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The Family Dinner (Collision)
POV: Maya
For three days, that scrap of paper with Cade’s number had sat on my counter like a live grenade. I had cleaned around it, stared at it while my coffee went cold, and once, I had even picked it up, only to drop it as if the ink might burn my skin.
I hadn’t called. I couldn't. Calling Cade felt like admitting he was right, and if he was right, then the last six years of my life weren't a slow-burn romance—they were a tragedy.
Now, standing on the porch of the Blackwood estate for our Sunday tradition, my stomach was a knot of barbed wire. I’d been coming here every week for six years. I knew the smell of Mrs. Blackwood’s pot roast and the exact creak of the third step. I was part of the furniture.
The door swung open, and Ethan was there, glowing. He looked rested, his "emotional death" from three nights ago seemingly replaced by the effortless charm he wore like a second skin.
"Maya! You’re late," he teased, pulling me into a one-armed hug and kissing my temple. It was the kind of affection you gave a favorite cousin. "Come in, everyone’s already in the parlor."
He didn't let go of my shoulder as we walked in. "Mom, Dad, look who made it! My best friend Maya, honestly, she’s basically family at this point."
The word family hit me like a physical blow. It was a cage. If I was family, I was safe. If I was family, I was non-threatening. If I was family, he never had to worry about losing me, which meant he never had to bother winning me.
"Good to see you, dear," Mrs. Blackwood chirped.
I went to respond, but the words died in my throat. Standing by the fireplace, a glass of dark amber liquid in his hand, was Cade.
He wasn't wearing tactical gear today. He was in a dark charcoal sweater that made his gray eyes look like sharpened flint. He didn't say a word. He just looked at me. It was that same look from my apartment, predatory, knowing, and entirely too heavy for a room filled with polite conversation. He looked at me like he knew exactly what I’d been doing for the last seventy-two hours. He looked at me like he was just waiting for me to stop pretending.
"You remember my brother, right?" Ethan asked, oblivious to the vacuum of oxygen Cade’s presence created.
"We've met," I managed, my voice thin.
"Briefly," Cade added, his voice a low vibration that seemed to travel across the floorboards and up my spine.
Dinner was an exercise in psychological warfare. Ethan sat to my left, chatting animatedly about a new merger. Cade sat directly across from me.
"So, Cade," Mrs. Blackwood said, leaning forward. "Ethan tells us you’re actually staying this time? No more 'classified' assignments?"
Cade took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. "No more running, Mom. I’m starting a security consulting firm. Staying local. Putting down roots." He paused, his gaze intensifying. "It’s time I focused on things that are actually worth keeping."
"About time you settled down," Ethan let out a shallow laugh, gesturing with his fork. "Found a girl yet? Or are you still looking for a fellow mercenary?"
Cade’s lips tilted into a microscopic, dangerous smile. "Working on it."
I choked on my water. I coughed into my napkin, my face flushing a deep, humiliated red.
"Easy there, Maya," Ethan said, patting my back. He didn't even pause. "Well, whoever she is, Cade, make sure she’s nothing like Claire. God, I forgot how much energy that woman sucked out of a room. Insane. Truly. She complained about my hours, complained about my friends..."
I sat there, frozen, listening to Ethan trash the woman he had been sobbing over three days ago. He spoke about her like she was a bad car he’d finally traded in. He didn't notice that I had been the one to listen to those complaints for months. He didn't notice that I was currently the "friend" he was neglecting while he spoke.
Then, I felt it.
Under the table, a heavy, warm pressure brushed against the side of my foot. Then it slid up, firm and intentional, along the curve of my calf.
I jolted, nearly knocking over my wine glass. I looked up, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Cade was leaning back, looking perfectly relaxed. He was watching me with a small, challenging smirk. Your move, his eyes said.
I jerked my leg away, but the heat stayed. It felt like a brand. I couldn't breathe. The polite clinking of silverware and Ethan’s mindless droning felt like they were miles away. There was only the table between us and the electric, forbidden current Cade was forcing me to acknowledge.
After dinner, I fled to the kitchen under the guise of helping with the dishes. I needed air. I needed to not be in a room where Cade Blackwood was dissecting my soul.
I was scrubbing a pot when the air in the room shifted. I didn't need to turn around to know he was there. The sheer magnetic pull of him was enough.
"You didn't call," he said. He didn't whisper, but his voice was low enough that it didn't carry past the kitchen door.
"I have nothing to say to you," I snapped, scrubbing the pot so hard the suds flew.
"Liar." He was closer now. I could smell the woodsmoke and bourbon. "You have six years of things to say. Six years of 'why not me' and 'when is it my turn.' You’re just scared."
"Of what?" I turned, the wet pot clutched to my chest like a shield.
Cade stepped into my personal space, his hand coming up to rest on the counter behind me, effectively pinning me in place. "Of what happens when you stop lying to yourself, Maya. Of what happens when you realize you don't want the boy who ignores you. You want the man who can't take his eyes off you."
My breath hitched. He was so close I could see the individual silver flecks in his irises. "Cade, stop. This is your brother’s house. He’s right in the next room."
"And he hasn't looked in here once," Cade countered. "He doesn't even know you're missing."
"Maya! Come here! I need your opinion on something!" Ethan’s voice boomed from the living room, cheerful and demanding.
The spell broke. I flinched, my instinctual "caretaker" mode kicking in. I started to move, but Cade didn't budge. He looked down at me with a mixture of pity and cold amusement.
"He calls, you run," Cade murmured. "Pavlovian."
Fury, hot and sharp, flared in my chest. I couldn't hit him here, and I couldn't scream. So I did the only thing I could. I leaned in close to his ear, my voice a jagged whisper. "Go to hell, Cade."
I shoved past him, and as I reached the door, I didn't look back, but I felt his quiet, dark laughter follow me.
I walked into the living room, trying to smooth my hair and compose my face. Ethan was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone.
"There you are," he said, waving me over. "Check this out. My buddy just set me up on this new elite dating app. What do you think of this girl, Sarah? She’s a corporate lawyer, loves skiing. Should I ask her out? Or is the blonde, what was her name, Elena?... more my vibe?"
The world tilted.
Three days. It had been three days since he cried in my arms. Three days since I thought, this is it. And he was already asking me to vet his next conquest.
He looked at me, his blue eyes bright and expectant, waiting for his "best friend" to give him the green light to go find someone else to love.
Behind him, in the shadows of the hallway, I saw Cade leaning against the doorframe. He didn't say a word. He just watched me, his gray eyes steady, waiting for the moment I finally hit the floor.
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