Crossed: Chapter 41

A HAND SLOWLY CARESSES MY SIDE AND MY eyelids flutter. Smiling, I stretch my arms above my head and lean back against the warm body.

Cade.

I’m about to murmur his name when a different voice speaks in my ear.

“Sweet girl.”

My eyes shoot open, and I jerk to a sitting position, whipping my gaze to meet Parker’s.

He’s fully dressed and looks like he’s about to head out the door to the office. I bring my hand to my chest, trying to catch my breath, panic pricking my muscles when I realize I almost moaned out Cade’s name in front of him.

Parker chuckles. “Good morning, wife-to- be. Get some coffee and get dressed. Jason wants to meet.”

This gets my attention and I sit up straighter, running a hand through my hair as I try to stifle a yawn with my other one. “Oh, okay. Good news, I hope?”

He grins. “You’re free and clear, baby.”

My hand drops to my side, and I stare at him, not sure whether to believe it or not. “What? Are you serious?”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to my lips, and I stiffen involuntarily before relaxing into his touch. “I told you I’d take care of you, Amaya.”

Relief floods me and I throw my arms around his neck without thinking, holding back the emotion at knowing I’m finally done having this shit hanging over my head. “Thank you, Parker. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

His hands leave my back and slide down to the tops of my thighs, working their way up underneath the bottom of my sleep shorts. “I know another way you can thank me.”

Bile rises in my throat, and I force a laugh, smacking his hands off my thighs. I’ve been lucky that up until now, he’s been busy at night with work. “You just said Jason needed to meet, and you look like you’re on your way out. Rain check?”

He groans, squeezing me tight enough to bruise before releasing me and standing up to straighten his suit. “Fine, but don’t think I’ll wait forever. You agreed to be mine, and I’ve held up my end of the bargain. It’s time you start showing some fucking gratitude for everything I’m giving you.”

My name has officially been cleared, and I can’t wait to grab Quin from his rehearsal at the church and swing by home—I mean Dalia’s— and celebrate.

I’ve been having her pick up and drop him off because I didn’t want to chance seeing Cade when I’ve done so well with avoiding him, but today I told her the good news and decided to say fuck it and head there myself.

Part of me, the most depraved part, hopes to run into Cade anyway so I can let him know too.

“Where’s Quin?” I ask Lydia, looking around at all the other students being wrapped up in their coats and herded into the streets.

She scratches at her neck and looks down at the ground, guilt weaving its way onto her face. “Father Cade took him away sometime during the middle of the rehearsal.”

My entire body freezes. “What?”

Her eyes are apologetic as she looks up at me. “He was doing just fine, so I went over to talk to Mr. Anderson, and when I got back, he was gone. I spent half a damn hour searching high and low before Florence told me she saw them go off together. I figured it was fine since it was Father Cade.” Unbelievable.

“What was Florence doing there?” I spit, then hold up my hand. “You know what? Never mind.”

Logic leaves me entirely. Is this his way of getting me to talk to him?

I thought we had a deal, albeit a silent one, but I figured we both understood what needed to happen. And I’ve held up my end of the bargain; I’ve stayed away. I don’t want to ruin his life any more than I want him to ruin mine, and him kidnapping my brother from where he’s supposed to be is not holding up his end.

“Come on then,” I say to Lydia, not waiting for her to follow me. “I’ll focus on why you didn’t know what happened to Quinten for thirty minutes later, and instead, you can come wait with him while I have a chat with Father Cade.”

Lydia sucks on her lips and nods, the guilt oozing from her pores.

I look over at her as we walk. “It should go without saying that while you’re watching him, you shouldn’t let him out of your sight.”

A rush of satisfaction pours through me when I put her in her place. Wow. Who knew standing up for yourself could feel so good? I’m not the no- power nobody I used to be. And it’s about time I learn to use it, especially if I’m going to be married to Parker.

I’m fuming by the time we make it to Cade’s office, visions of Quinten finally interacting with his peers, then being stripped of the opportunity and put with a stranger racing through my brain.

Is this the first time it’s happened? Has he been secretly meeting with Quinten this entire time?

We reach his office, and I give Lydia a look to let her know she needs to stay where she is before twisting the handle and throwing the door open with force, the doorknob slamming on the wall like a thunderclap.

But my ire doesn’t last, because what I walk in on shocks me into silence.

Cade and Quinten are sitting in the middle of the floor, and they’re…finger painting.

My eyebrows shoot to my hairline, and my gaze flicks from where Cade sits staring at me, his white short-sleeved shirt cling- ing to his muscular arms and dotted with rainbows of colored paint, over to Quinten, who has a giant smile on his face and his palms covered in green and blue.

I’ve never seen Quinten with that much mess on his hands before, not even in his therapy sessions, and a swell of elation cuts off my air, making my throat swell. My eyes lock on Cade’s.

Quinten smiles, holding up his little fingers and spreading them wide. “Finger paints!”

I break away from Cade’s intense gaze and focus on Quinten. “I see that.”

Taking a step closer, my anger melts away like snow in the sun, and I glance down at the massive white sheet that’s taped to the floor, large and small handprints covering 90 percent of the surface.

“That looks awesome.”

“Maybe next time, we can paint one just for you,” Cade’s voice cuts in.

My heart skips. “Yeah, maybe.” I crouch down next to Quinten. “Hey, can Miss Lydia take you to the bathroom and clean you up so we can go home?”

He nods slowly, looking between Cade and me. “Can we paint tomorrow?”

“Sure, mon petit,” Cade says. “As long as your sister’s okay with it.”

“He has therapy.”

Cade shrugs. “After then.”

Lydia knocks on the open door and pops her head in, glancing around before smiling at Quinten. “Let’s go get you washed up, buddy.”

“Tomorrow?” he asks again.

“We’ll see,” I reply, my stomach sinking at the thought of Quinten getting more attached than he clearly already is.

Lydia comes forward and grips his hand, and then they’re gone, the door clicking shut behind them.

Silence fills the air.

Cade stands up, looking hot as fuck in his white shirt and black slacks, splotches of paint decorating his arms. And just like when we first met at the grocery store, I’m filled with gratitude for the way he is with Quinten.

What- ifs fill my head.

What if he wasn’t a priest?

What if I could have him?

What if? What if? What if?

My eyes flicker from his face over his arms and then down farther, and when I raise them again, Cade’s irises look like molten fire.

It pisses me off, and suddenly my earlier anger comes surging back in.

Because this is unfair. It’s unfair that I can’t have him. And it sure as hell is unfair that I’m engaged to someone else and Cade is who he is when nobody has ever, ever made me feel the way he does.

And fuck him for acting like he has the right to take in Quinten and be so goddamn caring when he isn’t available to stay in our lives.

“You really have some fucking nerve,” I spit, moving toward him and shoving him in the chest.

He stumbles back slightly. “Excuse me?”

I step forward again, jamming my finger in his chest. “How fucking dare you. What was this, some master plan to soften me up and get me back in your life?”

Cade’s eyes grow sad. “Amaya.”

“No.” I jab him again. “This isn’t fair, Cade. I can’t have you, you know? We aren’t good for each other. And here you are, sitting in your office looking like…that”— I gesture up and down his body— “and being the way you are with Quin, and I’m supposed to what, forget about everything else?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“The truth!” I yell. “How about you try the truth for once?

Tell me why Quin was in here with you, and then tell me who you really are, because you’re sure as hell not a holy man.”

He chuckles, and when he brushes a hand down the front of his shirt, his muscles bulge, swirls of rainbow creeping up his arms, splotches of paint dotting his neck and the sharp angles of his jaw.

I hate how good he looks right now. How normal. Not when I’m desperate for the reminder of why he’s not.

“Here’s the truth, mon trésor. You’re delusional.” He steps into me. Clearly, he’s angry. The veins in his neck throb and his nostrils flare like he’s hanging on to his control by a thread. “Ungrateful.”

I cross my arms and huff. “Don’t you tell me I’m ungrateful, you…you fake!”

He frowns, then lifts his head until it’s facing the ceiling, and he lets out a disbelieving laugh.

The air thins, vibrating like it’s soaking up our fury. The moment feels frozen, and I wait with bated breath to see what he’ll do. If he’ll control himself like he should or if he’ll break.

The truth is that I want a fight. I want something to shatter this feeling and let me free of this prison.

Cade runs his paint-covered hands through his tousled black hair and tugs on the roots. “You are infuriating.”

I open my mouth to reply, but then his arms reach out, fast as lightning, gripping me around the waist and pulling me in until I’m flush against his body. I gasp, heat spreading through me like a wildfire. His fingers tense around me like he’s warring with himself on either pushing me away or dragging me in closer. I close my eyes, praying to his God that he keeps me close.

This is the most contact we’ve had in weeks, and like the pathetic woman I am, I melt into the feeling.

“You think I’m faking, petite pécheresse?” he rasps.

Shivers scrape down my spine like sandpaper, rough and grating against my frayed nerves.

“You think this isn’t real?” He grips my hand and pulls it down until it’s covering his hard cock. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning at the feel, my pussy spasming from want.

“Fuck. You.” I rip my hand away, squirming in his hold. I can’t think with his arms around me.

The more I struggle, the more his grip tightens. “I thought you wanted the truth, Amaya. How about some more?” He leans in, his teeth nipping at my jaw.

Goose bumps sprinkle across my neck and shoulders, rippling down my spine.

“You pretend to hate me because it makes it easy. You come in here with anger as your shield, striking out before you get struck yourself.”

“No.” I shake my head, his words spearing through my chest.

“But nothing about us is easy. And the only one in this room who’s faking anything is you.”

A sob breaks free from my throat because I know he’s right. I am angry, but not at him. I’m angry at the way things are. At how I can’t have the one person who finally makes me feel so fucking much.

“I just want it to stop,” I beg, my fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer. “I want to be able to exist without you plaguing every single one of my thoughts. I feel sick, and— and obsessed. Please, Cade.”

He laughs but the sound is hollow. “And what do you know of obsession? You’ve been tormenting my mind since the very first moment I saw you.”

A tear rolls down my cheek and I turn my face away.

He releases my left hip, bringing his hand up to grip my jaw tightly, forcing me to look him in the eye. “Si seulement tu savais quel est mon amour pour toi. You consume me, Amaya. Break apart my faith with the fire of a thousand suns and dominate every nightmare until all I dream is you.”

Another tear escapes and then he’s leaning in, his tongue swiping out and licking up my cheek, his groan reverberating in my ears.

His twisted sentiment smashes through my wall of defense, and I sink into his embrace.

“You think you’re obsessed, petite pécheresse? You don’t know the meaning of the word.” And then he’s on me.

Both his palms cup my face as his tongue delves between my lips. His taste floods my mouth, and he inhales my moan, not letting me breathe for even a second as he kisses me in a way no one else has. It’s violent, our teeth clashing and nipping, and my fingers fly into his hair, pulling harshly as I climb up his body, trying to get closer, afraid that if I let him go, I’ll never get to feel him again.

Something clatters to the floor as he spins me around and presses me into his desk, his body shoving into mine, one of his hands moving from my jaw into the roots of my hair and tugging me back. Our lips break away as he pulls, my back bowing. He smatters kisses along my neck, sharp pricks of pain stinging my skin from the way he sucks and bites as he blazes a path down my throat with his lips.

“Cade,” I plead, although I’m not sure for what.

Laughter floats in from outside the door, and it shocks us both back into the present, and we fly apart.

Immediately, he straightens, his eyes dark and his mouth red and swollen. I jerk up from his desk, clearing my throat as I try to calm my racing heart. Reaching down, I straighten my clothes and stand up, blowing out a deep breath.

Jesus.

I shake my head. “That was—” “An inevitability,” he finishes.

He towers over me, his hand tilting up my face until I’m craning my neck to meet his eyes.

“That was an inevitability,” he repeats.

“Maybe so,” I admit, shaking my head. “But it can’t happen again.”

“Because you’re Parker’s?” he sneers.

“Because you’re God’s,” I reply, my hand going to his jaw as I rise on my tiptoes and dust a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

And then I hold my head high and walk out the door to take Quinten home.

My name has been cleared, but suddenly, I don’t feel like celebrating.