18. Callum
EIGHTEEN
Callum
The truth untold, it ’ s bitter cold
9:59 PM
The elevator doors slide shut, and I can’t keep my hands off her. My fingers thread through her hair, tugging just enough to tilt her face up to mine. And then I’m kissing her like I’ve been holding back for years—because I have.
She gasps against my mouth, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us.
The soft ding of the elevator sounds as we pass another floor, but I don’t care. I’m completely lost in her, in the way she tastes like rosemary and gin, in the small, breathy sounds she makes when I press her against the wall.
"You are a legend," she murmurs between kisses, her voice breathless but edged with a tease. She bites my lip and presses into me.
"Yeah?" I say, grinning against her lips, pulling my bottom lip out of her teeth.
Her laugh is soft and muffled as I kiss the corner of her mouth, trailing down to her jaw and the delicate curve of her neck. She shivers, her nails dragging lightly across my chest, and it takes everything in me not to lose it right here in the elevator.
"You didn’t even say anything," she says, her voice uneven. "You grabbed me and pulled me. What made you think I wouldn't put up a fight?"
"You seemed like you wanted to be grabbed," I say, my lips brushing against her ear.
She huffs, but it’s not annoyance—it’s something closer to surrender. "And what if I didn’t?"
I pull back just enough to look at her, my hands still cradling her face. "Then I would have had to convince you."
Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, we’re completely still, the tension between us crackling like static. Her heart pounds against my chest and her breath comes quick and shallow. I am certain—whatever this is, she feels it too.
The elevator dings again, and the doors slide open to my floor. I take her hand without a word, leading her out into the hallway.
She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t stop me, and when we reach my door, she’s the one who pulls me back into her, her lips crashing into mine like she’s as desperate for this as I am.
By the time I get the door unlocked, we’re already losing ourselves in each other, the world outside fading into nothing as we stumble inside.
As we stumble into my hotel room, I can barely breathe. Sienna's here, in my arms, and it feels like a dream I never want to wake from. The soft glow from the city outside paints her skin a golden hue, and I'm struck by how incredibly beautiful she is.
"God, you're gorgeous," I murmur, my hands sliding down her sides. Her body responds to my touch, arching into me.
"Not so bad yourself, rockstar," she teases, her fingers working at the buttons of my shirt.
I capture her lips again, hungry for more. She tastes like gin and possibility, and I can't get enough. My shirt falls to the floor, and her hands are on my chest, tracing the lines of my tattoos.
“This turns me on,” she coos as her finger trails over the 'LEGEND' on my forearm.
“Oh, yeah?” I grin, nipping at her earlobe. “How about I show you how a legend does it.”
She laughs, a sound that goes straight to my core. I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her to the bed. Laying her down, I take a moment to drink her in. Her hair fans out on the pillow, and her eyes are dark with desire.
"You planning on just looking?" she challenges, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Oh, I plan on doing a lot more than that," I growl, lowering myself over her.
I kiss my way down her neck, savoring the taste of her skin. She smells faintly of lavender, and it's intoxicating. Her soft gasps fill the room as I explore her body, relearning every curve and plane.
"Cal," she breathes, her nails digging into my back as I move lower.
I look up at her, drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and parted lips. "Tell me what you want, Si."
"You," she says simply. "All of you."
Those words ignite something in me, and suddenly, I'm consumed by the need to worship every inch of her. I take my time, kissing and caressing, determined to make her feel how much I want her, how much I've always wanted her.
I kiss my way back up Sienna's body, savoring the soft sounds of pleasure she makes. Her skin is flushed and warm beneath my lips. Our eyes lock as I position myself above her.
"You sure about this?" I ask softly, needing her full consent.
She nods, pulling me closer. "I want you, Cal. I've always wanted you."
Those words ignite something primal in me. I enter her slowly, both of us gasping at the intense sensation. For a moment, we're perfectly still, foreheads pressed together as we adjust to the overwhelming feeling of finally being joined again after so long apart.
Then Sienna rolls her hips and coherent thought leaves me entirely. I start to move, setting a steady rhythm that has us both panting. Her nails dig into my back as she matches my pace.
"God, Si," I groan. "You feel amazing."
She responds by wrapping her legs around my waist and altering the angle. The new position draws a deep moan from both of us. I pick up the pace, driven by her enthusiastic responses.
Our bodies move together in perfect synchronicity. The muscle-memory is still there, as if the years apart never happened. Every touch, every kiss feels electric. The room fills with the sounds of our passion—breathless gasps, low moans, skin on skin.
I can feel Sienna getting close. Her movements become more frantic, her grip on me tightening. I slip a hand between us, determined to push her over the edge.
"Let go for me, baby," I murmur against her neck. "I've got you."
With a cry of my name, she comes undone beneath me. The sight and feel of her release triggers my own, and I follow right after, burying my face in her hair as waves of pleasure wash over me.
Tuesday, March 18
7:54 AM
The room is still and the hum of the city below is muffled by the thick hotel windows.
The hotel’s decor is sleek and minimal, all dark wood and clean lines, but it somehow feels warmer now. The familiar furnishings—the low-slung leather chairs, the polished wood table, the heavy drapes pushed halfway open—make it feel less like a hotel and more like someone else’s version of home.
Sienna’s clothes are draped over the back of a chair and her boots are half-tucked beneath it. The faint scent of sex lingers in the air—a trace of her I can’t ignore.
But the only thing I care about right now is her.
Sienna’s curled into me. Her back's pressed against my chest and one of her legs is thrown across mine.
Her hair’s a wild mess, the long waves falling over her shoulder and brushing against my arm. The faintest scent of lavender clings to her skin, mixed with something warmer, sweeter.
She’s still asleep. Her face is half-turned into the pillow and her breathing is slow and steady. I let my fingers trace the curve of her waist. The softness of her skin makes my chest ache and my dick twitch.
I don’t know how long I stay like this, just holding her, soaking her in, but I don’t care. It’s the first time in years that I’ve felt this... steady. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Her body shifts slightly, and she murmurs something I can’t quite make out before her eyes flutter open. She blinks a few times, squinting against the faint light, and then tilts her head to look at me.
"Morning," she says, her voice husky and thick with sleep.
"Morning," I reply, my hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. "How’d you sleep?"
"I haven't slept that well in years," she says, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You?"
"Best night I’ve had in a long time," I admit, leaning in to kiss her forehead.
Her smile grows, and she shifts to face me fully, propping herself up on one elbow. "You always this chipper this early in the morning? I don't remember you being a morning person."
"Hard not to be," I say, letting my eyes roam over her face—the freckles scattered across her nose, the way her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders. "You look good like this."
She laughs, soft and self-deprecating. "I look like I’ve been dragged through a bush."
"You look like you," I say, my voice quieter now. "Perfect. Twigs and all."
Her laughter fades, replaced by a small, almost shy smile. She doesn’t say anything… But the way her eyes soften tells me I’ve hit something she wasn’t expecting. For a moment, it’s just the two of us in the quiet, the tension from last night replaced by something gentler.
Then she shifts, rolling onto her back, her gaze drifting to the ceiling. "You always did know how to say just enough to make me forget how mad I am at you."
"That's the point."
"Nice. At least you're honest."
"I try," I say honestly. "I'm an open book. You can ask me anything."
"Actions speak louder than words."
"Okay," I say, breaking the silence. "I got you. How about I go first? You never told me how you ended up in New York. Last I knew, you were dead set on staying in Charleston and becoming an event planner."
She lets out a small laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah, well. Plans change."
"What happened?" I ask, my tone careful but curious, not wanting to push too hard. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking. If you'd rather not talk about it, no worries."
Her fingers trace patterns on the blanket, her gaze distant. "I don't mind talking about it. I got pregnant. Only takes once, as I learned. That kind of derailed everything."
I stay quiet, watching the tension in her shoulders as she exhales softly. I can tell there’s more, so I wait.
"Marcus was my crutch after you left," she says finally, her voice steady but tinged with something I can’t quite place. My heart hurts hearing her say she was sad. "We were friends. You remember that, right?"
"Yeah," I say, nodding. "He was always around." I never liked that guy, but I keep that part to myself.
"Always around," she says with a small, wry smile. "Especially after you left. I was a mess, Callum. You were gone, and no matter how many times I called or texted, there was nothing. And Marcus, he was there. He didn’t push, but he was patient, steady, the shoulder I needed."
Her words hit like a slow burn, the regret in her voice threading through me. "So it just... happened?" I ask, careful to keep my tone neutral.
She nods, her fingers still moving against the blanket. "One night, I was upset—really upset. I’d just tried calling you again, and it went straight to voicemail. You know, the kind that isn’t even set up yet, so it just says that robotic thing about not being able to take messages. Like always."
He was there, and I thought... I don’t even know what I thought. It was just one night. It should have been just one night. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything."
Her voice catches slightly, and she clears her throat. "But, you know what they say. The rest is history."
My chest tightens as I let the weight of her words settle over me. I can picture it—the way she must’ve felt, the pain I left behind, and how Marcus slipped into the cracks I created.
"When I found out I was pregnant, I freaked," she continues, her voice softer now. "I told Marcus, and he said... he said he’d take care of it. Of me. Of everything. Even if the baby wasn’t his."
I raise an eyebrow at that. "He thought it might not be his?"
"I wasn’t sure at first," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "There was this moment where I thought... maybe. You know."
She pauses but I don't say anything. I want to know what she is saying.
"You had only been gone a little over a week. I mean, I wanted, never mind. I doesn't matter what I wanted. He was there and he didn’t care whether he was the father or not. So... I told myself it was a sign. That I was supposed to let him take care of me, to do the right thing."
Marcus Walker—the right thing? Christ.
"And marrying him felt like the right thing," I say quietly. The words are more of a statement than a question.
She nods, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I thought it was. I thought, ‘This is what you’re supposed to do when you’re pregnant at twenty-two and the father says he’ll take care of you.’ I was scared, and it felt... safe. But safe isn’t always right. In this instance, it wasn't right, for sure. I knew it immediately, but everything snowballed and I didn't feel like I could stop it."
My heart twists at the rawness in her voice, and I reach out, brushing her hand with mine. She doesn’t pull away.
"Marcus wasn’t a bad husband," she says after a moment, her voice quieter now. "But it was never... it was never real love. Not the kind that lasts. I knew it, deep down, but he was so determined to hold on, to make it work no matter what. He convinced himself that if he controlled every little thing, he could manufacture happiness. Manufacture love."
She pauses, her fingers curling into the blanket. "He took ‘fake it until you make it’ to a whole new level. And for a while, I went along with it. I thought maybe if I tried harder, I’d feel what I was supposed to feel. But I couldn’t. Not forever."
Her voice hardens slightly, and she glances at me. "When I left, it wasn’t mutual. He would’ve kept going, kept pretending, kept trying to force something that wasn’t there. But I couldn’t anymore. I couldn’t keep living a life that felt like a lie."
Her gaze finally lifts to meet mine, her hazel eyes shadowed with something that feels like years of exhaustion. "So yeah. Plans change. But I got Ollie out of it. And no matter what else happened, I wouldn’t trade him for anything."
"You did what you thought you had to," I say, my voice low. "I get that."
She offers a small, tired smile. "It doesn’t feel like enough sometimes. But thanks for saying it."
I swallow hard, the weight of her words sinking in. "You didn’t finish school?"
"Nope," she says, shaking her head. "Senior year would’ve started right before Ollie was born. There wasn’t time. Marcus’s job was demanding, and... I don’t know. I thought I was doing what was best for everyone."
I run a hand through my hair, trying to process it. "I understand things not going according to plans."
She lets out a dry laugh, her gaze still fixed on the ceiling. "Yeah, well, life doesn’t care about our plans. But it’s not all bad. And I didn't mean 'our' as in yours and mine," she says, pointing between me and her. "I mean 'our' in the collective sense."
I smile at that. "I knew what you meant." I stop short of saying that 'our' plans not working out totally included her.
"Now that things have settled, I’m starting over. This graphic design thing? It’s actually fun. I get to be creative again, and... I don’t know, it feels good to be doing something for me."
I nod, my hand brushing against hers. "I’m glad. You deserve that…"