Chapter 9 #2
It’s the last thing I expect him to say, but it’s somehow exactly what I needed to hear.
“I would love that.”
Callum slides out of the booth, grabbing both of our plates and his empty cup.
I cradle my still half-full one in my hands, trailing behind him as he stops at the trash cans.
He scrapes our scraps into the bin, then tosses his coffee cup into the recycling bin.
His hand falls to the small of my back once again as we walk out of the shop, and I try not to show my disappointment when it drops away once we reach the sidewalk.
We walk for several blocks without saying anything, our shoulders bumping against each other every few steps. The urge to slip my hand against his and interlock our fingers just like we used to hits me like a ton of bricks. I wonder if he feels it too.
It’s strange to be on the street with him and watch people recognize him and do double takes; I almost forgot what that was like. Callum leads us to a park without incident, and it’s a small, yet beautiful space. The flowers remind me of the ones I spent so many hours walking between in London.
I tell him that, and he looks over at me.
“How was London?”
His question is simple, but I hear the unspoken words—Was it worth giving us up for?
We had talked about going together once upon a time, but the timing was always off.
He was either busy training or doing something else for the team.
A lot of people believe the work stops once hockey players leave the ice, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
There’s always something going on. Practices, meetings, appointments, charity events, content to create, things to sign.
It’s a never-ending task, and our lives were often controlled by obligations to whichever team Callum was playing for at the time.
“It was amazing.”
Though he tries hard to act like my words don’t bother him, I still see how his shoulders drop.
“What was your favorite part?” he asks.
“Probably the weather. You know I’ve always been a sucker for gray skies.”
His jaw tightens as he nods, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am—I would have loved it in Seattle, too. “And your internship? How did that go?”
“I learned a lot, especially in those first few months. I didn’t even know how to use their layout program, and they gave me a ton of grief about it.
But once I got the hang of things, it felt almost…
” I try to find the right words to explain it.
“I don’t know. It felt right. I loved writing for an actual paper.
I mean, not that I got to do a lot of it, but what little I did, it felt like it was right. ”
He smiles softly, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I remember watching you write in college. It was the funniest thing sometimes. You’d get this crease between your brows whenever you were really into whatever piece you were working on.”
“And you’d try to smooth it down, which almost always led to…”
I don’t have to finish the sentence for Callum to know exactly what I’m talking about.
Any time we’d get together to study or do homework, it always ended in one way—us horizontal.
Sometimes we’d simply kiss or cuddle, and other times we would bring each other to the most mind-blowing places.
Everything felt so much simpler back then.
“That feels like such a long time ago,” Callum says quietly, and I agree.
Sometimes when I’m struggling to fall asleep at night, I lie awake in bed and think back to those days when we felt so easy and free with each other. Back before we were married and before we were faced with real-world problems. Before I felt restless. Before I ruined everything.
“You know,” he starts, “sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had never gotten that contract with New York.”
After he signed his two-year deal, he put his business degree on the back burner to go all in on hockey and make it to the NHL. All it did was prove to my parents how unserious Callum was, which didn’t make it any easier to drop the news of our engagement.
“We’re disappointed in you, Chloe. Giving up your education to follow some boy around is just absurd and irresponsible. You’ll regret it one day. Mark my words.”
My mother was wrong, though. I wasn’t following some boy around. It was Callum. He was my whole world.
I eventually went back to school, and even though I wanted to change my major, I had already pissed my parents off enough, so I stuck with it and got my bachelor’s in biology.
If only that had been enough, but no. She still felt like I could be doing better.
My father was just glad he didn’t waste all that money.
Me? I was overwhelmed. We were in New York City, and it was officially the biggest city I’d ever been in.
I felt it every time I left the house. I was exhausted by the constant hustle, and it didn’t help that Callum was hardly around thanks to the demanding training schedule his agent had him on.
I understood it because if he could prove to New York he was worth it, he wouldn’t have to spend much time in the AHL at all.
And it worked. After just one season and a very intense summer of training, he was called up and put on the roster for opening night.
It was thrilling to see him skate out on the blue line as they called out his name, hearing the crowd roar as he was introduced.
Finally, he was where he had been trying to get to all along, and I was so damn happy for him.
But me? I was still struggling. I was missing Talia, who was busy with Ian and navigating single motherhood. I was missing a quieter, slower life. I was missing my husband.
I couldn’t show it, though. I couldn’t let Callum know how badly I was doing.
What right did I have to complain anyway?
We were living in a nice apartment, and we weren’t eating cheap ramen every night.
In our eyes, we had gotten everything we had ever wanted.
He had gotten it. I couldn’t ruin that for him.
“Do you?” he asks when I don’t say anything. “Think about how our lives would have turned out if I had never made it to the NHL?”
“Honestly? No.” I shake my head. “There was never a doubt in my mind you’d make it, so it didn’t make sense to imagine anything else.”
“You always did have more confidence in me than anyone else.”
I prided myself on that, too. If only I could have had the same confidence in myself. Maybe then I would have spoken up about my desires and dreams earlier. About my unhappiness. Maybe we wouldn’t have gotten to the point that we did.
But I didn’t. I kept it in, and I buried it, and I tried to be okay. I wasn’t then, and I’m not so sure I am now.
“You would have made it just fine without me.”
He stops so abruptly it takes me a moment to realize he’s not walking next to me anymore. I turn back to look at him, and I’m surprised by the anger stamped over his features.
“What?”
The word is barely out before he’s closing the distance between us, the tips of his pristine white sneakers touching my own worn-out boots. He’s not touching me, but I can still feel his body heat radiating off him. He’s standing so close I have to tip my head back to meet his hard eyes.
“I wouldn’t have.”
I open my mouth, ready to ask him what he’s talking about, but he continues.
“I wouldn’t have made it without you, Clover.
And don’t even bother trying to change my mind about it because you can’t.
I got where I am because of you. Because whenever I didn’t believe in myself or the dream anymore, you did, and that was all that ever mattered to me.
” He drags his tongue over his bottom lip before adding, “It’s still all that matters to me. ”
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
My heart hammers against my ribs, and I feel like I’m eighteen all over again, waiting for him to walk into class and flirt with me.
I’ve tried so hard to rid myself of the butterflies he seems to conjure whenever he’s near me, but it was always such a fruitless effort.
Callum Keller will always make my heart beat in double time, and no matter what is happening between us, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
He takes a step back, putting distance between us that I wish didn’t exist in more ways than one, and I gulp in a breath, not realizing I needed it so damn badly.
We walk a few more laps around the park before we decide to leave.
Callum suggests we head back to his apartment and order something to eat, and though I know deep down I should say no and walk away because this day has already been emotionally taxing, I can’t seem to stop myself from agreeing.
Because if I’m being honest, I missed this. I missed him. I’m not ready to give it up just yet.
“I know a spot that has the best dumplings and delivers,” he says as we make our way back to his building, and my stomach rumbles at the thought of them.
Callum laughs at the audible noise. “I had a feeling that muffin wasn’t going to cut it.”
For a moment, I think of Dirk’s words the other night when he poked fun at me for eating so much pasta. Then I remind myself that throughout the years, my eating habits have never bothered my husband, and I’m not going to let intrusive thoughts try to tell me otherwise.
He points out buildings and rattles off facts about the city—like how it’s essentially built on top of another one—as we walk, and before I know it, he’s opening the door to a modern high-rise.
Suddenly, the idea of spending time with Callum in a confined space becomes very, very real, and my palms begin to sweat in a way they haven’t in years.
I’m nervous. To spend time with my husband. How ridiculous is that?
He waves to the security guard—a different one than the other day—sitting behind the front desk, and they return the gesture, though I can’t help but notice the surprise when their eyes land on me.
“Oh,” the older man says. “Another guest, huh?”
“Yep. I’m ordering some food too. Should be around in about thirty minutes.”
The guard nods. “Noted, sir.”
Callum steers us to the elevators, and we step inside, where he presses the button for his floor, which I was on just two days ago.
Images of various women stepping into this very elevator assault me, Callum looking at them the way he used to look at me.
I hate it, and the thought of it makes me feel not so hungry after all. In fact, I feel like I want to puke.
I move to the wall farthest from my husband that I can get to.
Taking my cue, he leans against the wall opposite me, crossing one long leg over the other.
There’s a soft smile playing on his lips, and it’s one of those same grins he’d give me all those years ago—an arrogant one.
It makes it that much more annoying that I like it.
“What?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous. You always were.”
“I am not jealous.” But I sound like what he’s accused me of being. “I’m not,” I repeat, softer this time. “Whatever you do and whoever you do it with is none of my business. I…I lost that privilege a long time ago.”
He lifts a single brow. “Is that what you think?”
“It’s what I know, Callum,” I say, the bite back in my words, mostly because I can’t stop picturing him with other women.
I hate it. I want to cry. I want to scream. This elevator is too small, my feelings are too big—and I have absolutely nobody to blame but myself. I slam my eyes closed, trying to block it all out, but it won’t go away.
Something tickles my chin, and I jump at the sudden contact, peering up into two pools of cognac.
When the hell did he move over here? And why is he still smirking at me?
I try to move, but he blocks me in, not letting me run like I so desperately want to. Holding my chin between his fingers and thumb, he tips my head back ever so slightly, not allowing me to look anywhere but at him.
“He was talking about Stefan.”
“Stefan?” I say my brother-in-law’s name as if I’ve never heard it before when in fact I miss him dearly.
He might be ten years younger than me, but we always had so much fun together through the years.
Though I’ve thought about calling him too many times to count, I haven’t spoken to him since right after I went to London. “He was here? How is he?”
Callum ignores my question. “Xander out there was surprised because I never have people over. Hell, I pretty much only leave my apartment for practice, game days, and going down to the lobby to pick up delivery.”
Relief works its way through me, but just as quickly as it comes, that same sense of dread rears its ugly head. He didn’t answer my unspoken question.
“There are no other girls. There never have been and never will be.” He leans down, his lips dangerously close to my ear as he whispers, “Only you, Clover. Only ever you.”
Then he’s back on his side of the elevator just as it comes to a stop. Though the whole interaction feels like it takes hours, it’s less than a minute, but its impact is going to last far, far beyond that.
“Are you coming?”
I look up to find him standing in the hallway, holding the door open with his arm, just a hint of apprehension in his gaze. He thinks I’m bailing on him, and truthfully, a part of me wants to.
I’m tired. These last few days have been a lot, and I could use a break from it all. I don’t have many nights left in my overly fancy hotel before I have to move to a less expensive—and far less nice—one. Another soak in that big tub is calling my name.
But my heart? It says to stay. It says to fight. To see if, just maybe, we can come back from three years apart.
So, I nod, push off the wall, and exit the car. “Yeah. I’m coming.”
Then I follow him into his apartment.