Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
CALLUM
“ W hat the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My fists clench, and I breathe deep, trying to stifle the fire raging inside of me. “Don’t start with me, Sarah. I know you had something to do with this shit.”
She tosses her long brown hair over one shoulder, a bored expression on her face.
“So what if I did? Why should you care?”
I can feel the muscle twitching above my right eye. I would never hit a woman, but god dammit she is making me want to hit something right now.
“I told you to leave her alone. Sutton is off limits. Why the hell do you have to keep going out of your way to torment her?” My voice is raised, but she doesn’t back down. A flicker of ire flashes in her eyes before she rolls them, assuming a bored expression.
“Why shouldn’t I? That fatass being center-stage is absolutely ridiculous. I don’t understand what Mr. Thompson was thinking by casting her as the lead.”
I stare incredulously at her. How can someone so beautiful on the outside be such a fucking viper?
“Oh my god. You’re jealous!”
Her jaw drops, a look of outrage finally breaking through the ice-bitch mask she likes to wear.
“You’re jealous of her getting the lead over you, and you can’t take it, so you had to go and try to knock her down.” I shake my head, disgusted with the whole thing. “You know what, no pussy is worth this shit. We’re done.”
I turn to walk away, my back stiffening as she shouts behind me.
“Whatever, asshole! You’ll be back. You always come running back when you get bored of the other girls. Maybe this time, I won’t take you back though. Ever think of that?” Her words end in a screech as I continue walking away without another word.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
I stand behind her, my voice quiet as I see my beautiful friend, shrunken in on herself as she writes furiously in that damn notebook of hers. She tenses, hand paused mid-sentence in whatever she had been writing. But she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t acknowledge my presence.
It’s been two weeks since that last performance, since I found her sprawled out on the hall floor with her books scattered everywhere thanks to that asshole, Frankie, running into her.
Two weeks since I brought her home, where she sat basically catatonic the whole drive in my truck; two weeks since I broke up with Sarah after the stunt she pulled .
And in that time, I have not seen or spoken to Sutton. Normally, I would catch glimpses of her through the window when she was getting ready in the mornings, or see her walking through the halls at school, catch her in the evenings out here in the meadow writing in that damn book.
But it’s like she has been actively avoiding me, taking different routes to class so that she doesn’t run into my path at school, changing her schedule so I don’t see her in the mornings or find her here in the evenings.
She hasn’t responded to any of my calls or texts, hasn’t even opened her damn curtains so I could write to her from my window like I had that one time.
I shift to the side, carefully studying her profile. Her eyes have dark circles underneath, cheeks pale and sunken. She doesn’t look like she has been sleeping well. She looks like she’s been sick. She never gets sick. My stomach clenches at the sight of her wan features.
“I broke up with her.”
I blurt the words, unable to stop myself.
She doesn’t say anything to me though, doesn’t even acknowledge that she heard me.
“Sarah, I mean. I broke up with her.”
A sharp breath is the only sign that she registered my words. She still doesn’t look at me, instead, just turns back to her damn notebook and begins writing once more.
“Shorty.”
Nothing.
“Sutton.”
Still nothing.
I move around, crouching down in front of her, and gently close the book before tilting her chin up, forcing her to look at me.
My heart skips as I see a sheen of tears in her eyes, before she darts her gaze away, looking anywhere but at me.
“Look at me, Sutton. ”
She doesn’t.
My grip on her chin is firm, but gentle, and I gently swipe my thumb along the side of her jaw.
“I’m sorry."
A tear falls down her face, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t make a sound. Another tear, and she closes her eyes, a shuddering breath escaping her luscious lips.
“I’m so sorry,” I repeat, my words soft, and I pull her into my arms, hugging her.
I’m not sure how long we sit like that, me hugging her close while she quietly cries in my arms. She shivers, and I pull back with a start, noting that the sun has set and her features have softened in the fading light.
Her cheeks blotchy and eyes red-rimmed from crying, but damn if she isn’t the most beautiful and heartbreaking thing I have ever seen.
I swallow a lump that has suddenly formed in my throat, surprised by the unexpected urge to kiss away the salty trails left behind by her tears.
What the hell is wrong with me? She’s my friend. She’s my little sister’s best friend. Get it together, dammit.
I stand, wiping my hands nervously on my jeans before reaching out to help her up.
“Come on, Sweetheart. Let’s go home.”