9. Ash #2
It’s a mild night: quiet, peaceful. I wonder again if Callum’s out there somewhere, watching from the shadows. He said someone would be watching me, but if there’s anyone out there, I don’t think it’s him tonight. Don’t ask me how I know that; it’s just a feeling.
I tip my head back and look up at the night sky. There’s too much light pollution to see much, but I can make out the odd star, and the moon is particularly bright tonight. I should go inside and go to bed, like I told Morgan I would, but the idea of it holds no appeal now.
I want to stay out in the fresh air a little longer. There’s something comforting about being out here at night, in the calm stillness when everyone else is asleep.
I wander around the side of my part of the house.
The double garage I now call home backs onto the garden, and behind that are trees. I sit on the bench under the window and draw my knees up, feet resting on the edge of the seat. I’m staring at nothing, but it’s oddly cathartic. I let my mind drift, my eyes dropping closed as the quiet soothes me.
I startle awake a while later. I’ve no idea how much time’s passed since I came out here, but there’s a change in the air. I can feel it. My gut instinct’s been working overtime recently. I’ve never felt things with such certainty before, but I know I’m not wrong.
I scan my surroundings. My eyes might have adjusted to the darkness, but I can’t make out much beyond the edge of the garden.
There’s someone out there.
I’d bet my life on it.
Someone who wasn’t there when I first sat down.
There’s no fear, though, because if my gut is to be believed, I know exactly who it is. I’m too chicken to say his name, so I sit as still as possible, senses straining for any sound or sign of movement.
Nothing.
But he’s out there. I fucking know it.
Tension swirls around me, pulling my already strained nerves tight, until finally I can’t stand it any longer. Ignoring the tiny part of me that still thinks I’m imagining things, I call out, “Callum?”
Nothing.
Not even the crack of a twig or the swish of leaves.
But I can feel him.
“I know you’re out there.” I strain my eyes, searching for anything that’ll prove I’ve not lost my mind and am out here talking to the fucking trees.
Nothing stirs except the gentle brush of the wind against my arms. Goosebumps cover my skin, the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. All signs that my body knows something’s up, even faced with evidence to the contrary.
I slump back against the bench, disappointed but not ready to give up and go inside.
Not yet.
“I never said thank you.” I keep my voice low, so I don’t wake my parents.
The last thing I need is them coming out here and worrying even more after the day they’ve had.
“For what you did at the hospital.” I draw in a shaky breath, remembering.
“I didn’t think it would hit me like that.
She was old, had been sick for a while. We all knew it was coming, but—” I blow out a breath.
“I don’t think it’s ever easy to lose someone.
” I close my eyes, forcing back the new wave of tears.
I’ve cried enough today. I don’t want to do it again.
“It’s not.”
I startle so badly I almost fall off the bench. Strong hands steady me and I snap my eyes open to find Callum Holt crouching in front of me. “I knew you were out there.”
“How?” It’s soft, barely more than a whisper, but I still detect disbelief and wonder.
I shrug, only a little though, because I don’t want to dislodge his hands. He’s still gripping my shoulders tight, and I like it.
“You didn’t see me. Or hear me.” He says it with such conviction, and he’s right.
I shake my head, then tap my chest. “Felt it.”
His breath hitches like I’ve taken him by complete surprise, and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not because he doesn’t say anything in return.
Guess I’m doing most of the talking tonight. “Thank you for holding me together when I was so fucking close to falling apart.”
His grip on me tightens, then he stands so abruptly I’m the one taken by surprise this time. I think he’s about to disappear back into the trees, but instead he runs a hand over short black hair and whispers, “Fuck,” so softly I wonder if I misheard.
His eyes seem to glow in the dark as he watches me, and there’s a wariness to him that wasn’t there when we were at the hospital.
“You should go to bed. It’s late.” The words come out gravel-rough, and I know it’s so not the time for this, but my body reacts anyway.
My cheeks flush, heat curls in my belly, and my hands clench into fists around the edge of the bench seat.
He sucks in a harsh breath. “Ash . . .”
“Come with me,” I blurt, not realising I was going to say that until the words left my mouth. I don’t regret them, though.
The air thickens between us like a living, breathing thing. My chest tightens, and it takes effort to get my lungs to work as I wait for his answer.
“You don’t want me in your bed.”
What kind of answer is that? Not one I fucking want to hear, that’s what.
And it’s not a no.
“Why not?” I stand, getting right up in his space. He doesn’t move an inch, and we’re so close I swear I can feel the heat coming off him.
“You don’t know anything about me.” He goes to take a step back, but I reach out and fist the front of his T-shirt, keeping him close.
I don’t know what’s come over me, but I can’t seem to stop it. “I know that you took me home when I hurt my wrist. That you made sure I got to the hospital on time to say goodbye to my nan, and that you fucking held me when I felt vulnerable and alone.”
“Ash.” His forehead touches mine, our faces so close his breath washes over my lips, and I’m overcome with the sudden urge to kiss him. “There are things you don’t know about me. Things that would—”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
I don’t, though, not here, not in this moment, because there’s one other truth that’s startlingly obvious. “Morgan trusts you.” I let go of the material scrunched in my hand and flatten my palm against his chest. His incredibly warm and solid chest. “So I do too.”
“Fuck.”
I swallow the urge to make a joke about his word choice.
I think it’d scare him off, and besides, that’s not what I’m offering or what I want from him tonight.
Maybe I need to be clear about what I do want.
“It’s been a shitty day, Callum.” I try his name out again.
Like the way it rolls off my tongue. Like the way his breath catches even more.
“I just want more of what you gave me earlier.”
He puts his hand under my chin and lifts it up until I’m forced to look at him. “You don’t want sex?”
Well, I didn’t, but him saying it sends a shiver down my spine. It’s fleeting, though.
And I mean it when I tell him, “No, I don’t want to fuck. I just . . .” I sigh, the vulnerability I felt earlier returning with a vengeance. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Morgan would have stayed.
I ignore that thought because, even though that’s true, his are not the arms I want wrapped around me tight enough to keep me safe. That’s how I felt this afternoon.
And I need that.
I need him.
“Please.”