Page 29 of Sweet Sinners
After a few tense seconds, Cali finally exhales, the sound soft and yielding.
When she speaks again, it’s quieter, almost gentle. "…Thanks."
The bread hits the pan with a comforting sizzle, filling the kitchen with a steady rhythm that keeps us anchored. And then, slowly, like a dam finally breaking, Cali talks. Her frustration pours out unfiltered, words sharp and edged with exhaustion. She’s drowning under everything—embezzlement, petty boardroom politics, the constant weight of needing to prove herself before she even had a chance to sit comfortably in that chair.
I don’t interrupt. I don’t try to offer quick fixes or empty promises. She doesn’t need that right now. She just needs to feel heard. So I listen, flipping the sandwiches quietly, giving her space to unravel without judgment.
By the time I slide the plate in front of her, she’s already lost in her thoughts, biting absently into the sandwich as if it’s second nature. She pauses mid-chew, her eyes lifting to mine, unguarded for just a brief moment. I see something flicker there—gratitude, maybe. Relief. Something she’s not ready to put into words yet.
But then she continues eating, slow and deliberate, letting herself savor each bite as if it’s something precious.
I push the steaming mug of tomato soup toward her. She curls her fingers around it, absorbing the warmth, and another sigh slips past her lips. It’s weary, heavy, mingling softly with the steam risingfrom the cup.
She shakes her head slightly, voice softer now, "I know I've been rambling."
"You needed to," I say, my tone quiet but certain, like it's the simplest truth in the world.
She studies me, her gaze cautious, calculating whether she can afford to believe the words I’ve just thrown down between us. Her eyes drift to my side of the counter, noting the absence of a plate. Something flickers in her expression—hesitation, maybe even the impulse to offer half her meal. But as quickly as it appears, it's gone, shuttered behind those carefully rebuilt walls.
I shift my focus to my phone, scrolling through messages. Old contacts have started resurfacing, ghosts from a life I'd rather not remember. Luke's name pops onto the screen, he's great with this stuff and has worked in PR for years, someone who might help Cali navigate the fallout from this payroll disaster.
It's a gamble, though.
Luke carries baggage of his own, a domestic dispute, charges dropped but never forgotten. It’s messy, complicated, the kind of history that leaves stains you can’t scrub clean. I hesitate, uncertain if I want to risk tarnishing the fragile trust Cali and I are slowly piecing together.
But she's drowning, stubbornly trying to handle everything on her own. And she needs help, even if she won’t admit it.
"I know someone in PR," I offer quietly, keeping my tone neutral, careful. "He's amazing with anything online, getting things removed from the web or added. He might be able to help, or at least point you toward someone who can."
Cali’s grip tightens on the mug, knuckles turning white. When she lifts her gaze again, her eyes are wary, questioning my intentions. "Why do you care?"
The truth slips free before I can check myself, raw and more honest than I've ever allowed myself to be with her.
"Because you're all I have left, Cali."
The words hang there, stark and unfiltered, leaving no room for retreat. And as her eyes widen slightly, registering what I've just admitted, I realize I don’t want to take them back. Because whether either of us likes it or not, it’s true.
She’s all I have.
She stays quiet, the silence between us thickening until it feels suffocating. I watch the battle play out behind her eyes, her stubborn determination to keep me at a distance fighting against something softer, something tired of this endless tug-of-war we’ve settled into.
"Just advice?" she asks cautiously, like she's bracing herself for the answer.
"If that’s all you want," I reply easily, a small smirk curving my lips to soften the edge. "Although, if you're interested in alternative methods, I’ve got plenty of experience making friends in prison."
She rolls her eyes, shaking her head as a reluctant smile tugs at her mouth. "Fine. I don’t have the energy to argue tonight. Just...don't mention the company’s name. It probably won’t matter, but I need plausible deniability."
"Got it." I lift my hands in mock surrender. "You handle the corporate mess, and I'll keep holding up my end as your resident criminal."
It’s meant as a joke, but her expression shifts slightly, something unreadable flickering across her face, a faint, hesitant amusement. It's brief, gone before I can be sure, but the fact that I managed to draw even that small reaction from her feels like a victory.
I don’t know exactly when Cali started to matter this much. Maybe it’s proximity, or the fact that this mansion feels like another cage, andshe’s the only one stuck here with me. Or maybe it's something else entirely, something deeper I don't have the words for.
But there’s one thing I know for certain: when I finally walk away from this place, when the ankle monitor is removed, and I'm free to leave without watching my back, I won't be able to shake the questions that’ll haunt me.
If she’s eating properly.
If she’s okay.
