Chapter 3
Chapter Three
CALLIE
After leaving The Bar with a promise to start tomorrow night, I cut through town, steering clear of the places I used to frequent with the Williams brothers.
My chest tightens as I turn onto the familiar winding road that leads home.
The gravel crunches beneath my tires, and the tension between my shoulders eases for the first time since I left New York City.
This is why I came home.
I pull in behind Dad’s old truck, a blue Chevy that’s seen better days but still runs like a dream because he treats it like a baby.
The sight of its weathered body makes me smile.
I stare at the house I grew up in, finally breathing easy.
The familiar white siding and green shutters promise a safe haven.
The big wrap-around porch gives it that old country-style home feel that warms me from head to toe.
The house may be weathered, but the swing I spent countless hours on sketching or talking shit with the boys is pristine. Dad always has his priorities straight.
I catch a glimpse of Mom’s graying brunette hair. She’s on her knees, gloves covered in dirt as she yanks weeds from her vegetable patch.
“Need a hand?” I ask, stepping out of my SUV.
Her head whips around so fast I worry she’ll hurt her neck. “Henry! Come here!”
Dad appears from around the corner of the house, wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. His face is flushed, and he’s breathing a little heavy. The yard work must be getting to him. When did his wrinkles get so wrinkly?
“Callie?” His voice cracks, and I’m suddenly bombarded with a flurry of movement as they both come toward me.
Mom gets to me first, wrapping me in a hug that smells like earth and the lavender hand lotion she’s used since I was little. “What on earth? Why didn’t you call? Are you okay? Is everything all right?”
I’m crushed between them when Dad joins the hug, his strong arms enveloping both of us. His embrace feels thinner somehow, but it’s as secure as ever.
After a moment, they release me, but Mom keeps her hands on my shoulders, examining me as if she’s checking for injuries. “You’ve lost weight. Have you been eating? What happened to that fancy apartment you showed us last time we visited?”
“And what about Theo?” Dad adds, frowning. Theo was so rude when they came to visit. I shouldn’t have ignored that red flag.
My stomach twists. “That’s a long story.”
“Well, come on inside for some tea.” Mom loops her arm through mine and guides me toward the house.
Dad grabs my bag from the SUV without being asked, simply because that’s what a good man does. Theo would have left me to fend for myself.
“What do you want to do with all the paintings?”
“Is it okay to store them in the basement?”
He almost looks offended that I asked. “Of course it is. I’ll bring them in later.”
“Come on,” Mom says again. I trail after her, entering the house with a relieved sigh. The kitchen’s been redone. The cabinets that were once white are now a soft gray. It’s different, but the air still feels exactly the same. Warm and welcoming.
Here, I’m safe.
“I’ll get the drinks,” I say, heading for the cabinet where the glasses used to reside, half expecting to find them moved, but they’re right where I remember them. “Dad, you look a little flushed. Do you want some iced tea?”
He nods, settling heavily into a chair at the kitchen table. “Hot as shit out there.”
I chuckle. “Well, it’s almost July.” Compared to the southwest, the heat in the southeast isn’t actually all that bad, it’s the humidity that gets you.
“Don’t remind me,” he grumbles.
I fill three glasses, adding extra ice to Dad’s before setting them on the table. Condensation immediately forms and the little droplets slide down the side of the glass. As I turn to grab napkins, something on the fridge catches my attention.
One of my old drawings.
The stark black and white contrast stands out against the old white refrigerator.
It’s a detailed sketch of an eye. I remember the day I drew it, sitting on the bleachers at school, watching Knox during football practice.
I’d always been fascinated by how much emotion those light blue eyes could convey.
One look from him could either shoot you to the moon or gut you. There was always something about Knox that drew me in, and in high school, I fell hard for those baby blues. Not that I ever told him.
My throat tightens. I did so much art in high school. Why would they keep this one?
“Callie?” Mom’s voice brings me back.
I clear my throat, pushing the memory away. “Sorry, just”—I gesture vaguely at the drawing—“I didn’t expect to see that still hanging around.”
“Your father refuses to take it down.” She gives him a pointed look. “Says it’s the best thing you ever drew.”
“It is,” Dad insists stubbornly. “I know it was practice, but you captured something real there.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from revealing the truth about the drawing.
How I’d spent hours perfecting the exact shape of Knox’s eye, trying to capture the intensity I felt every time he looked at me.
Now I realize that it was probably a silly crush that made it seem as if he was trying to peel back the layers of my skin to see inside me. But we were friends. Nothing more.
Bitterness coats my tongue. “So,” I say, changing the subject as I sit down. I can’t think about how he ruined everything right now. Shoving all thoughts of Knox aside, I look at my parents. “I got a job today.”
Mom perks up. “Already? Where?”
“At The Bar. Maura hired me.” I shrug. “I’m a good bartender.” A little part of me wonders if that’s all I’ll ever be after what happened with Theo.
Dad chuckles. “She always did have a soft spot for you, even when you and the boys were raising hell.”
The mention of the brothers makes my stomach flutter. It’s like I can’t escape them. “She said someone quit. It’s good money, especially during tourist season.”
“It’s a great job,” Mom assures me. She always understands what’s bothering me before I even do.
Right now it’s that I’ll spend the rest of my life playing bar keep without leaving an impact on the world.
That they’ll be ashamed I haven’t done better for myself.
She takes a sip of her tea, searching my face. “How long are you staying?”
I stare into my glass, watching the ice cubes bob. That question I’m not sure how to answer. All I know is I’m not leaving any time soon. “A while. I was hoping maybe I could stay here? Just until I figure things out.”
“Of course you can,” Dad says immediately, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “This is your home, Cal. Always has been.”
The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. I’ve been away so long, running from everything that happened, and they still welcome me back without question. I knew they would though. My parents are the best.
“Thank you,” I manage, blinking back tears.
Mom smiles, but I can see the questions in her eyes. She won’t push, not yet, but soon she’ll want to know what went down in New York.
I take a long sip of tea, letting the sweet coldness wash down my throat. I’ll tell them everything, but not today. Today, I want to sit with them and pretend the last ten years never happened.
But the drawing on the fridge catches my eye again, and I know that no matter how hard I try, I can’t outrun the past. Not when pieces of it are staring back at me from my parents’ refrigerator.
The early morning sunlight streams through my curtains, painting the walls of my childhood bedroom with golden warmth.
I can’t remember the last time I slept this deeply.
For once, I didn’t jolt awake in the middle of the night, heart racing, wondering if I’d forgotten to put something away that would set Theo off.
I stretch and stare at the ceiling, trying to pinpoint why I feel so different this morning. The answer is obvious. I’m not walking on eggshells anymore. For years, I’ve been hyper-aware of Theo’s every mood shift, anticipating his reactions, making myself small to keep the peace.
“Jesus,” I whisper to the empty room. “How did I let it go on so long?”
In the beginning, we’d laugh until our sides hurt. He’d kiss my paint-stained fingers and call me his muse. I was so stupid. Naive. The truth is, Theo saw me, a small-town girl with no family or friends nearby, and he took advantage.
After dinner with Mom and Dad last night, we watched a movie together. The simple normalcy of it nearly made me cry. Everything about being home has me so emotional. Or maybe that’s years of repressed emotions finally spilling out. With Theo, I wasn’t allowed to feel anything but what he expected.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and glance out the window at the mountains. When was the last time I ran outside? In NYC, I only ever felt safe running in a gym. The open air and total lack of pedestrians beckons. The familiar urge to outrun the world slams into me.
Ten minutes later, I’m lacing up the running shoes I found buried in my closet, earbuds dangling around my neck. Mom’s already up, puttering around the kitchen.
“Morning, sweetheart.” Her hazel eyes scan my outfit. “Going for a run?”
“Yup.”
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know yet,” I admit with a shrug.
Her eyebrows pinch together. “The mountain air will be good for you. Your dad and I are heading into town later for the market. Do you want us to wait?”
“Nah, I want to relax before my first shift at The Bar.”
Honestly, I need space to sort the jumble of emotions I’ve been carrying since I hit the Big Ridge town limits. The only thing about coming home is that I have no choice but to face my past. I’m not sure which part scares me more, everything with Theo or everything I left behind.
Don’t think about it.