Cal accepted Oliverâs embrace with a smile that was almost a smirk, but not quite. Smirks came naturally to Cal, but they softened into something else around Oliver. Maybe it was because Oliver was the only person Cal didnât feel he had to be one step ahead of at all times. Or maybe it was because Oliver was the only person Cal trusted. In the end, it amounted to the same thing.
Around Oliver, Cal relaxed.
Surprisingly, it took Cal quite a while to figure out what that feeling was, and why it felt so good. The Price way of life was far from amenable to relaxation, even within the family itself. For as long as Cal could remember, his father swore up and down that the only person a Price could trust was another Price. Cal learned early that his fatherâs belief was ill-placed, if not outright false. From the time he was ten, Calâs mother used him as her own personal spy against his father, and of all his siblings Cal trusted only one, and still he knew better than to expect anything noble from her. No, Prices could not be trusted, especially by other Prices. Cal was certain his father would learn that the hard way, some day.
From Cal himself, in all likelihood. That was how these things went, wasn't it? The right-hand man, the most trusted son â Cal was in the perfect position to do what Prices did best and take what was his. Theoretically, anyway. The idea was mildly distasteful to Cal, but even he couldn't deny that lately his father wasn't doing himself any favors. His control was slipping, rapidly, and there was nothing the Price family despised as a whole quite like obvious weakness.
That was Calâs life, had always been Calâs life. Threats everywhere, inside and out. Eyes open all the time, because if you blinked, youâd end up with a knife in your back. Planning for a future that was as inevitable as it was unthinkable. Cal was uniquely suited for the life of a Price long before Crowley came along â the demon simply gave him an unfair advantage, which he had no compunction about using so long as no one found out. Just because he was good at it, though, didnât mean it wasnât stressful.
Until he met Oliver, Cal had no idea that heâd spent thirty years with a knot in his stomach twisted so tight that it became part of the line. Now, it was loosening somewhat, thanks to a lanky, floppy-haired, angelic English teacher who had more books than sense. And since they had forever, it would continue loosening until it was finally gone. Until there was no reason for the knot to have existed in the first place. That idea was liberating. A miracle indeed.
âMm-hm,â Cal intoned, deceptively noncommittal. âObviously. Much tougher.â He allowed Oliver to steer him towards the living room and snaked his own arm around the angelâs lower back, giving his hip a playful squeeze. Cal let his hand linger there, not because he had intentions of any sort (though, honestly, he usually did and had a tendency to act on them at the drop of a hat), but because it felt natural. Like anywhere he put his hand on Oliver, that was where it belonged.
âStill, you have to admit,â Cal added, pausing at the entrance to the living room and taking another casual sip of his wine. âMight be nice to take a load off next to the books instead of on top of them.â His eyes lingered heavily on Oliverâs sofa, which had become something closer to an upholstered, puffy shelf over the past few weeks, before turning back to Oliver. To his credit, his gaze was only slightly wicked. This time. âToo bad, really. That sofa used to be perfect for back rubs.â