35. Callan
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CALLAN
T he almost two-week break from games in September allowed a recharge. Although we still had training, it took a bit of the pressure off. It came at a nice time, too, because the Fringe was over, schools were back in session, and the busy city, while still busy, was easier to navigate. After last Friday, when I discovered I had some kind of super tolerance to spice, Beth had been hard to pin down.
It shouldn’t bother me that she was busy all the time with work because she was on her period, which took sex off the table, anyway. We weren’t supposed to be more than two mates having sex. Right?
Therefore, when she showed up at my door the following Wednesday, I didn’t acknowledge how much I’d missed her. I kissed her like I hadn’t kissed her in years, and guided her into my bedroom. She’d been there every night since and now it was Saturday. Training had been hard-core today, but I also had a full-body massage from our PT, so I was feeling good.
Beth had ordered sushi from this place we both liked not far from our building, and we were flicking through the streaming services, looking for something to watch. The food arrived and we were getting into a true crime documentary when Beth’s phone rang.
She frowned at the screen. “It’s Cara. I told her not to call tonight. It must be important.”
“Answer it.” I hated how overworked Beth was. It felt like she couldn’t switch off, and I knew from going through it with my career that you needed time away from the job.
Beth put her plate down on my coffee table and picked up the call. “Cara?”
Her face paled at whatever Cara said. “Oh my God. Okay, okay, I’ll have a look now.” She switched it on speaker as she swiped on her phone screen. “Prepare yourself for the comments, Beth. Right now, people are totally taking her side.”
I frowned as Beth bent her head over her phone, peering at the screen. “What’s going on?”
She didn’t answer as she read something.
“Callan, is that you?” Cara asked.
“Aye, I’m here.”
“One of our ex-clients just blasted us on social media. She has a big following, so we’re taking a bit of a hit. We dropped her because she didn’t pay her invoices for the last three months, but in her post, she’s telling a bunch of nasty lies about Beth being abusive and pushy.”
Fuck. I dumped my plate, sliding along the couch to put an arm around Beth. She was shaking. “It’s okay.”
In answer, she shoved the phone in my face. I skimmed the social media post from the author, anger boiling beneath my skin at the lies she’d told about Beth and her company.
And at the nasty comments being directed at Beth.
“We need to post a statement,” Cara announced. “Something professional but honest. I don’t want to go down the road of she-said, she-said … but I do have screenshots of her response to us dropping her, and it’s nasty … Beth?”
My head snapped toward Beth and panic lit through me as I watched her clutch her chest, struggling to suck in air.
“Eh, Cara, we’ll call you back.” I hung up, dropping the phone. “Beth?”
She shook her head frantically, eyes wide with terror.
“Beth?” I tried to reach for her, but suddenly she threw herself off my couch and stumbled as she ran for my bathroom. “Beth!”
I hurried after her and got there as she slammed the bathroom door in my face. The lock turned. My heart hammered in my chest as I knocked. “Beth. What’s happening? You’re scaring me.” I had an inkling of what might be going on, but I couldn’t be sure, and the sight of Beth struggling to breathe left me shaken. “Beth, please.”
“I’m okay,” she croaked out. “Please … leave me.”
I leaned my forehead against the door, squeezing my eyes closed. “I can’t.”
BETH
Callan’s soft plea, endearment, and the worry in his voice caused the tears to spill over as I sat on his bathroom floor, my back to the tub. The cold tiles were uncomfortable but welcome because they centered me and brought me back into the room, along with Callan’s voice.
I forced myself to go through my lists of what I could see, hear, and smell.
It helped somewhat, but my chest still felt tight and I was light-headed.
“Beth?”
“I’m okay,” I repeated tearfully.
But I wasn’t.
I’d worked so hard to make something of Social Queens, just for someone with a bigger following to come along with their lies to tear us down, to take away everything I’d built, out of sheer pettiness. She was the one who hadn’t paid us for three months! And yet in my panic and anxiety, I couldn’t help but wonder if it had been my fault. Perhaps I should have been more careful, knowing this could be a consequence of pissing off someone on social media. I should have known better. I should have anticipated.
I’d failed.
Failed.
FAILED.
My breath caught as Amanda’s face flashed in my mind. A sob escaped my lips as I squeezed my eyes closed. No, no, no .
“Beth, please.” Callan’s voice was hoarse on the other side of the door. “I can hear you crying. Please, please talk to me.”
I covered my mouth to hold in the noise of my sobs.
“I … I know we’re not … that ,” he said. “But I am your friend. Talk to me.”
I hadn’t wanted him to see this part of me. Yet it was out there now. And I couldn’t deny that right now more than ever, I wanted Callan’s arms around me.
Shoving onto my feet, my legs shaking, the room swaying a bit, I slowly crossed to the door. I unlocked and opened it.
Callan stood on the other side, his brows furrowed in concern. His gorgeous green eyes searched my face, dark with worry and tenderness. “Beth?”
I sobbed and threw my arms around his neck.
He wrapped his arms around me, his embrace tight. The scent of his aftershave, the familiar feel of his body, was comforting on a level that surprised me. He felt strong and stable and safe as I pressed my cheek to his chest and cried.
“Will you tell me what I can do?” he asked, voice rasping with emotion as he ran a soothing hand up and down my back. “That was a panic attack, wasn’t it?”
I nodded, trying to get my tears under control.
“How long has this been going on?”
It took me a while to answer. But eventually, I lifted my head. I attempted to step out of his embrace, but Callan’s hand dropped to my waist, keeping me against him. And suddenly, I wanted to tell someone. Tell him. Everything I’d been holding together for years because I didn’t want anyone to know I couldn’t handle shit. Including my own bloody family who would cut off their own arms to help me.
All because I was terrified of failure. In any sense of the word.
Callan clasped my face in his palms, his thumb brushing along my cheekbones. “This will blow over. You know that, right?”
The thought of losing my company made my chest constrict all over again. I sucked in a shallow breath and Callan’s grip on my waist tightened.
“Talk to me.”
I nodded, took his hand from my waist, and threaded my fingers through his. Leading him into the living room, I grabbed my purse from the sideboard and drew him to his ugly-ass but comfortable couch. My legs shook the entire time. We sat, his thigh brushing mine he remained so close.
Fingers trembling, I dug into my purse and pulled out the packet of medication. I handed it to him.
Callan frowned as he studied it. “John takes these for his anxiety.”
Surprise shot through me. “He does?”
“Aye.” He handed them back to me. “He started taking them after his mum died of cancer.”
An ache flared in my chest. Poor John. “When did he lose his mum?”
“Three years ago. How long have you been taking them, Beth?”
I licked my lips nervously, popping them back into my purse. “On and off since I was eighteen.” My mouth quivered as fresh tears blurred my vision. “No one knows. Not even my parents.”
Callan rubbed a hand over my thigh. “Why?”
“Because apparently I can’t handle life.”
“No, not why are you taking them—and that’s bullshit, by the way—I mean why haven’t you told anyone?”
“You don’t think I’m a failure?” I swiped at the tears as they fell.
“Of course not. Do you think I think John is?”
I shook my head, sniffling.
“Sometimes, we need a wee bit of help. There’s no shame in that.” He reached to wipe his thumb over a tear. “It worries me that you think you need to hide it.”
“I’m afraid. I’m afraid that if I admit out loud why I feel the way I feel that somehow, it’ll get worse.” I sobbed, covering my face with my hands.
Callan pulled me into his arms, soothing me, pressing sweet kisses to my hair, murmuring that he had me, that he was here. All this time, I thought if he saw this side of me, he’d run a mile.
Instead, he held on tighter. So tight.
Eventually, I calmed enough to sit up. Callan pressed another kiss to my temple and stood. He moved away, and I watched as he poured a glass of water and grabbed some tissues out of a drawer. I accepted them and smiled gratefully, chugging back the water before dabbing at my face. No doubt, I looked a right mess.
“You don’t have to tell me anything, but I’m here if you want to.” He squeezed my knee. “Bottling things up … it doesn’t help.”
“Apparently not.” I gave him a dry, sad smile. “I was doing okay, you know. Then the business took off, and all my fears about failing restarted the anxiety and intrusive thoughts. So I went to the doctor and I got the prescription … and it was helping. But then you and I …” I gestured between us. “And I think … it was Amanda,” I admitted, fear almost holding me back. At Callan’s quizzical expression, I pushed through. “Do you remember Amanda?”
Callan nodded. “She was your best friend at school.”
“She liked you.”
“I remember.”
“I always felt guilty about it. It was the other reason I stopped talking to you.”
Understanding dawned, and Callan gave my knee another reassuring squeeze.
“The summer after graduation, before uni was to start for all of us, everything changed.” I sucked in a shaky breath and exhaled. “Amanda was going off to St. Andrews, and I was staying in Edinburgh. Our friends were scattering. We organized a big knees-up in the city. Everyone got wasted so fast, and I was over it quickly.” I ran a trembling hand through my hair. “Amanda was always a bit reckless. Anytime on a night out, I felt like her babysitter. Making sure she wasn’t getting too drunk or hooking up with dodgy guys. She got smashed that night, way drunker than me, but I was still drunk and not thinking clearly. I left. I would normally stay, but I went home. My phone died and I didn’t know.” Grief welled in my chest like a massive, painful gust of air and I blew it out, my body shuddering with it.
Callan grabbed my hand, anchoring me.
I looked into his sad eyes, and I knew he had an inkling of what was coming.
“Someone spiked her drink.” Warm tears rolled down my cheeks again. “They overdosed her on GHB. Her respiratory system failed.”
Callan leaned his forehead against mine. “Beth, I’m so sorry.”
“She was my best friend,” I whispered. “Since we were five. We did everything together. And I was angry at her because she was leaving me for St. Andrews. It was irrational and stupid, and I knew that’s why I left her that night. She tried to call me. I found a voicemail on my phone after. She was still in the club. I could barely hear her … but she said she didn’t feel right. That she couldn’t breathe. That she was scared. She must have collapsed not long after she got off the phone. But my friends told me by the time the ambulance got there, it was too late. If only I’d been there or picked up the damn phone. Maybe I’d have stopped it from happening.” I sobbed as the guilt overwhelmed me.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Callan drew me against him again. “Beth, it wasn’t your fault. The blame lies with the bastard who spiked her drink.”
And we’d never know who that was.
They’d killed my friend, and the police never found them.
Callan let me cry for a while. Got me another drink of water. Just sat with me. Our food was cold. My phone kept beeping, so he silenced it because he probably saw the panic flare in my eyes every time it did.
“No matter how much I try to rationalize it,” I suddenly said, “I feel like I failed her. And that feeling kind of infiltrated every part of my life. I had to begin uni grieving Amanda. Anytime I struggled with a class or an essay, I’d get so anxious. So I went to my doctor, and they prescribed anti-anxiety meds and mindfulness. They also suggested I talk to someone, but I was afraid to. And the other stuff seemed to help, so I got on with it. And I thought I had it handled. But then I launched Social Queens, and I could feel all those fears of failure beginning to creep in, to magnify … I started catastrophizing.”
“So you began taking the anti-anxiety meds again?”
I nodded. “And they were helping.”
“Until me?” He frowned, shifting uncomfortably.
“I think … I think being with you brought stuff back up about Amanda. I started thinking about her more, started having dreams … last week, I didn’t leave your place because of my period. I had a nightmare about Amanda. And I woke up in a full-blown panic attack.”
Callan sighed heavily. “I wish you’d woken me up.”
That wasn’t what we were, though. Right?
“You feel guilty for being with me … even after all this time?”
“I don’t know. I know that doesn’t make sense … I just miss her. I haven’t let myself be close to anyone like that again. I go on and on about finding the fucking one, and I can’t even let myself have a best friend. I put up this wall …”
“And your parents don’t even know about this?” He seemed shocked.
I shook my head.
“Beth … you need to tell them. You need to let the people who love you know what’s going on with you. You can’t carry all of this. Or you’ll never come to terms or make peace with it.” He cupped my face in both hands now. “You are not to blame for what happened to Amanda. You didn’t fail her. Ever. And you need people in your life reminding you of that every single day. Especially because … life is going to throw curveballs at you all the time. One day you’ll be up, the next down, and it’s a never-ending roller coaster of peaks and troughs. That’s life. It’s not because you’re a failure.”
Gratitude eased the constriction in my throat and chest as we stared into each other’s eyes. At that moment, I felt closer to Callan than anyone I’d ever known.
“Believe it or not, part of me gets it. I understand grief. I understand the surprising ways it affects you.”
I wrapped a comforting hand around his wrist. “I know.”
“And I understand what feeling like a failure can do to you, too, because …” He shook his head with an unhappy laugh. “When I’m doing great at my sport, the fans, the media, they fucking love me. But one misstep, one tiny misstep, and they yell atrocious abuse at me while I’m on that pitch.”
Hating that for him, I pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry.”
“It can fuck with your head,” he whispered, “that’s all I’m saying. So I get it. And you’re not alone.”
I kissed him again, a little longer, deeper. Then I broke it, but only to burrow deeper into his arms, my head resting on his shoulder.
“Thank you,” I whispered eventually.
Callan turned to press a kiss to my forehead, and we sat there a little longer, not saying anything, just holding each other.
And he was right.
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel so alone.