The Coffee Shop

Author's Note: I appreciate you guys sticking with me, and for all the votes/comments/and criticisms. I hope this chapter satisfies some of your cravings for answers, and yes there will be more somber notes. ;-) I think it's only appropriate that I warn you readers in advance there is no sex as of yet. Caleb is a delicate character to work with, as you'll soon find out.

As always, this work is copyrighted, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Peyton Gray quietly exited the house through the front door early that next morning, taking care to not slam it shut so as to not wake her house guest. Tightening the folds of her fleece jacket wrap around her, she followed the gravel path that led to the woods, her heart beating in her throat.

The bike was just as she had remembered it: mangled around the trunk of an oak, the back wheel completely missing from the frame. Her amber eyes roamed the forest undergrowth but the wheel was gone. With a sigh she extracted the bike and took a better look at it, cringing as she did so.

It was an old Schwinn, one of those early models that no matter how fast a person pedaled, they remained in one place. The bolts and chain were rusted and Peyton knew the Schwinn had seen better days at least twenty years ago.

Scooping up the frame she turned back to the rusty red house, her mind falling back to last night's events.

++++

After dinner, she and Caleb had settled onto the couch to watch the weather. After at least twenty minutes of reigning silence, she relinquished power of the remote to him to let him pick a show. Within seconds they were watching the newest episode of

Sons of Anarchy

and for the rest of the night, they were silent.

Not that Peyton minded. She was addled enough by Caleb's speech during supper. He hadn't yet spoken to her about finding help for whatever problem or problems he was facing. In fact, after he had straightened up over his stew, unclenched his hands, and thanked her for dinner; Caleb hadn't spoken at all.

Which was fine,

she had reminded herself. Caleb would talk when he was ready.

But the wait was slowly killing her.

After

Sons

was over, she showed him the bedroom and promised that in the morning she would bring him his bike. Anything beyond that was his decision. He had just stared at her, the blank look on his face mildly uncomfortable, so she had escaped upstairs and curled up under her bed covers.

For hours she tossed and turned as her mind raced with worried thoughts of what exactly was haunting Caleb. She wanted to help him, she wanted him to stop being such a stubborn hard ass, she wanted to know the truth, she wanted to kiss away his pain—

And that's when she decided enough was enough.

Peyton sat up in bed, her limbs exhausted from the struggle with her blankets, her head too busy to let her rest. A cup of tea would do her good, she hoped, so after donning her robe and moccasins, she descended the creaky wooden stairs to find the kitchen light already on.

Caleb was sitting at the breakfast table, a mug of tea in his hands. At the sound of her footsteps, he lifted his head and turned to look at her. His eyes were red-rimmed and his nose more than a little pink, but no tear trails stained his cheeks.

"You had the same idea I had," she told him with a slight smile as she headed towards the kettle. She poured herself a mug and dropped a few sugar cubes in before turning at the sink. Should she leave?

Caleb made the decision for her. "Stay," he grit out, his voice gruff.

Peyton sat in the same spot she had for supper, nursing her tea as she did so.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked him, breaking the silence between them even as her conscience told her to shut up.

Caleb shook his head once, sniffing before lifting his eyes up to hers. "Tomorrow is going to be a bad day," he said quietly, clearing his throat afterwards to rid it of the gruffness. "I may miss work," he finished ominously.

The look in his eyes gave her the chills and for a moment, Peyton was too surprised to speak. "When is your shift?" Peyton asked hesitantly, changing the direction of the conversation. If Caleb was surprised, he didn't show it.

"Eight, the usual."

Peyton pondered this for a moment. "If you want, I can take you into work. I'll drop your bike off at Camden's afterwards so it'll be ready when you get off." Camden's was the only auto repair shop in town – thankfully she could work with gears as well as motors.

Caleb sat back in his chair, his eyes dropping to the steaming, still full, mug. For a few moments he studied his drink before nodding. "Okay."

"No trouble," she told him, saving him from having to say the two words that he struggled with the most.

Caleb met her eyes and inclined his head. The action was almost noble.

After draining her cup, she rinsed it out and set it in the sink, bidding him goodnight. She ascended the stairs, feeling his eyes on her back as she walked to her room, but was too shaken up by his warning to look back.

Peyton settled into bed and closed her eyes, allowing herself to ponder over his obvious warning, but failed to put the pieces together. Would he be in trouble for not coming home? Would he be punished for Mother Nature's power versus his thirty-year-old bicycle?

She had offered him the ride because she would hate for him to miss work – it was obviously the only time he felt good about himself and she didn't want to deprive him of that. At work he smiled, and Peyton wanted to see him smile again.

Peyton tossed and turned for a while longer before drifting off uneasily, her dreams more like nightmares. When she woke up again, this time at four in the morning, it was because there was a knock on her bedroom door.

Fearing the worst, Peyton had rushed up to open it, not surprised to see Caleb standing in her doorway. But she was surprised to see the dark circles and bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his nose was still pinkish-red in hue. Clearly when she had left him, he had not stopped crying.

"Can I come in?" he asked hoarsely, his green eyes practically glowing in the dim light of her bedside lamp. Peyton hesitated only briefly, backing away so he could step through. Leaving the door open, she watched as he walked slowly to her large king-sized bed and sat on the edge before putting his face in his hands.

Peyton was torn then. One part of her was sensing that the next few minutes were going to be rough on Caleb and that he needed her support and guidance. The other part of her was remembering all the fantasies she had of Caleb

whilst in this bed.

It was an embarrassing contradiction that left her momentarily on the fence.

While the naughty dreams had a harder time in backing off, Peyton approached the bed and sat down beside Caleb and focused solely on helping him through this.

For a while, he was silent, never moving from his perch at the edge of her mattress. When he did speak, he didn't lift his face from his hands.

"There is so much I want to say, but I have a difficulty putting it into words," Caleb said in his low, patient tone. "I don't really know where to begin."

"Just talk to me. Don't worry about making it tidy."

Caleb's shoulders shook slightly, and it took her a second before she realized he was laughing.

Caleb straightened up then, turning his reddened eyes to her. "You say the weirdest things," he told her, a smile playing on his lips.

Peyton tugged at the end of her braid self-consciously, giving him a wan smile. "So I've been told," she lied, feeling a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Truthfully, she was always capable of making complete, clear, and concise sentences. Just not when she was in Caleb's presence, unfortunately.

She gave him an encouraging smile, wanting the spotlight off of her for the moment. "Only tell me what you're comfortable with."

"That would be basically nothing," Caleb said instantly, his eyes tightening around the edges. He swallowed hard and then turned his body so he could lean against the headboard, his arms going around his knees. Instantly he looked more like a frightened boy and less like the cold, calm-as-they-come Caleb.

"You're not the first person I've told this...stuff...to. That would be Chelsea."

Peyton turned and sat cross-legged on the bed, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. "Is that the blonde who comes in every morning the same time I do?"

Caleb's lips twitched and briefly the fear left his eyes. "Yes, that's her. She's my best friend."

Peyton nodded, filing that factoid down in her head for later. "Did she ask you about what was going on or did you just needed to tell someone and she was there to help?" asked slowly, trying to channel Dr. Phil and then cringing at the idea she had even gone there.

Caleb swallowed and the fear came back into his eyes. "Chelsea and I grew up neighbors in the Creek Hollow RV Park. We've been friends since we could walk. She is the only one who..." He trailed off, shaking his head as though to clear it. "She is the only one who knows everything. Without her I don't think I would be talking to you right now."

Peyton made a note to find out more about this Chelsea and to ask around about Creek Hollow. She grew up with the rumors about the RV park and none of them had been good. People had joked that the RVs were nothing but meth labs and the children were all addicted to crack from the womb. Peyton knew they were just rumors, but all rumors had a grain of truth in them, didn't they?

"I grew up without my mother," Caleb continued. "Dad isn't an easy man to get along with and she got fed up with it. I've been alone with him since I was three. My first memories were of him and his liquor breath." Caleb's voice had adopted this hollow, dry tone that sent shivers down Peyton's spine. Without thinking, she caressed his sock-encased left foot, the touch eradicating the dead look in his eyes instantly.

"Go on," Peyton told him, making him focus on his story.

Caleb inhaled deeply before nodding. "In elementary school, my teachers noticed I was wearing clothes that didn't fit and that I never had lunch money. They rallied up funds to buy me clothes, got me a bike to get to school, and I had free breakfast and lunches." Caleb cleared his throat before going on. "Dad found the clothes hidden beneath my mattress...and he sold them for more booze. Chelsea let me hide the bike at her house so he wouldn't sell that too. Her parents had to buy my clothes back from the charity store he sold them to."

Caleb shook his head slowly. "On Fridays, the teachers would pack me meals and Chelsea's parents would let me eat with them for dinner. They didn't have shit either but they would gladly shell out what they had because they

knew

my dad was only going to get worse. And honestly, they were right. My childhood years

were

the best. Can you believe that? I smelt like a bar, dressed in hand-me-downs, and had teachers break rules for me so I didn't starve to death during the week, but I could handle that." Caleb laughed bitterly, rubbing his face to sort himself out.

Peyton didn't know how to respond to that, so she just smiled encouragingly to keep him talking. How therapists can go through sessions like this day in and day out she didn't understand. Instantly her respect of those in the medical field shot up.

"I got my first job delivering newspapers throughout the park. I earned a few bucks a day and I saved

every cent

of that money. I was going to pay back those teachers and start getting my own meals." He chuckled humorlessly. "But good ole Dad found my stash." Caleb lifted up his hand and tugged at the collar of Peyton's father's sweater, pulling aside the fabric to reveal a perfect cylindrical scar just below his left collarbone.

A cigarette burn.

"That was my first warning," Caleb whispered, releasing the collar. "I was to give him half of everything I brought in. When I tried to argue, he got out his Bowie knife." Caleb's eyes glazed over with the memory and she watched as his pale fingers fold down the hem of the sweatpants she let him borrow and lift the hem of the sweater up. A three-inch long silvery-pink scar curved like a waning crescent just to the left of his belly button. More cigarette burns, smaller scars, and pure muscle filled up the rest of his skin; and Peyton was sure each one had its own story.

"I wear t-shirts and jeans because I don't have any other choice," he muttered darkly, righting the sweats. He dropped the shirt hem and resumed his position with his arms around his knees. "I couldn't play sports in school or they would've asked questions when I was in the locker room. I can't take my shirt off when I go to the beach and when I'm with a girl..." he shook his head, leaning it back against the headboard. "Chelsea can't even look at them without grimacing. It makes her sick to look at me. I don't blame her. I'm sick of looking at me too."

"I told you that tomorrow – later today – was going to be a bad one. The storm got me when I was bringing home groceries to dad. When I go home, without the groceries..." he trailed off again, not having to say a word.

But he did.

"I minus well have jumped off that cliff and saved me the trouble," Caleb finished.

Peyton shook her head slowly, swallowing down bile. "Does he know about the job at Side Street?" Caleb shook his head.

"He thinks the groceries come from the food banks. He thinks the welfare checks pay his bills. He thinks he's God, Peyton," Caleb clarified, a dark edge coming to his voice.

"If you hate him so much, why haven't you left the park?" Peyton whispered, tensing up when his face went dark with rage.

"

Haven't you been listening?!

" he roared, jumping up suddenly. "I

couldn't

leave, Peyton! If I had gone to the police the

moment

he dug that knife into my skin, I would've been sent to a fucking foster home! Do you know what they do to children in those kinds of places? The

people

who take them in? I've been stuck in that fucking

hell hole

waiting for the moment when I had the means to leave that asshole!"

Caleb loomed down into Peyton's face, revealing his pain, unleashing it fully upon her. "Yesterday was my eighteenth birthday. If I go back after work and get my stuff...where I'm going to live and what I'm going to do once I leave are the least of my worries," he said in a careful and dangerously low tone. It set Peyton's teeth on edge to hear it.

"He will

kill me

," Caleb hissed, each word like a hammer on Peyton's self-control.

"Then don't go back," Peyton heard herself say. Caleb's eyes narrowed. "I mean,

surely

you have thought something like this would happen? Hopefully you even planned for it?"

Caleb glared down at her, his large hands gripping her shoulders tightly. "I didn't think I'd live to see my tenth birthday, Peyton," he hissed. "I live each day, one at a time. My only

plan

was to get the fuck out of Hamish. That's it. Live to see the next morning and then get out."

Peyton tried not to shiver under that icy glare of his, but she felt her hands shaking in her lap and knew her fear wasn't as well hidden as his. "Then make a long-term plan, Caleb. Stay here if you need to, until you can find your own place, at least. Don't go back if he scares you that badly."

That had been the wrong thing to say. Peyton could feel the last hold of Caleb's patience break. It was as though her body had attuned to his, his wavelength of emotions somehow became hers. One second, she was sitting on the bed, under the pressure of his glacial gaze and strong hands, the next she was pressed against the headboard with Caleb's hands around her neck.

"

I AM NOT AFRAID OF HIM! DO YOU HEAR ME?! I – AM – NOT – AFRAID – OF – HIM! I HATE HIM! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?

I

HATE

HIM!" Caleb screamed, his voice tapering off as Peyton's blood roared in her ears. Under pressure, they popped until it sounded like fireworks were being set off in her bedroom. Soon the room began trembling. Caleb's violence had escalated past strangulation to shaking. Peyton wondered idly if there was such a thing as Shaken Woman Syndrome.

Caleb, however, did not stop screaming. He did not stop shaking her. Soon Peyton couldn't feel her fingers, or her arms, or her toes...or anything, really. Seconds from passing out to lack of oxygen, Caleb released her, throwing himself off the mattress and away from her. She watched soundlessly as he paced the end of the bed, a little surprised that his mouth had still not stopped moving. And here she had pegged him for the silent type?

She closed her eyes briefly to blink back moisture into them. When she opened them again, Caleb was gone. Before she her rational mind could catch up, Peyton was sitting up off the mattress, her legs swinging to the floor. She blinked once and found herself in the hallway, searching for that crop of silky, messy black hair. There it was, racing down the stairs. She blinked again, now in the kitchen, and reached out to touch the frantic boy that was quickly digging around the medicine cabinet, the lock laying in a broken mess of parts on the counter.

Caleb whirled on her, green eyes wild. He was crying again, thick tears wetting his cheeks like a waterfall and dripping down onto the borrowed sweater. Upon seeing her, he choked and the emergency kit became forgotten.

Caleb fell to his knees and hugged her tightly around the waist, his body shaking similarly to how he had been rattling her. Peyton watched the display as though she wasn't really in her own skin, as though she was a stranger looking on.

The poetic justice of this violent, angry, and scarred creature down on his knees begging for her forgiveness was uncanny. The feel of his wet, warm face pressed against her belly ignited a kaleidoscope of emotions within Peyton, one of which quickly jumped to the forefront and immediately brought her back down to earth.

Peyton gripped Caleb's thick hair and pulled his head back. The movement was sudden, and Caleb's quick catch of breath told her it definitely had hurt.

"Listen very carefully to me, Caleb," Peyton said hoarsely, watching his chin tremble and shame cross his face. "Never, for any reason, do you raise your hand to a woman. Never, for any reason, do you strike

anyone

unless it is in defense. Is that in any way unclear?"

Caleb shook his head. "No, it isn't," he whispered, his voice catching with emotion. "Peyton, I'm-"

"I'm not finished," she hissed, turning away to cough into her sweater. When she turned back, she released Caleb's hair and smoothed it away from his handsome face, swallowing rocks. "After work today, you will come here and we'll make plans to get your things from your father's. Do not by any means of the imagination do something stupid like jumping off the Overlook. Is any of that unclear to you?"

"No, Peyton," Caleb whispered thickly.

Peyton looked over his face before grabbing at the napkins on the breakfast table. She handed one to him and grabbed a hold of his elbow with her other hand, lifting him up to his feet.

Caleb wiped his face and blew his nose, his head bowed so deeply that his chin nearly grazed his chest. Peyton began to understand what Theodore Roosevelt meant by "speak softly and carry a big stick."

Peyton on impulse burrowed herself between his arms and gave his waist a hug. The surprise of the action was not lost on either of them, mainly Caleb because she was certain he had never been hugged before.

Caleb's arms slowly came around her body and tenderly –

so

tenderly – he held her back, his chin resting on top of her head. "I've never hurt anyone before," he whispered gravelly into her hair. "I'm sorry that it had to be you when I did," Caleb finished, his hold tightening ever-so-slightly. "May I ask for your forgiveness, Peyton?" he asked, adopting the formal tone once again.