Dirty Little Secrets (Dirty Little #1)(36)

“Most of my memories of her are more like…feelings, if that makes sense. Sometimes I’ll walk into a room and I’ll smell her perfume, and I get these butterflies in my stomach, and I feel…safe. Or, I’ll see a woman who I think looks like her from behind, and for a moment I’ll forget that she’s dead, and in that moment? I’m happy. Sometimes I find myself humming the melody that she used to sing when she was cleaning up my scraped knee, and I just know that everything’s going to be okay. I know it sounds cheesy, but…”

Caleb holds me tight. “It doesn’t sound cheesy at all. What was the melody?”

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and hum a few bars of the song. My voice is wobbly, and I’m probably not getting it entirely right, but this part stands out the brightest in my memory.

“You must have really missed her growing up,” he says, his voice tinged with the kind of sadness that someone only has when they understand exactly what you’ve been through.

“I did.” It would have been nice to have her around when I got my first period, when I had my first kiss. It feels selfish to feel sadness over missing those things with her, but I do. “My dad did his best, though. We lived next door to a single mother and her son, and she always treated me like I was one of her own. I was lonely a lot, but…having them made it better.” When I think of Amelia—Marcus’s mother—I feel my breath catch in my throat. I’m reminded that I haven’t called him since my accident. I need to do that, or he’ll start wondering if Privya caught up with me. Even though I have to be pretty vague with him during our calls, I don’t want him panicking.

“I’m glad you had someone like that in your life,” Caleb whispers.

“I’m glad I did, too. I think the family you make is just as important as the one you’re born into.”

Caleb and I are already pressed pretty tightly together, but he somehow manages to wrap himself around me. He slides his thigh between mine, and rests his chin on the top of my head. Even though he’s definitely the big spoon in this scenario I get the feeling that I’m offering him way more support than he’s offering me.

The air around us stills in that way that it tends to, like something big is coming and you’re just waiting for it to arrive. There’s actual weight in the room, hovering just above us, and Caleb is getting ready to let it drop.

“My parents died in a plane crash,” he tells me. His voice is softer and more vulnerable than I’ve ever heard it before, and I know it’s taking a lot for him to share this with me.

I give his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He gave me the courtesy of letting me work through my confession without commentary, so I’m going to do the same thing for him. Another, less selfless part of me, is afraid that if I say something, he’ll stop talking.

“They were on a trip,” he says. His voice is a little stronger now. “It was work related; my dad was trying to shore up some merger, and my mom had gone with him because she wanted to do some shopping in San Francisco. It was the day before my sixteenth birthday. They had bought me this amazing Porsche that I had been dying for, and they couldn’t wait to give me the keys. I know it makes me sound like such a spoiled little rich kid.”

“It does not,” I assure him. Okay, it does a little, but I can’t even imagine the Caleb that I know now as a spoiled teenaged brat. If his parents wanted him to have that car, it’s because they thought he deserved it, and he shouldn’t feel bad about that.

“My dad and I were supposed to go golfing in the morning,” he tells me. “It was a Simmons family sixteenth birthday tradition. My mom was going to make us brunch. Those sandwiches were the only things she knew how to make. It was the one day a year that she ever cooked anything for us, and I always looked forward to it.

“One of my dad’s meetings ran late, and there was an issue with the plane. A mechanic spent all day working on repairs, and assured my parents that everything was in good working order. My dad didn’t even give it a second thought, because he wanted to get home before tee time, and they were already cutting it so close.

“They ran into engine trouble somewhere over Colorado. The pilot wasn’t able to compensate when one of the engines went out.”

“Caleb,” I whisper. Despite the hold he has on me, I manage to turn myself around in his arms, so we’re lying face-to-face. I place my hand on his cheek, and it seems to calm him some.

“I hated that f*cking Porsche,” he says with a sad smile. “My dad’s butler gave me the keys a few days after the funeral, and told me how excited he was for me to have it. I knew my father well, and even though I know he would’ve trusted the mechanic’s word that everything was fixed regardless, part of me will always wonder if he would’ve held off on leaving if he and my mother hadn’t been trying so desperately to get home on time.”


“You can’t think like that,” I tell him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“I know I can’t. I…I got drunk that night, when I got the keys. I got drunk and I drove, like a f*cking *, and wrapped that car around a telephone pole. I went to live with Ben and his family until I turned eighteen. They treated me like one of their own kids, too. They always had. I’m lucky that I had them, but…sometimes I felt alone, too. So I know what that’s like.”