the game didn’t change. It ended.

—Caitlin’s Secret Thoughts

Okay . . . So maybe following through on my promise and actually getting back in bed with Callen wasn’t my smartest move, but hey, at least I grabbed my Kindle before I came to bed.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

That was mistake number one hundred and fifty-two where this man is concerned.

Because lying in his bed—with his face buried against my stomach, and his arms wrapped around my waist like I’m a lifeline as he sleeps off whatever this drunken bender of his is—is only one piece of this absolute mind-fuck of a night.

When he wrapped himself around me hours ago, I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Honestly, couldn’t figure out what the hell was happening and figured he’d shift away eventually.

He didn’t.

Being surrounded by his scent, his blanket, his body, in his space. The one I’ve never seen him bring a woman into in all the years I’ve lived here . . . yeah. That’s all fucking with me enough that five hours and three-quarters of the way through the new A.J. James romance my friend sent me earlier tonight, and I’m a hot mess.

I didn’t think it was possible, but this book is even spicier than her last one, which means basically, I’m in hell. I’m turned-on, and pissed off—because really? What was Callen thinking? Preseason started a few weeks ago, so getting drunk like this isn’t like him. And getting drunk and saying what he said—well, that was just mean. And confusing. So damn confusing.

Callen pulls me closer as his hands slip under my tank top just above the waistband of my shorts, and I inch backward.

Uh-uh. No way this is happening, not like this.

But apparently, he has other plans.

His hands sear my skin as they smooth up my back, and I close my Kindle and smack him on the head with it. “Down, boy.”

“Ow, Cait. What the fuck?” he groans, and I’m kinda impressed he knows where he is and who he’s with. I guess thank goodness for small miracles and fast metabolisms.

“Sorry, Sinclair. I’m not about to let your drunk ass molest me in your sleep,” I snap, impressed with myself because I really, really want his hands on me anyway I can have him. But this is Callen . . . and he’d never forgive himself, and I’m a better friend than that.

Stupid morals.

There’s pain in his green eyes when he pulls back. A pain I didn’t cause him. “What happened, Callen?” I ask softly. Completely unlike me because again . . . this is Callen.

People might like to tease that I’m all hard edges and smart answers, but no one is like that all the time. Not even me. And if there’s ever been someone I wanted to be soft for . . . To let my guard down with, it’s him. “This isn’t you. You don’t drink until you pass out. And you sure as hell don’t ask me to stay with you. You usually don’t want to have anything to do with me.”

He drags his hand down his face and pushes up next to me so we’re sitting side by side, with our backs against his tufted brown-leather headboard and our legs lined up next to each other. Not saying anything. No smart-ass comeback or quick-witted argument. He doesn’t look at me, just stares down at his hands for a long time while I wait in silence—something I’ve never been good at.

“Callen . . .” I wrap my hand around his, unsure what I want to say, so I do what I do best and wing it. “Do you remember when I was little, and my mom told me I wasn’t allowed in the tree house?”

A crooked smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

One I could draw with my eyes closed, I’ve seen it so many times.

“Which time?” he asks with a hint of quiet sarcasm that eases my mind just a little.

“The first time when I followed you guys up there anyway and asked you and Maddox to let me play with you.” I picture it so clearly in my mind. Six-year-old me, already in love with ten-year-old Callen, who cared about exactly two things. Football and his friendship with my brother. He barely knew I existed back then . . . at least most of the time.

Guess some things never change.

Callen flips his hand over, and strong, calloused fingers lace with mine and squeeze, making my heart squeeze right along with them. “You mean the time you followed us up there, even though you weren’t supposed to and demanded you be allowed to play too, then stomped your foot when Maddox told you no?”

I take a measured chance and rest my head against his shoulder, needing to give him whatever kind of comfort I can right now. “I mean the time the two of you left me up there after Maddox said he was going to tell Dad.”

I close my eyes and fight back a tear when he presses his lips against my forehead.

Callen and I like to tease each other.

We like to bicker and joke and make fun of the other one.

It’s what we do.

What we don’t typically do is touch. Not like this. Never like this, no matter how much I wish we would. No matter how many times I’ve hoped and wished for it. He touches everyone else so freely. His friends. His family. But never me.

“The time you were too scared to climb back down the ladder and sat at the edge, crying.” His voice is hoarse from sleep as I hold my breath, soaking it in.

“Until you came back up and told me to climb on your back and hold on to you so you could climb us both down,” I whisper so quietly, it’s nearly inaudible, still able to remember exactly what it felt like to have him save me—and exactly how much it hurt when he pulled away after Maddox showed up. “You were so sweet until Maddox came back with Dad. Then you agreed with him that I was just a stupid girl and walked away.”

He’s so close, if I lift my head just a little, we’d be face to face and lip to lip.

“You like to do that, Callen. You like to say things when no one else is here to hear them and do things when we’re alone and there’s no one here to witness.” I pull away because we wouldn’t be Callen and Caitlin if there weren’t a push and pull between us, even if no one but us ever knows it’s there. “Well, there’s no one here now, so how about you tell me what’s going on, and we’ll act like you never said a word after. I’m worried about you, Sinclair.”

Callen

This woman has no fucking clue.

Not about the day I’ve had, the fucking shit news I got, or the way I feel about her.

How could she? I haven’t told her any of it.

I can’t.

I shouldn’t.

“Cait.” Her name is jagged like glass ripped from my throat. “I⁠—”

“You do, Callen. Don’t bother saying you don’t do it. Look around you. Where am I?” She lifts her head and moves away, facing me instead of beside me. Her arms wrap around her knees, and she lifts her beautiful face and nails me with nearly violet eyes. “I’d never be in here if Maddox was home. Seriously . . . I wouldn’t be here if anyone were home, and you know it. You would have never asked.”

It’s not the honesty in her words that bothers me. How can it when she’s right, and I know it? I’ve always fucking known it. It’s the hurt in her voice. In her face. In the way she’s holding herself. “I’m sorry . . .”

Cait shakes her head and tucks her hair behind her ears.

“Don’t, Sinclair. Don’t apologize. That’s just a half-assed Band-Aid. Fix it. Tell me what’s wrong. What happened today?”

I think back to my conversation with my parents earlier.

To the one I had with Cooper when we went to West End after.

Fuck.

“I can’t, Cait. I made a promise,” I might as well plead with her not to ask me again. Dad doesn’t want word getting out. Not yet. He wants to keep this private for as long as he can while he works out a plan with the owner of the team, Killian’s mom, Scarlet Kingston-St. James.

She closes her eyes and drags perfectly white teeth over her pouty pink lip as her hair dances over her shoulders with a shake of her head. When she opens them, there’s a fire there that was missing before. It’s burning hot and beautifully pissed. Rightfully so. “I’m so fucking sorry, Cait.”

“For what, Callen?” she whispers, and somehow that’s worse than if she were yelling, because this woman is never quiet. It’s not her natural state. Caitlin is loud without ever uttering a word. She’s vibrant and demands all the attention in every room she’s ever walked in, just by standing silently in the center. It’s as natural as breathing for her. The rest of us are just lucky to orbit around her, but I can’t get too close. My friendship with her brother would never survive the fire.

“For what I said. I shouldn’t have⁠—”

She climbs off the bed and whacks me with a pillow. “Fuck you, Callen. Fuck you for saying I’m beautiful, then acting like you were wrong to say it.” The moon glints off her wild eyes as she hits me again. “Fuck you for asking me to stay with you because you didn’t want to be alone.” Her voice never gets louder. That’s Caitlin’s style. She doesn’t need to yell to get her point across. She smacks me one more time—while I sit here and take it because she’s right—before she drops the pillow and steps back. “Fuck you, Callen. You made me feel like shit this morning for what I said, then you turned around and made me feel like every other unimportant woman in your life and in your bed. But you know what? At least they get an orgasm out of it.”

She groans and grabs her Kindle.

“Figure your shit out, Callen, because one of these days—” She stops and stares at me with so much disappointment in her eyes that it weighs me down. But not her. No. She stands with her head held high, every inch of her the princess she was raised to be. “Do you feel anything at all for me, Callen? Anything?”

“Caitlin—” Fuck. Yes. I feel it all. I always fucking have . . . That’s what I want to say. But I don’t, feeling like an utter piece of shit who doesn’t even deserve her anyway.

“How the hell am I supposed to answer that?” I stand up and take a step toward her, my frustration over this entire fucking day boiling over. “What do you want to hear, Cait?”

We do a dance. For every step I take forward, she takes one back. “You want to hear that I got the worst news of my life today, and I can’t even talk to you about it because I made a goddamned promise, and I’m a man of my word?”

Another step forward and another one back.

“You want to know that I promised my best friend years ago that I wouldn’t touch his baby sister? Because I did, Cait. I made him a fucking promise. My best friend. Your brother. The one person whose always been there for me. Through all the fucking shit. The Heisman shit in college. The pro shit show after. Christ, Cait. I practically lived at your goddamned house.” I can’t stop the way my voice booms louder with each new revelation until she’s backed up against the wall.

My chest vibrates with anger.

At her.

At Maddox.

At myself.

Fuck—I can’t.

“But . . .” Her voice trembles with hesitation.

“No buts, Cait.” I cup her face, even though I know I shouldn’t. Her soft skin feels fucking perfect in my hands. “Four fucking years, Caitlin. I’ve lived with you for four fucking years. I’ve had to act like your presence doesn’t affect me. Like you’re not the most gorgeous woman in any room. Like I don’t fucking want you when I do. I can’t fucking do this anymore.”

I lean my forehead against hers.

“Then don’t,” she whispers back.

If only it were that easy.

“It’s not that simple.” No matter how much I wish it was, and fuck, I wish it was.

She reaches up with one hand and wraps it around my neck, anchoring herself to me as unshed tears pool in her glittering eyes. “Nothing worth having is ever easy. I’ve heard you say that a million times, Callen. I’m worth having.”

Caitlin presses her lips to mine, and before I can react, she ducks under my arms and opens the door. “Figure it out soon, Callen, because I’m not going to wait around forever.”