Then again, I probably wasn’t the first person to puke in this toilet tonight. Probably wouldn’t be the last, either.
Shame crept in as I stood over the bowl, waiting to see if my stomach had finished its rebellion. Despite being a coward, the rational part of me knew contacting Sean was the right thing. I needed to face him. Needed to get it over with.
That part of me was ready to move on to the next stage of whatever this was. The stage where I stopped hiding from reality and started dealing with my shit.
Chantel had been harsh, but she’d been right. The avoidance had done nothing except build a wall of guilt and anxiety almost too tall to climb.
Although the guilt over not telling Sean was minor compared to the other regret consuming me.
The crushing, debilitating, life-altering remorse.
I couldn’t believe what had happened with Caleb. My conscience—or maybe my hormones—would never let me look at a bathtub the same way again.
But God, it was so fucking good.
Except, the way I’d treated him afterward…The way I’d used him and then shut him out…
He’d told me he had cancer. And I’d brushed it off, too consumed by my own spiral. Too busy chasing an orgasm to stop and honor the kind of trust it took to say those words out loud.
Cancer.
I didn’t even ask if he was okay. If it was something he’d beaten or something still lurking. Was it even possible to be free of it? Was it something a person ever really left behind?
Everything we’d talked about—people’s pity, his impulsiveness, not wanting to miss out on life, the way he treated every second like it mattered—all of it made so much more sense now. I couldn’t imagine the fear he’d lived through or the strength it took to come out the other side and still be this relentlessly, stubbornly hopeful.
How the fuck was he so optimistic all the time?
I had no idea. But I needed to fix things between us. I’d let everything get out of control so fast I hadn’t stopped to understand what he was actually offering me.
And it was so much more than what had happened in that bathtub.
Holy shit, that orgasm, though.
I’d never experienced anything like it. The rumble of his voice in my ear as he’d urged me to let go. His focus, absolute and unwavering, locked on my pleasure like nothing else existed. The way he’d read my body like he’d been studying me for years. The combination of tender and commanding and filthy had sent me into orbit.
Still. The fucking guilt was overwhelming.
“You okay in there, cocotte?” Chantel’s voice came through the bathroom door.
We were speaking again. Sort of. The fight had left a bruise neither of us had acknowledged, but her way of mending things was to pretend they’d never broken.
So here I was, at one of Zane’s parties, drinking water while she drank wine with a couple of nurses from the hospital. And Caleb.
The whole thing was Chantel’s idea, and even though I’d used every excuse in my arsenal, she’d refused to hear any of them.
“If you consider throwing up everything I’ve eaten today okay, then yes. I’m terrific.”
“Good.” She ignored my sarcasm entirely. “Get your ass out here, drink some water, and let’s have some fun.”
I rinsed my mouth, splashed water on my face, and opened the door. She was leaning against the hallway wall, holding a bottle of water in one hand and a miniature bottle of mouthwash in the other.
“Where did you get mouthwash when I was in the bathroom?”
“Really, Zadie, do you even need to ask? My resourcefulness shouldn’t surprise you.”
It didn’t. Nothing about my best friend surprised me anymore. Except maybe her continued refusal to acknowledge the enormous secret she’d been keeping. It was so closely guarded, I’d started wondering if I’d made the whole thing up.
“Hand it over.” I took the mouthwash and swished thoroughly while she watched like a sentinel.