Page 3 of Caging Cessie
He didn’t think that was a healthy way of thinking, nor was her relationship with her family healthy, but what the hell did he know? People called him cold, calculating. It had once been explained to him that he had a high EQ. IQ was Intelligence Quotient, but EQ was Emotional Quotient. For some people high EQ meant they were very self-aware and able to manage their emotions. But for others, for him, it meant he had a high-risk tolerance and didn’t panic or get distressed when risks didn’t pay off.
Leon exhaled slowly, trying to calm his simmering frustration. “I wish we had more time. You were so peaceful.” He touched her cheek. “I hate seeing you pulled out of it so quickly.”
Twenty minutes ago, she would have leaned into his touch, but now she only nodded.
Her phone went off again. Not the blaring alarm sound, but a loud trill.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
Cessie closed her eyes for a moment, wincing. “It’s my attending.”
“I know.”
He wished he’d kept his mouth shut when she tensed even more, shoulders up around her ears.
They drove in silence except for the occasional incoming text noise from her phone and thetap tap tapof her fingers on the screen. According to the alert sounds, the messages werealternating between her job and her family, though she was getting two messages from her mother for every one she got from her attending.
The next time they stopped—this time at one of the stoplights on PCH, Cessie reached over, her fingers brushing his arm lightly, her touch almost apologetic. “I’m sorry.”
“As long as you come back to me.” He’d spoken without thinking, revealing too much. She was sitting next to him but it felt like she was flying away.
Cessie didn’t question his statement. “I’ll come back to you, Leon. I always do.”
The words were meant to reassure him, but they only made him feel the weight of what they’d lost. The part of her he’d connected with this weekend—the part of her that was totally free and beautifully his—would be locked away and buried the next time they tried to scene. It always was.
“I know.” He glanced over at her.
Their gazes met for a moment, but her phone rang, and she turned away, lifting it to her ear.
CHAPTER 2
One Year Before the Cage
Their condo was silent when Leon walked in, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft echo. He paused for a moment, listening. The condo was usually quiet, even when they were both here.
He paused, listening for those small sounds—the click of keys or the murmured sound of her dictating her notes. Tonight he heard neither.
He dropped his bag on the hallway bench and stepped further into the living room. Today had been an “impress people” work day so he was wearing a suit—dress shirt open at the throat, no tie, because this was L.A.
Cessie was sitting on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, papers spread out on the table’s surface, her phone in her hands. Her expression was distant. Almost haunted.
He took a step toward her, that desperate need to protect her, take care of her, rising in him.
She looked up when he moved, and there was no smile, no acute intelligence in her gaze the way there normally was. Just exhaustion—something deep, pressing, and heavy.
“Hey, baby, you okay?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, then immediately winced.
They’d had a fight about her saying “I’m fine” just last month. “I’m fine” is what people said to strangers. Responding with “I’m fine” was a part of the social contract, and usually a white lie.
When he asked if she was okay, or how she was doing, he wanted to know, not get the brush off.
“Just… tired,” she amended. “Another long week.”
“Lots of surgeries?”
