20. Peyton
Peyton
Callum’s townhouse is beautiful. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a corner lot. The brick exterior is gorgeous, and I love the turret window out front.
My hands are freezing, and I shove them in my pockets. “Wow, this place looks big. How many bedrooms are there?”
He scratches the back of his neck. “Um, four. Yeah, I like it here well enough.”
Callum’s modesty doesn’t surprise me in the least, given his dominant performance at the golf club.
“Does the Toledo-Lucas County Health Department happen to pay you, like, one million dollars a year?”
Callum blushes, fidgeting with his coat zipper. “No, but I do alright. I don’t really spend money. Or I don’t really have anything—or anyone—to spend it on.” He pauses, his hard gaze landing on me. “Until now. Is there anything you want me to buy for you?”
His question is so sincere. I think he might be one second away from pulling out his clipboard to write down my wish list.
“Are you my sugar daddy now, Callum?” A fit of giggles falls from my lips. “What if I spend all your money in one week?”
“That’s okay. I’m an heir to a fancy stamp collection. We’ll be fine.”
“Please,” I breathe between laughs, “my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “We should probably get you warm. It’s cold out here.”
As Callum unlocks the door, I fantasize about what real, everyday life would be like with him. Greeting each other at the front door, instead of running into each other when we’re out. Holding him on the couch. Kissing him goodnight.
It’s not lost on me that nearly all of my daydreams involve touch. Last night thrilled me as much as it unmoored me. Somehow, touching Callum has evolved from an exception to an inclination.
When we walk into the foyer, my first thought is: this is exactly what I thought Callum Galvin’s house would look like. Open-concept. Clean as a whistle. Not a single visible counter appliance. Where is the toaster hidden?
The only thing out of place is his record player, which sits on top of the granite island, far away from the stove. Still plagued by the toaster question, I’m about to ask him where it could possibly be, but he calls into the empty space first.
“Zeebs! Zeebs, I have to get going for the gym!” He sighs in frustration. “She’s gonna make us late,” he mutters, squatting down to grab something from a lower kitchen cabinet. As soon as I hear the tab of a can open, I assume a pet is heading our way.
I’m about to confirm with Callum, but he disappears into the hallway. “Just going to change fast! Make yourself at home.”
Five minutes later, a magnificent cat comes padding into the kitchen. White paws, black fur, green eyes. Full of purrs.
“You must be Zeebs,” I squeak, bending down to stroke her fur. “You are a floofy fluff floof ball. Let me cherish you.”
“Ah. I see you’ve met Zebra.” Callum walks toward me and cringes. “I probably should’ve asked if you’re allergic before you came.”
“You have a cat? And you didn’t tell me? I could’ve been hanging out with a cat this entire time? It’s diabolical you never mentioned her. ‘Pets’ is the number one topic of conversation on literally any date. I would’ve punched you sooner just to meet this princess.”
He grabs the can of food off the counter and bends down to scrape it into a bowl. “I didn’t know that about dates, I guess.”
“Psh. What else are you hiding, Callum?” I wave him off, rubbing my eyes, then ask the cat in a high-pitched voice. “And why are you named Zebra?”
Callum scratches the back of his neck and averts his gaze. “A zebra is another name for a referee, because of the, um, black and white stripes. My friend came up with the idea in high school, and… Anyway, I know it’s weird, for a cat, but—”
“No. It’s perfect. I love how unique it is.” I stroke Zebra’s back, and she purrs in approval. “Where does daddy keep the glasses, Zeeby girl? I have yet to take my meds because this random guy distracted me with sex. I know. Completely unacceptable, isn’t it?”
“Wow. That random guy sounds really handsome and strong. And smart.” He pecks me on the cheek. “The glasses are in the upper cabinet right behind you.”
“Sounds good,” I tell him, “though it will be an impossible task to remove my hands from Zeebs.”
“She really likes you,” Callum murmurs. “I’ve only ever seen her act this smitten with one other person.”
“It’s Carter, isn’t it?” I joke.
Callum doesn’t laugh. He has a wistful, faraway look on his face. “Not Carter,” he says quietly.
He winces when he realizes I’m looking and gives me a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Gonna get my gym shoes from the closet. I’ll meet you by the door.”
Stroking Zebra, I lower my voice and smile. “Not Carter, huh, Zeebs? Who was it? Clementine? Lila? Another woman? Tell me—I can keep a secret.”
With the exception of a contented purr, Zebra gives nothing away, so I pet her one last time before taking my meds and meeting Callum.
* * *
“Clover’s a little shit sometimes, but even I can’t deny that the ship name she came up with is genius.
” Carter’s voice echoes in the empty group fitness room.
“Tell me, PeyCal. How does it feel to be the most talked about couple in Waterton? You two are so beautiful together, it should be a crime.”
I find myself at ease around Carter and his goofy, brotherly energy. His only response to Callum’s special request to use the group fitness room was to move some weights in there.
Callum rolls his eyes. “Please stop calling me beautiful. It’s weird.”
Carter gives me a mischievous look. “He’s always been so touchy. I’m pretty sure his first words were ‘go away.’”
“Maybe to you,” Callum retorts.
“Wait,” I cut in. “I need to hear more about Callum as a child. Give me all the details.”
Callum groans, and Carter rubs his hands together.
“Settle in, Peyton.” Carter strokes his chin.
“Where to begin? Do I start with the time Cal threw up on the judge’s shoes right before the spelling bee in third grade?
Or do I go straight to the time he asked Ma to pick him up from middle school because it was St. Patrick’s Day, and he was scared of leprechauns? "
I burst out laughing. “Oh my God, Callum. Leprechauns? At age twelve?”
“Fuck you, Carter,” Callum mutters, dropping into another lunge while gripping dumbbells in each hand.
“You hush,” I chastise, waggling my finger at Callum before gesturing toward his brother. “Please continue.”
Carter tilts his head. “What are some other greatest Cal hits? Hm… Oh! There was the time Cait convinced him that woodland fairies were real, and he kept leaving frosted cereal near the oak tree in our front yard.”
“How old was he then? Fifteen?” I joke.
Carter grins. “Nine.”
“Wow.” I giggle from my seat on the floor. “I’m so glad we came to your gym. This is the best workout I’ve ever had.”
Callum sets down the weights. “You’re not even working—”
“I’m gonna cut you off right there, Cal.” Carter holds his hand out in a “stop” motion. “First of all, no Peyton slander in my gym. Second of all, laughter is good for the core.”
“Thank you, Carter.” I stand and brush myself off.
“Okay, enough about baby Callum. Tell me all about high school Callum.” I nudge my boyfriend.
“I bet you were just, like, the under-the-radar boy that all the girls at Waterton High were secretly in love with, huh? I need to know who I should keep an eye out for at town meetings.”
The teasing look on Carter’s face disappears. Callum says nothing and picks up the weights again, putting one leg in front of him. It’s like I sucked all the air out of the room.
“Come on,” I say, trying to bring some life back into the conversation, “at least give me the details about the big teenage milestones. Prom?”
“I didn’t go to prom,” Callum says quietly.
“Not a dance guy, hm? Actually, that makes sense to me.” I glance at Carter, who’s toweling his face in the corner. “Tell me if this man is as good of an athlete as I think. He’s always so modest, but I bet he was Captain of Sports, right?”
Something’s off. Carter glances at Callum with questioning eyes, almost like he doesn’t want to talk without his permission—which is the opposite of Carter’s entire personality.
Callum shakes his head, answering for his brother. “No. They only make seniors captains, and I quit the team after sophomore year.”
I rarely feel awkward anywhere, but I’m heading down that path in this fitness room with two suddenly silent siblings. I pick up the water bottle I borrowed from Callum’s house and take a swig, but nothing comes out. “I’m going to fill this up. Be right back.”
I walk out in a hurry, trying to escape whatever curse I cast upon the Galvin boys. A few men stare at me as I pass them on my way to the fountain, and I’m immediately uncomfortable. I fold my arms over the sliver of exposed stomach beneath my workout top until I finally reach the hallway.
Quickly refilling my bottle, I decide not to delude myself. It’s obvious Callum’s trauma happened in high school. And it’s even more obvious that he doesn’t want to talk about it with me. I tilt my head to each side, stretching out my tense neck, and twist on the bottle cap.
After a power-walk back down the hallway in an attempt to avoid any wandering stares, I arrive at the fitness room doors. I’m about to head in, but the tone of the voices inside makes it sound like I’d be interrupting something.
“We’re just worried about you.” Carter’s voice travels through the crack in the door.
“Don’t be. Contrary to popular belief, I’ve survived several Novembers before this one.” Callum’s voice carries an air of frustration.
I know it’s wrong to listen, but it doesn’t feel right to barge in, either. Maybe I should just go back to the drinking fountain. No. Not an option. I can’t find it in me to walk by a bunch of gym bros on my own again.
Carter sighs. “I know, Cal. But you know how you get—”
“How I get? Actually, no. I don’t know how I get, Carter. Why don’t you explain it to me?”
Whoa. Callum sounds downright resentful. I haven’t heard this side of him before, and my instinct is to burst into the room and protect him. But hesitation gets the better of me, and I linger outside the door.
“You have to understand where we’re coming from. We’ve watched you… I’ve watched you become…” Carter’s voice gets muffled, quieter now.
I hear a loud sniff from the hallway, and my stomach drops. Is one of them crying?
“I love you, Cal.” Carter’s voice cracks. “And I only want to help. I can’t imagine how hard this week is for you, but I’m here for you, as your brother, if you need anything.”
“What I need is for you and everyone else to stop treating me like I’m made of glass. You act like the headway I’ve made is meaningless. It’s offensive,” Callum replies, his tone laced with bitterness.
“Okay. Fine. Have it your way.” Carter seems to be losing the battle in whatever they’re talking about.
I’m sure they’ll wrap up soon. It’ll only be another minute.
Just another minute, then I’ll walk in. I hedge a glance through the crack in the door, trying to read their body language.
Based on Carter’s hunched posture and Callum’s ram-rod back, it might not be the right time yet. Carter rubs his eyes, and Callum sighs.
Why is Callum still hiding his PTSD from me? I don’t want to push him, but we’re together now. Something has to give. I suck in a breath of resolve. I’m going to bring it up when I go inside. I’ll do it gently, but I want to show him that he can trust me.
Neither one of them speaks again, and I take that as my cue to join them. Carter wipes his neck with a towel, and Callum’s face splits into a shaky smile upon seeing me.
“No offense, but you two look a little worse for wear. What happened when I left? Did Carter make you do a thousand burpees or something?” I joke, trying to break some of the tension.
Carter laughs, but it sounds manufactured. “Come on, Peyton. This guy? He rarely does cardio. There’s no way he’d make it past fifteen.”
Callum breathes out a laugh, and my eyes bounce back and forth between them.
“Anyway, Doug said he’s gonna be late today, so I have to work the front desk. Good seeing you as always, Peyton. Come back anytime.” Carter hurries out of the room with no goodbye to his brother.
“So,” Callum says. “Should we feed your money tree after this?”
“Do you think the local well has enough water?” I ask.
A genuine smile spreads across his face, giving me a bit of relief.
I grab his hand, intertwining his fingers with mine. “Hey, Callum. Is everything okay? When I came back from the drinking fountain, you and Carter were…” I trail off, not wanting to give too much away. “The tension seemed high.”
“Oh. We’re good. Just a disagreement about something, but I’ve got it handled.”
I squeeze his hand. “Do you want to talk about it? You know you can tell me anything, no judgment.”
“Nah, not even worth our time right now,” he says, leaning down to kiss me on my head.
“If you’re sure. I want you to know that I’m here for you.”
Callum hums and gives me a kiss on my cheek.
Pushing him away, I whine, “Gross, I’m sweaty.”
He squints. “From what, honey? Watching me work out?”
“Hey, that’s rude,” I complain, giving him a shove. “I took a walk to the drinking fountain, too. And it was a fast walk.”
“Oh, I didn’t factor in the mileage from here to the drinking fountain. My mistake.”
I pick up his hand again. “I’m doing a day trip to Cleveland today for a hypnosis show—audience insider—but do you want to come over to my place later and spend the night?”
Callum stills. Shifts his weight to one side. Looks at his shoes. “Uh, I don’t think I can. Sorry, Pey.”
My heart sinks. How else can I get him to open up? The thought of our ongoing bit lifts my spirits a little, and I give him a grin. “Tomorrow, then?”
He scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, um. Tomorrow actually isn’t good for me, either. Busy with work and stuff.”
“Oh.”
The sharp departure from our usual schedule, along with the fact that he still doesn’t want to share more of himself, makes my skin itch.
He winks. “But maybe you can hypnotize me next weekend.”
I laugh, but it comes out guarded. “Listen. It’s hard to pretend to be hypnotized. Scratching your head while clucking like a chicken isn’t for the faint of heart.”
He pulls me in for a kiss, but my whole heart isn’t in it. Nevertheless, the spiral into overthinking can wait until I get home.