Chapter 24 Callum
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CALLUM
“Can you join the baseball team so I don’t have to leave you for so long?” Ian asks, giving me a wistful stare.
“Do you guys need some unwieldy, uncoordinated comic relief? I can do that.”
“Nah, we could use a few more hitters, and you already have the body for it.” He doesn’t take my silence as an answer, choosing to punch my shoulder instead. “Jesus, you in a tight uniform would end me, I swear.”
I scoff. “Me in a baseball uniform? I don’t see it.”
“Nah, you’ve totally got the buns and guns to rock it.” He waves me off and bats his eyelashes. “Come on, flex for me, babe. Give me one last look at my sexy, sexy boyfriend before I leave.”
My cheeks heat up, predictably, at the compliment, and I oblige. Rolling my eyes, I lift my arms and squeeze. Ian releases an exaggerated whistle, bringing his hands over and digging them into my biceps.
“We’ll make a baseball player out of you yet,” he says, chuckling and releasing me after another round of fondling. “We can practice over the summer.”
He can’t be serious—he’s a varsity player, and the only bat and balls I’ve ever touched are his metaphorical set, and my own. Still, I’ll agree to some summer practices at his lake house if he goes shirtless while we do so.
He leaves to grab his bag from the bedroom, and his absence already bites a little. Fuck, how am I gonna make it through the next week?
At least I can scroll longingly through his social media whenever I miss him. Even though I already know his pictures off by heart, I still pull out his profile to take another scan. This is like a modern-day locket, with higher definition and more content. I won’t complain.
Huh, I have a message request from someone who doesn’t follow me.
I open it, and my blood runs cold.
Regina Cross
Where are you.
Come home NOW.
Or else I’ll find you and drag you here myself.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
For a second, everything stops, and I stand in the middle of the living room, phone in hand, motionless, and holding my breath.
Then, everything hits me all at once. My stomach slams down at the same time my heart jolts, the combination sending me stepping backward and tripping onto the couch, landing ass-first. The phone slips in my shaking, sweat-slicked hands, and I grip it tighter, my eyes still glued to the messages.
They found me. My parents found me.
I try to swipe out of the message, but my finger is too slippery—I waste a precious second to wipe my right hand on the couch before succeeding.
I go to delete the thread from my inbox. There’s a block option, and I hit that instead. The message disappears, but the damage is done. There’s no undoing anything.
I clear my profile. Not that it matters, since they've already seen it.
Then I go to the menu and hit the first red button I see. Maybe it logs me out, I don't know. And for good measure, I delete the whole app.
I thought I was doing so well.
I thought I was finally free, and now this.
Tension builds in my core, threatening to rise in my throat and spill out. I toss my phone across the couch and bury my face in my hands, trying to get my breathing under control.
In. Hold. Out. In. Hold. Out. And repeat.
It doesn’t work. All that does is help me see somewhat clearly again, and the first thing that hits my eyeballs is a blurry Ian entering the living room.
“Callum, babe, what’s wrong?” He rushes over and slings an arm around my shoulders, concern darkening his expression. He’s changed into my old hoodie, which is far too big on him, and the fabric bunches up around his elbows.
The cozy sight fails to provide its usual comfort.
“It’s my parents,” I say. Short, simple, and still painful. “They found my profile and messaged me.”
“How bad is it?”
“My mom asked me where I am and told me to come home.” I leave out the part where she laced her typical malice through the texts—I don’t even know how I’d explain it to him.
He lets out a slow breath and tightens his grip around me, and I lean my head onto his. “How shaken are you?”
“I deleted everything.”
“Okay, let’s talk through it,” Ian starts, and I groan, resting my face in my palms.
“You have a bus to catch,” I say. If I make him late because of my personal issues, I don’t think I could forgive myself.
“So what? We don’t have a game today, and Nick’s gonna be late, too.” He pulls out his phone and sends a text. “There. I told them something came up. Now I can focus on you.” With my eyes covered, I can only feel Ian placing a gentle hand on my shoulder.
I lift my head and give him a weak, appreciative smile. “Thanks.”
“Your mom asked where you were, your profile was private, and all you had in your bio was the abbreviation for Wisconsin, and ‘WMU.’”
“Right.”
“There’s gotta be at least fifty WMUs in the country. Think of all the states that start with M and have a western part. Western Michigan, Montana, Maine, Missouri, whatever. They might even think the W stands for Wisconsin. You’re gonna be okay.”
I press harder into Ian, and he trails off, leaning back so my head falls into his lap.
“That makes sense. It’s, like, I’m fine,” I say, trying and failing to convince myself.
The chances of my parents knowing where I am are slim, and even if they did know, there isn’t much, or anything, they could do. Even so, it’s like the thin veneer of safety that I had is now punctured, leaving me vulnerable in a way I can’t put my finger on.
No matter how minuscule the chance is of me seeing my parents again, the fact that it isn’t zero is nothing short of unsettling.
To top that off, Ian’s leaving for a week, and he stands for a lot about my new life: freedom, growth, happiness, you name it. Now that my old life is creeping back, I don’t want to be apart from him.
A little voice in the back of my head asks me if I'm becoming codependent.
The feeling of gentle fingers through my hair shuts that voice up. Being a little codependent can’t hurt too much, right?
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.
No.
“Yeah. I’m a little unsettled, but I’ll be fine,” I reply.
He crosses his arms, looking me up and down. It’s like Ian’s taking in everything about me—my expression, posture, and everything I’m not saying but desperately trying to hide.
“I don’t buy it,” he says after a while. “You can tell me anything, Cal.”
“This isn’t a great time for me to be alone.” I inhale a sharp breath and let it out along with my words. “But you have your away games, so don't worry about me. I'll figure something out.”
His eyebrows bunch, and his lips part tentatively, like he’s finding the right words. Then he sighs, reaching out to pull me closer by the waist.
“Nah. You’re coming with me. We’ll stay at my parents’ place in New York, and we’ll figure things out from there. I’m not leaving you behind like this.”
My eyes fly open. Does he have a solution to everything? I tilt my head up so he won’t see my shock, and when he leans over to plant a kiss on my head, that shock morphs into guilt. It’s not that he has a solution for everything.
He has to, for my sake.
“I always make you take care of me,” I murmur. “It isn’t fair.”
Ian shakes his head, frowning at me. “That’s not true, and even if it was, I wouldn’t mind.”
Sure, he doesn’t mind now, but what about in a month? Or after that, if he doesn’t get sick and tired of getting nothing back for everything he gives?
“I don’t want you to resent me for being useless. I’ll take care of myself,” I insist.
Christ, I’m even parroting my parents. They really squirmed back into my life with nothing more than a two-line DM.
“What the—” Ian cuts himself off and regroups. “Callum. If you need something, I’ll help. That’s what people do in a relationship.”
“Yeah, and there’s supposed to be balance,” I reply. There aren’t too many ways he can spin the facts—anyone can see that it’s him who’s doing all the heavy lifting between us, and I’m just lying around, taking endlessly.
“I’m not with you for what you can do for me.
” Ian’s voice is firm and measured, more than I would have expected.
“Me helping isn’t out of grudging obligation; it’s because I care about the guy I—” He pauses, leaving me hanging as he lets out a huff.
“I like you so much, Cal. This is just a part of that.”
“I don’t like feeling useless,” I counter.
“Callum…” Ian tenses. “Look, I’m not usually blunt, but I’m gonna be for a bit.” He sucks in air and shuts his eyes. “Shut the fuck up about being useless.”
Jesus, what’ll it take for me to get through to him? Unfamiliar, unwelcome exasperation bubbles up, and even though I try to push it down, I’m not successful.
His arm is still on my waist, and I push it away, making him blink as his mouth falls open.
“I still feel useless.” My voice is shaky, and I hardly recognize it. “I need to do stuff on my own, too. I can’t sit on my ass and rely on you to save me whenever my screwed-up past messes with me.”
Ian stays silent. For a second, his eyes go soft, giving him a hurt, wounded expression, but he hardens as soon as my gaze connects with his.
My heart sinks. I never, ever want to see him resigned and quiet like this again, but I can’t take back words that already left my stupid mouth. Whatever guilt was sinking in my gut before is amplified by a magnitude of a hundred.
It’s crushing, and I don’t see a way out of it. I already messed up.
“Okay,” he finally says. “If you want to go through this alone, I’m not going to stop you.” He takes my hoodie off, getting ready to leave, and smooths his T-shirt down. “But if you need anything, call me. I’m here for you.”
“I know. Thank you.” I shut my eyes and exhale a shaky breath. “I just need to learn how to take care of myself.”
“And I need to let you do that.” Ian, the saint he always is, comes closer and hugs me from above. A tiny, tiny morsel of tension leaves my body as soon as he touches me, but the tangle in my core is still heavy. “I’m gonna miss you this week.”