Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
C allum
Unable to sit still for long, I’ve never been one for reading, but as a child, I had a massive book of Viking lore bound with red leather, the pages filled with glossy photos of gory battles. I was obsessed, especially with the lore of the clans. Once male Vikings achieved manhood, they let their beard and hair grow to symbolize their warrior duty to their family and tribe. Only those who stood over the bleeding bodies of their defeated enemies could then shave their faces and cut their hair.
I stare in the mirror, dragging the razor down the side of my face, clearing away the final stripe of lather cream and hair.
When she walked away, I felt as if my insides had been torn out. Like I was staring down at my own bleeding body. Now, one week later, I still feel the same .
The night sky fills the framed pane of my window. I stare up at the moon, full and white, glowing over the sea. I'm thinking of her under the same moon, out there on our wee island. She may be lonely if she’s feeling anything like I am, but she’s not alone.
Unbeknownst to her, I’ve got guards surrounding her, staying at the Baynes farmhouse. Bayne’s younger brother, Eamon, typically holds down the fort, but he’s off in LA, filming the part of a Scottish gangster for an upcoming film. I’ve gotten his permission to use the place as headquarters for Project Fiona in Flight.
I respect our breakup, of course I do. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have my crew keep a close eye on her and protect her as best I can, even if she doesn’t want the life we had together.
Doesn’t want me.
I’ve got my favorite album, The Crossing, playing over my speaker, but even Adamson’s voice can’t heal me now. I rinse the remaining soap from my skin, revealing my clean-shaven face. I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I hear her before I see her.
Freya’s voice calls out over the song. “Stop, stop, stop! Don’t ye do it!”
“Too late,” I say.
“Too late!” Freya pops up in my peripheral vision. Panting and gripping the edge of the door, she blurts out, “Cheffie told me what ye were planning on doing?—”
I turn to face her.
Her bright energy fills the doorway. Ready for bed, she’s wearing black silk pajamas—pants and a button-down top. A white beauty mask is smeared all over her face, and her green eyes and pink lips peek out. Her long hair is wound up in a bun, held together with a massive silk scrunchie, but a few hairs have stuck to her face, covered in the thick, white cream.
Her jaw drops as she studies my face with a loud gasp. Finally, she shouts, “Jesus! Callum! What have you done?”
“Don’t talk like that, Freya. Mum would have your mouth washed out with a bar of soap.”
She messes with the buttons on my wall. “Turn this music off. I can’t even think!”
“Don’t, Freya!” But I’m too late, and the speaker cuts off. The room goes quiet. Too quiet. Leaving me with my heavy thoughts.
Ones I don’t want to think.
At least Freya’s scolding will be a distraction.
“Let me see.” She grabs my face, turning me toward her. Tsk tsk sounds come from her too-full lips. She shakes her head, releasing my face. “Fiona is going to hate it.”
I tap the razor against the sink, rinsing it under the water. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Course it matters! And we’re going to sort this out. Right now. Before you do something even crazier than what you’ve already done—shaving off your beautiful beard.”
Without asking if she’s invited, she pops her slim ass up onto my bathroom counter, sitting and swinging her bare feet as she watches me clean up. “What do we say about family, Callum Burnes?”
I answer her, giving her what she wants to hear: “‘Never give up on family.’ But she’s not family.” I dry the razor and put it away in the drawer.
Her eyes smile at me teasingly like we’re discussing a childhood crush. “You want her to be.”
“Aye,” I admit. “I did.”
She eyes her black toenail polish. “She will be.”
“Not anymore.”
She rolls her eyes at my dramatics, acting as if there’s nothing wrong between Fiona and me other than a tiny lovers’ spat. She doesn’t understand—Fiona’s left.
She’s gone.
And she’s not coming back.
I grab a clean towel and pat my face dry against the soft cotton.
“She’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Not only that, I’m starting to think Fiona might be the best thing to ever happen to this house. Hell, it’s not just you who misses her. I want her back.” She gives me a hard stare. “Scratch that. I NEED her back.”
Watching my reflection, I finish the task, my skin now smooth and dry. “She doesn’t want to be here. She could have stayed.”
“Why would she stay if you told her to go? Only a stalker would have stayed. Or a woman with no self-respect. If you say leave, we go.” She pauses for a think. “Specially a wallflower like our Fiona. There is no way she would have pushed back on you. You made the first move; you’ll have to make the next one, too.”
Empty eyes stare back at me. I reach up, stroking my face, feeling the smooth skin. Other than looking younger, I don’t hate it.
“I sent flowers,” I say.
She stares down at her feet as she gently swings them, shaking her head. “It’s not enough, Callum.”
“I wrote a note.”
“Did you apologize in the note?” she asks.
“For what?”
“For telling her to leave, you ass!”
“Funny. She called me the same name before she left.” I think of her words and the tightness in my chest. “Do you know what else she said?”
She eyes me. “What?”
“It’s not me, Callum. It’s you.”
“Och!” Freya breaks into a fit of giggles. “That’s great. Good for you, Fiona?—”
Seeing my face cuts off her laughter. She goes back to examining her toes. My final, harsh, ugly words plague me, the memory filling me with guilt and disgust. “That’s not all I said to her, dear sister.”
“Callum…” she says. “What did you say to that poor girl?”
“I said…” My throat closes up. I clear it, running a hand over my beard, but it’s not there. I stroke my way down th e now smooth skin. “I told her she was free to leave, yeah?”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t think she’d do it.”
“But she did. Imagine that. You tell a woman to leave your house, and she does. God, you are an ass.” She gives me a massive eye roll.
“I deserve that.”
“I know.”
“Then I said, if you walk out that door, don’t come back.”
“Och! Are ye kidding me? And ye wonder why she’s not come back?”
My hand is empty. I want my beard back. “I fucked up.”
“Royally. But you can get her back. I know you can.”
It crosses my mind that Freya may have contacted Fiona behind my back, tried to play matchmaker, and gotten into my business. How else could she be so sure that Fiona would be willing to forgive me?
“Did you call her?” I ask.
“No. Of course not.” She shakes her head. “I was tempted to, but I knew you wouldn’t want that. You know me. I’m loyal. And you’re loyal, too. But you know…”
Her voice trails off.
“What?” I ask.
Sheepishly, she eyes me. “I feel loyal to Fiona, as well. You know? She’s become my little Fi-bee. I love that girl. And…I have something to confess to you, Callum.”
“What? You did call her?” I ask.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Nothing recent. It was something I did a few days after she arrived.”
I rack my mind, thinking of how my sister could have meddled. “What?”
“I tore up that silly forged marriage contract.”
“You did?”
“Yes. She was so sweet, so…nice. And ack—that red hair, those freckles, just adorable. I couldn’t go through with it.” She giggles. “God, that was a dumb idea. A faked marriage? Let’s take that little secret to our graves, shall we?”
The contract. When I was foolish and bullheaded enough to believe I could take what I wanted.
“Burn it.”
“Callum.” Her eyes lock on mine. “The only way she’s really yours is if she wants to be.”
It’s a hard truth I realized the moment Fiona walked out that door.
“‘Tis why I didn’t chase her down when she left. Why I told her she was free to go.” My voice breaks. “I wanted her to choose me.”
She grabs my arm. “Would you give up on me? Let me walk out of here?”
There’s no question in my mind. “Never. ”
“Then don’t give up on her,” Freya pleads. “You never should have told her to leave, but the moment you did, you never should have let her walk out that door.”
I toss the towel in the laundry basket in the corner of the room. “Aye, but I did, and here we are.” Crossing my arms over my bare chest, I turn to face her.
She gives an exasperated sigh. “This could have all been avoided if you’d just apologized.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so, Freya. You should have seen how angry she was.”
“A real, heartfelt apology, and she’d have melted.” Freya attempts to raise a brow at me, but it’s plastered to her face in the now cemented mask. “Is she the one scared of you, or are you scared of her?”
“I’m not scared of anything.” Thinking of the anger in Fiona’s face as she went to leave, I admit, “I may have been a wee bit scared of her, in that moment. I saw what they all talk about: gingers having tempers and such. If looks could kill?—”
“Well, you’ve no need to be scared of the wee lass. She weighs no more than eight stone soaking wet and Rose dragged her down to Church of Scotland every Sunday. She’s a forgiving girl.” Pressing her palms against the counter, she pops back down. “I’ll leave you to it but give her the one thing she really wants. Then, for the love of all that is holy in this world, bring her back here. I really miss her.”
Freya turns to leave.
I grab her arm to stop her. “What does she need? Tell me. I’ll give it to her. ”
“Think, Callum,” she says. “She not only needs to hear you apologize, she needs you to be sorry. Knowing what you did, no matter your intentions, was terrible. And wrong. And selfish. And?—
I drop her arm. “Alright! You can go.”
She turns again to leave.
“Wait.” I grab her arm to stop her. Again. “Freya, what if she doesn’t want me? How are you so sure she will forgive me?”
“Och, you big lug! Does the girl not melt when you walk into a room? Does she not glow when you take her hand? Does she not laugh at all your tedious jokes?—”
“Enough. I get it.”
She leaves me, walking away.
I murmur to myself. “I’ll figure out what I need to do.”
“Which is?” Her curious face snaps over her shoulder.
I shake my head. “Can’t say. But she ought to be the first to know when I figure something out.”
Freya’s eyes go sparkly, her imagination kicking into high gear as she imagines all the romantic gestures I could be capable of. “Need some help? I know what our wee Fiona likes—other than all things pink. Kitties?”
“We’ll NOT be getting a cat.”
Ignoring me, she keeps going. “Kitties and flowers and baking in our kitchen and dancing to old songs, like “Rock the Boat,” and reading old romance books—the clean ones where they just kiss at the end and everything fades to black. ”
“Not like your trashy romance novels,” I tease. “I’ve seen the covers.”
She heaves a sigh of exasperation. “It’s NOT trash, Callum. I don’t know how many times we have to go over this. The authors of the books I like merely tell the entire story.”
“All twenty-five centimeters of it,” I laugh.
If looks could kill… She plants her hands on her hips. “Back to Fiona. More importantly, I know what she dislikes?—”
“I can handle my own business.” I shoo her off. “Now go. Wash your face, Freya. You look like a panda.”
“Bah.” A pink tongue darts out from her white mask.
I snap a towel at her to get her going. She leaves with a squeal.
Turning off the bathroom light, I collapse onto my bed, hands folded under my head. Since that horrid day, I’ve refused to let the staff wash my sheets. Her scent is still here, faint, but all Fiona.
I stare up at the ceiling, thinking of what Freya said.
There will be no cat.
Determination sets in my chest, hard and fast. “I’ve got to get her back.”
But how?
My hands go damp as I pick up my phone. Will she even answer? It’s late, but I find myself calling her anyway.
My heart races as the phone rings, echoey and distant. Once, twice, three times. I don’t think she’s going to answer .
She answers on the fourth ring. Her voice sounds sleepy and disoriented. “Hello? Callum? Is this you?”
The sound of her voice instantly brings the prick of tears to my eyes. I choke out the word, “Aye.”
God, I’ve missed her. I don’t speak for fear my voice won’t hold. A heavy silence hangs between us. I feel an ocean away from her, not a short flight or ferry ride.
Finally, she asks, “Are you well?”
“No. I’m not,” I say. “Come home.”
“Callum,” she says softly. “I am home.”
“No,” I say. “Yer not.” She’s not going to make this easy on me, is she? I run a hand over my beard. Dammit, no beard, just my smooth skin. “Come back. Bring your da.”
She’s silent on the other side. The far side. So far away from where she belongs…
Here in my arms.
Running my hand up my face, I press the heel of a palm against an eye. The fingers of my other hand clench the phone as I clear the strain from my throat. “There’s plenty of room here…”
“I know,” she offers lightly.
“I can come to collect you both. Anytime,” I add.
“Callum,” she says softly. “You told me to leave.”
“I didn’t mean it,” I say. “You know I didn’t mean it.”
She whispers, “You sounded like you did… ”
How else can I show her how much I regret what I said? I think of something that would be a sacrifice for me but make her happy. “Come back and bring your da here…to stay. I owe him an apology as well.”
“I know,” she says.
Remembering Freya’s words, I search my mind and my heart, trying to find the truth Fiona wants from me. Finally, I stumble upon it, and the words fall from my mouth.
“Fiona, what I did was so, so wrong. I should ‘ave tried to win your heart by helping him. Not shovel him into debt to buy your hand.”
There’s a long moment of silence as she absorbs my words.
Finally, her soft, sweet voice returns. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
She goes quiet again. I can almost hear the faint sound of her breath. Waiting. What does she want from me? To know if her father will be comfortable?
I offer, “I can have Freya redecorate a room for him?”
She’s still there but quiet, waiting.
“Or you could?” I say. “You probably know what he likes better than we do.”
“I’m sure he’d appreciate any room you offer him.” She’s got a funny tone in her voice as she says, “Callum. Is there anything else you wanted to say to me? Anything in particular that you called for?”
I try to think. What is she waiting for me to say? I’ll say it. Anything to get her back. I think of what she might want. I’d give her anything on this earth if it made her come home to me.
“What do ye want me to say? Lass, you could demand I fetch you a flippin’ unicorn right now; by God, I’d run out the door in my sweats, searching the world for one. I’d die before I stopped tryin’ to hunt one down.”
“Callum.” She almost sounds as if she’s holding in a laugh. “You did say you owed my father an apology… as well.”
“Och, by God!” My palm hits my forehead. “Did I not apologize to ye yet!”
Laughing, she says, “No, not that I remember…”
We share a laugh; then, finally, I say the things she wants to hear. “I’m sorry, Fiona, from the bottom of my heart. I’m so sorry. I was wrong.
“I am a monster,” I continue. “But I’m you’re monster. Aren’t I?”
A tight band constricts around my chest, making breathing impossible. I await her response.
Finally, a bright smile breaks through the phone in her laugh. “Aye. Ye are.”
“And you’re the only one who knows how to tame this monster,” I say.
“Aye, seems about right.” She laughs again.
The sound makes a nice, welling feeling fill my chest.
“Fiona. Do ye forgive me?”
“Course I do,” she says. Her laughter dies down. “But that doesn’t mean I’m coming back.”