Page 42 of Caleb
“Drugs? What drugs?” She seems genuinely bewildered. Like I just told her baby pigs were flying over the pool the entire time we were there.
“Well, you know, there were people smoking pot and stuff,” I say, pulling the door handle and pushing the door slightly open, wondering if I shouldn’t have said anything.
“I guess that explains the earthy, pungent smell.” She scrunches up her nose to make a point. “And why you had Gabriel pour my glass of water again.” She lifts a brow.
Gabriel. Oy.
“That’s right. We can’t be too careful,” I say with a sniff. “You never know what these French boys’ intentions are.”
Red shakes her head and rolls her eyes playfully.
“Are you feeling better?” I dare ask. “About, you know, everything that happened yesterday?”
She frowns and looks at her feet.
“Yeah.” She meets my gaze and runs her tongue along her lower lip. “Thank you. For making me feel safe all the time.”
“Of course.” I press my lips into a smile. “It’s my pleasure.”
“And your job,” she says with an evident air of jest in her tone. But her features turn somewhat sad. I can tell she’s trying hard not to give that away. And she’s right. It is my job to take care of her, but I wish I could tell her I’ve never found more purpose in my life than to get to do this for a living. It’s almost too good to be true. Too much that it even makes me anxious to think about one day not being able to keep doing it, for whatever reason that may be.
I would tell her so many things and talk to her about a million others if I could. Nothing of importance, just about life in general. My life, her life. Get to know her better. And even if the circumstances don’t allow for as many one-on-one interactions as I would like, we still get some alone time, mostly on our runs. That’s why it’s crucial for her to feel safe to come out. It’s beyond selfish, I know. But it’s a win-win situation. She feels safe, and I get to spend more time with her on our runs.
It’s hard to wrap my mind around it, but my protective instincts for her only grow with each day that goes by, and all I can do is suppress the need to get closer to her on a personal level. At least, that’s what my conscience keeps telling me. And Aaron too.
“Kiddo?” Ambassador Murphy’s voice booms from the inside of the Residence. He steps out and takes a good look at me before pulling his daughter in for a hug. “How’s my girl? Was the pool party any fun?”
I frown. I can’t help but hate this man and his half-assed attempt to be an attentive and available parent. He’s never around, but he still manages to suffocate Red by keeping a tight hold of her from a distance.
“I’m good! It was fun!” she says excitedly. It’s almost unbearable to witness how happy she seems to see him, knowing the secrets he keeps from her. She wouldn’t be thrilled if she knew the truth about her mother’s death. About how it was all an accident, and she was mistaken for a drug lord’s wife.
“I’ll take that, Caleb,” he says with a smile, extending his hand and seizing Red’s bag from my grasp. “That’ll be all. Good night.”
Red stares at me with wide eyes, but she knows it is what it is, and this is how it goes.
“Mr. Ambassador.” I nod. “Miss Murphy.”
“Good night,” she says softly. “Thanks again.”
Turning on my heel, I flee down the stairs and cross the parking lot toward the front building. I can’t get away fast enough. I detest that man.
My temper is swirling up my neck while I walk into my room and kick off my shoes. Then, I tear off my clothes and jump in the shower.
The nerve. The arrogance.
Ambassador Murphy is a powerful man, and he knows it, but even the most powerful of men have a weakness. And I know Red is one of them, but there has to be something else. Some dirt. He can’t be squeaky clean.
Going around those foolish thoughts inside my head, I step out of the shower, throw some clothes on, and grab my bottle of vodka. I sit on the edge of the bed, unscrew the cap, and take a sip, welcoming the burn down my throat—a typical Saturday night.
I’m off work tomorrow, so I could potentially go out today and let off some steam, but I can’t make myself want to do it. Having watched Noelle by the pool all day is making me want to run the extra mile, dress up, go out, and try to get her out of my head with someone else. And I can’t help but wonder if she’s doing okay. She was high and probably drunk too.
After polishing half the bottle of vodka, I’ve finally convinced myself that checking in on her to make sure she’s safe is the best thing to do. So I yank my nightstand drawer open and grab the piece of paper with Noelle’s phone number. And I text her.
In Dire Need of Supervision
Me:Nice party. Too bad those teenage douchebags passing around drugs got invited. Hope you’re doing fine.
As I wait for Noelle to respond, I keep sipping my vodka. She’s probably asleep or sharing a bed with that guy she was kissing in the pool. I doubt she’ll reply, but at least she’ll see it tomorrow morning when she’s sobered up. I want to know if she’s okay, though. Fuck my protective instincts. They’re so out of place, but I can’t help it. It’s probably best if we don’t talk while I’m drunk.
