Readjustment (Restitution #2)

1

Adam Dawson

The golden light filtering through my eyelids told me dawn was here.

A cold December draft battled with heat from the vents. The fan in the corner blew the chill across my shoulders, then swept over the blinds. The vertical strips separated and clanked against the window, letting more of the fresh daylight in. I groaned as I buried my face into the shoulder beside me and traced gentle lines over the muscle on his uncovered chest. The skin was smooth, sturdy, and surprisingly warm despite being exposed to the cool air.

“Is it time to get up?” Caleb’s deep voice rumbled with sleep.

“No.” Under the blanket, my hand surveyed the peaks and valleys of his torso. “Go back to sleep.”

“Sure looks like morning.” Caleb pushed my palm flat on his stomach. “I should probably—”

“No.” I kissed the raised scar on his left shoulder, then the crook of his neck. “Not yet.”

“The sun’s coming up.” He gasped softly as I jerked my hips against his thigh, and my cock stirred to life. “Jesus, Adam.” His voice dropped an octave.

I swiped my hand between his hip bones, purposefully brushing over his dick, then rolled on top of him and sat back on his thighs. “Five more minutes.”

Caleb reached over and grabbed his phone off the side table. The chiseled lines of his bicep and forearm bulged, and my bottom lip found its way between my teeth. God could’ve used him as the default mold for the ideal man: the perfect balance of chiseled masculinity, soft features with a Hollywood smile, and just enough medium blonde hair to rake your fingers through.

“It’s almost 7:30.” He batted my hands away from his chest before I could slide them up to his nipples and pinch them. “This is nice, but we have to work.”

“We should…” The words fell away as a flood of memories sent heat into my core. The marks my hands left on his pecs last night. Sweat glistening on the top of his shoulders as he rode my cock. Digging my fingers into his skin when that tidal wave of bliss tore through me. Sapphire eyes sated and satisfied after he reached his own climax.

He quirked a brow, and the beginnings of that stunning smile flashed as I looked him over. “We should…?” he asked, rolling his finger.

“We should call in.”

“And tell the chief what, exactly?”

“Food poisoning.” I sat up and rested my hand on his stomach. “Bertha poisoned me and got you by accident?”

“For the love of God.” He groaned as he pulled the cover over his face. “Bertha wouldn’t poison you.”

“Oh, really?” I scoffed. “She looked at me and ran the end of her pen across her throat when you got up to use the bathroom last week.”

“She probably had an itch.”

“I saw her whispering to the cook after.”

“It was probably about that dark-haired guy with the butt like a picnic bench sitting at the counter.” Caleb pulled my hand from my stomach and tangled our fingers. “You know how she is.”

“Yes, and she doesn’t like me.” I gripped his hand harder. Why couldn’t every morning be like this?

You know why.

“She likes you.” Caleb trailed his thumb over my knuckles, and I had the sudden urge to cry. “She’s just protective of me, and you’re kind of…” His lifts shifted as he pondered his next word, “Eccentric. She doesn’t understand that teasing me is part of your love language.”

“Been three months,” I held up three fingers, “and I’ve been on my best behavior.”

“You have.”

“Didn’t even roll my eyes when she made us watch eight fucking videos of her grandson.”

“I’m very proud of you.” He said, with a sarcastic golf clap.

I swatted his hands. “Stop distracting me. I’m trying to get us out of work.”

“No can do.” Caleb bucked his hips with enough force to dump my slimmer frame off. “Dunn and Mason need us.”

“They can pick up the slack for one day.” I scrambled and grabbed him around the waist before he could push himself to his feet. “We could stay in bed.”

“No. We can’t.” His smile dimmed in small increments, and the reality I’d been desperate to ignore was kicking up a storm between us. He picked up the phone again and looked at the time. “Shoot. I need to get in the shower.” He stood and pulled on the flannel pajama bottoms he’d worn last night.

“Take one here.”

“And put on dirty clothes again?”

“I told you to leave some clean stuff here.” I propped myself on my elbows.

“I can’t do that either.”

“Why?” The word escaped before I could stop it.

“Adam…” Caleb’s sigh was exasperated, and his brows drew together. “Please, don’t make me say it.”

I sat against the headboard and rubbed my jaw. “I really am going to leave Josh.” My voice was small and shaky. “I mean it.”

“Okay.” He stared at the far wall. No confidence. No expectation in those words.

I scrubbed my hands over my face and stifled a groan. “I swear.”

“So you’ve told him this time?” Caleb met my eyes.

I couldn’t speak through the cold lump in my throat.

“That’s what I thought.” He stared at his feet like he had to force them to move as he turned and walked towards the door.

The tightness in my throat grew and threatened to cut off my oxygen. All my excuses crumbled like a house of cards. He deserved better than being the “other guy.” The one waiting in the wings while my life, as shitty as it was, revolved around someone else.

“Caleb…” I reached for him, but guilt and shame kept me tethered to the bed.

“It’s okay, Adam. Really.” He flashed that practiced, polished smile he gave to strangers. “I’ll see you at work.”

I waited for the door to click shut before I groaned into the bunched-up sheets. It didn’t matter what he said. My failure to leave Josh wasn’t okay. Giving him the hope that I was going to change wasn’t okay. Nothing about what Caleb and I were doing was okay. Yet, I kept doing it because when we’re together, I’m another version of myself . One I like. That I could even be proud of.

Now, the warmth and safety he provided was gone, and I was back to being…me. Alone, scared, but mostly angry.

“Fuck!” I threw my arm out and punched the headboard. “God fucking dammit!” Pain radiated from my wrist to my elbow, so I used the other arm to launch a pillow across the room. It ricocheted off the fan, and it fell with a sharp, tiny rattle.

“Great.” I pushed myself out of bed and stomped around the room to pick it up. “Piece of shit.” I set it upright, decided I hadn’t made enough of a fool of myself, and backhanded the blade cage. The motor smacked into the wall and left a dent in the cheap paint.

Another hit to the security deposit.

I pocketed my phone as I padded out to the kitchen. I swished some water around my dry mouth and stared at the laundry piled in a basket on the couch. Outside the sliding glass door, the sun was still a half-formed orb on the horizon. I watched it rise above the trees, knowing this view was only temporary. My job in Peyton had an end date. My apartment lease had an end date. And life with Caleb Straus in it also had an end date. In March, my six months with Peyton PD would be up, and I’d go back to working homicide in Chicago.

But the last three weeks had me reconsidering everything.

After I decided to spend Thanksgiving with my parents and not Josh’s, we had a huge, bitter fight. I left in the middle of the night and went straight to Caleb’s apartment when I got back to Peyton. What’d transpired since was blurring the lines between friend, partner and something neither of us was ready to admit. It was wrong, but being with Caleb was a drug; beautiful and dangerous. The highs never faltered, but the lows were getting harder to come back from.

My hands shook as I pulled the fifth of Jack down from the top of the fridge. Just a sip. I told myself as I twisted off the cap. It wouldn’t drown my anxiety, but it’d dull it enough to get me through the day. I guzzled it to the count of three, then set the bottle beside the sink. The amber liquid punched its way down, and I clutched a hand to my abdomen.

Please don’t make me say it.

It’s okay, Adam. Really.

It wasn’t that I was lying about wanting to leave Josh, but sixteen years of secrets and self-preservation are hard habits to break. Beneath the hope Caleb gave me laid the dark truth that I didn’t deserve him. The life I wanted with him wasn’t possible, and it wouldn’t be long before he figured it out, too. There had to be reasons he kept placating me, but what happens when they aren’t good enough anymore? After Caleb, how can I go back to a lifetime of pretending with Josh?

Why wait around and find out?

I could end it all. Three months ago, I’d have rolled through the list of ways I could. It was practically muscle memory. Downing a bottle of sleeping pills and fading into death. How getting drunk and “falling” off the roof could be deemed accidental and my parents could collect my life insurance. The convenience of my service weapon.

But Caleb had woken a part of me that’d been dying to live. Now I spent my days battered between thoughts that make me want to die, and a stubborn will to survive.

My phone vibrated in my pocket and the xylophone melody of my alarm pulled me from my morbid thoughts. I picked up my phone and considered the words on the screen. I’d expected a litany of texts from Josh because I hadn’t called, but only saw a single message.

9:2 p.m. - Late discovery meeting with a client. Didn’t feel well after. Sorry. Love you.

It was another curt, rehearsed text in a list that’d grown over the last few weeks. Like, Hope you had a good day. Or I’m sure you’re tired. Just wanted to say goodnight. Not feeling well enough to call was about as likely as me leaving his ass. It was just another excuse for what was really going on. That fight after Thanksgiving proved to me that Josh hadn’t changed a bit since I’d moved to Peyton. He was still the self-obsessed, toxic, gaslighting piece of shit.

I flipped through my email, unsurprised to find one from Jack Kendall, the P.I. I’d recently hired. The subject said “Footage from the week of December th : Joshua M.”

I took another sip of Jack, opened one of the attached videos, and hit play. It started at the Sunlight Motel. Josh got out of the Range Rover and met a younger man outside room Six. They locked hands as Josh slid his card through the door’s reader. Their sensual smiles were still present as they walked in, and the door closed behind them. The clip fast-forwarded until they exited. Both were still smiling as Josh led his boy toy to his car, stroked his arm, and kissed him before turning to walk back to his vehicle.

The rest of the videos showed the same thing. Different men, but the same motel. He’d been doing this for weeks.

“Stupid fucks.” I snickered under my breath as I put the phone back in my pocket. “He has a luxury vehicle, but is too cheap to spring for a hotel?”

There was a time when I’d have been devastated by what I’d seen in those clips. But all that was coming across now was annoyance, and something akin to hate. After all the times I’ve bitten my tongue as he reminded me this was all my fault. All the mental gymnastics I’d done to make excuses for him; Josh wasn’t concerned about changing. Only changing me to fit his authoritarian mold.

This is what my marriage has become. Secret bank accounts, infidelity and apathy disguised as peace. Since Thanksgiving, we hardly fought anymore, and somehow that was worse. At least then there’d been an effort to communicate. But now, we were two men bound together by a fate I couldn’t deal with, and that he wouldn’t let go of.

I eyed the fifth until my mouth watered. I could probably get away with a few more swigs. Jesus Christ, Adam. I snatched the bottle, tossed it under the kitchen sink, and made myself walk towards the bathroom. Another shot wouldn’t fix my life, but I still had three months for that. I shouldn’t expect Caleb to stand beside me the whole time, but I knew there was something he was getting from me in this relationship. It’s selfish, but I couldn’t turn him away because it’s the only thing left that makes me feel alive. Worthy. Loved.

The tile was frigid under my feet as I stepped into the bathroom, cranked on the shower, and stared at my reflection. I ran a hand back through my unruly locks and lifted thick tufts between my fingers. My mom was right—I was getting thin. My hair was the only healthy part of me left.

Condensation in the mirror blurred my features, and that helped. My cell phone rang with a ringtone that wasn’t Josh’s, so I picked up.

“Detective Dawson.”

Chief Branson’s tone told me my bad morning was about to get worse. “We’ve got a dead body out near the old Tesco plant. You and Straus are up.”

“East side?”

“Yeah,” he said grimly, “I’m heading out there now.”

“Be there soon.” I said, but Branson had already hung up.

A DB in the shit part of town wasn’t what I needed; but then again, it could be. It’d keep my mind busy and off Caleb, Josh and everything else that made me want to launch myself off the nearest roof. I wasn’t sure about anything except needing to shower and head out.

But instead, my feet carried me back to the kitchen.

Just one more drink.