26. Callum
TWENTY-SIX
Callum
The echoes fade, but scars still stay
Tuesday, April 1
The Mercer Courtyard
8:02 PM
The courtyard is tucked away behind the hotel. It's surprisingly quiet for a spot in the middle of SoHo, except for the occasional hum of traffic from the street beyond. They’ve done a good job surrounding it with a live sound barrier in the form of huge potted plants.
It’s a cool spring evening, the kind that makes you want to sit outside just to feel the air shift against your skin. Sienna leans back in her chair across from me, her long skirt flowing with the slight breeze. Her wine glass catches the low light from the sconces lining the walls.
She looks relaxed, which is something I haven’t seen much of lately. Her hair’s loose, falling over one shoulder, and every now and then, she tucks it back behind her ear in that distracted way she does when she’s deep in thought.
"You seem content," I say, swirling my whiskey in its glass. "Are you happy?"
"I am," she responds without hesitation. "It's a beautiful spring night and I'm sitting here with the hottest new rockstar in New York. How could I not be?"
"You know what I mean. Are you really happy?"
She hesitates for a beat, then sighs softly. "I’m getting there. Marcus is still throwing curveballs, so that’s... annoying. But overall? Yeah. I’m happy."
I raise an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "Curveballs?"
She gives a small shrug, swirling her wine absently. "He’s pushing for private school for Ollie now. Filed papers and everything. I’ve got a meeting with the headmaster on Friday to learn about the school. I’m just going to say I did."
My jaw tightens, but I keep my voice calm. "What are your thoughts about the school at this point?"
"I think Ollie’s happy where he is, and I don’t want to uproot him just because Marcus says so," she says, her voice steady but firm. "But I’ll do the meeting. Gus, my lawyer, thinks it’s smart to at least entertain the option for optics, if for nothing else."
"I hear you," I say quietly, my gaze softening. "I’m sorry he keeps putting you through the wringer. You’re a fighter."
She smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "I’ll survive. I always do."
"You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone," I murmur, reaching across the table to brush her hand with mine.
Her smile warms a little, and she gives my hand a quick squeeze. "I’m not. Not anymore."
"Hey, let’s leave Marcus out of our evening together. Let’s talk about something more exciting. Like, your album. I have many thoughts to share about that amazing mock copy you gave me."
"Yeah?" I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. "Good thoughts or bad?"
She laughs softly, shaking her head. "Good. Really good. Like I’ve told you, I’m obsessed with every single song, Callum. Your sound and the way your songs play out is so unique. I can’t express how much I love it. I’ve been playing it on repeat since you gave it to me."
The warmth in her voice does something to me, something I can’t quite name. "You’re just saying that to make me feel good."
"I’m not," she says, her expression serious now. "It’s... raw. Honest. And beautiful. I’m not just saying this because it’s you—I’d love it even if I didn’t know you. And that song with Finley James? It is seriously iconic. You guys have good harmony. PR knew what they were doing to play that one up."
It thrills me to no end hearing her say this. Strangely, I've gained a confidence about my work on this journey, but her approval is the one that lets me know I really do have something good to share. "Thanks," I murmur, my voice quieter than I intended. "That means a lot."
She tilts her head, studying me. "So, when’s the release date? Will we have a big party to celebrate?"
"End of August," I say, taking a sip of my whiskey. "I'm sure there will be several parties. It will be a busy, and hopefully fun, time."
Her eyebrows lift. "August?! Why so far away? It’s done."
I let out a laugh, shaking my head. "Not even close. What you’ve got is just a rough mock-up. It’s like... an idea of what it’s going to be, but there’s still so much left to do. They’ll probably make me re-record a few tracks after quality control picks them apart, and then we go through final mixes, mastering, and the whole deal. Plus, there’s marketing. Music videos. PR appearances. And scheduling the release to line up with other stuff. A lot of boring things to get us from A to Z."
She blinks at me, processing all of that. "That’s... a lot."
"You have no idea," I say with a grin. "But it’s worth it. This is the part where it starts to feel real, you know? And, August will be here before we know it."
She nods, a small smile playing on her lips. "It suits you."
"What does?"
"This," she says, gesturing to me. "The music life. The way you talk about it, the way you embody it. It’s like you’ve found exactly where you’re supposed to be."
The words are a compliment, but they twist something in my chest. I glance down at the table, the whiskey in my glass catching the light. "It's not an easy dream to pursue."
Her smile fades slightly, and she leans forward, her elbows resting on the table. "I know it wasn’t easy. You always worked so hard, even back then. You’ve earned every bit of this."
I shake my head, a quiet laugh slipping out. "No, it’s not just that. I mean my dad."
Her brow furrows, and I see the flicker of recognition in her eyes. She nods slowly. "I remember. You told me he played bars, that he loved music. But you never really talked much about him. I remember when he died not long after we started dating, but I never got to meet him."
"Because I didn’t know how to talk about him," I admit, swirling the whiskey in my glass. "It always felt depressing and frustrating. I admired and looked up to my dad, but I also resented him so much."
She stays quiet, letting me set the pace. Her fingers toy with the edge of her wine glass, but her eyes stay locked on mine, patient.
"I'm sure I told you he played bars across South Carolina for twenty-five years," I start, staring at the amber liquid in my glass.
"Yeah, I remember seeing a poster of him you had in your room. That's where you got it from."
"I guess. But he never made it out of Charleston. Unless you consider Summerville out of Charleston, which is twenty-three miles west. He never even tried to, really. He said he was playing for the love of it. And maybe that was true at first. But after a while, I don’t know. I think he was scared to fail if he aimed higher."
Her expression softens, and she reaches across the table, her fingers brushing mine. "Callum I know he struggled. You mentioned that, back in college. Alcohol can take the fight out of the most ambitious person."
I take a slow breath, letting her touch steady me. "Sure. It's a disease, not a choice. I know all of that. But when the gigs dried up and things got harder, he should have picked himself up by his bootstraps and been a man. Unfortunately, he went in the opposite direction. By the time I was sixteen, he wasn’t just drinking to take the edge off—he was drinking to fade."
Her hand tightens around mine, and I glance up at her. My throat tightens as I fight to keep my emotions at bay. "He wasn’t a bad dad. He loved us. But... he was always chasing something, you know? The next gig, the next song, the next big break that never came. And when it didn’t pan out, he’d disappear into the bottle."
I pause, my thumb rubbing absently over the edge of my glass. "He died when I was nineteen and Ethan was twenty-one. I was in my freshman year in college. Cirrhosis. And at his funeral, my mom said something I’ve never been able to shake. She said, ‘I wasted my life waiting for his dream.'"
Sienna’s fingers tighten around mine, her eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears. "Callum, I had no idea. You told me there was no funeral when I asked you."
"I didn’t tell you," I say softly, my voice breaking just a little. "Because it gutted me. And because I was ashamed. I looked at her, standing there at his grave, and all I could think was that she was right. He spent his whole life chasing something that didn’t happen, and it left her carrying everything on her own. They both didn’t live up to their potential because my father dragged them—and us—down."
"Your mom was a nurse, right? I remember how sweet she always was."
I pause, swallowing hard, my fingers tightening around the edge of the table. "Yes, she was an ICU nurse. She worked a lifetime of night shifts to keep us afloat, and he was out playing bars, talking about the big break that never came. By the time I was old enough to get it, I saw how much she resented him. Resented us, even, for tying her to a life she never dreamed for herself."
I glance up at Sienna, and her eyes are soft, and steady, waiting for me to keep going. "The worst part is, I don’t think she hated him for chasing the dream. I think she hated him for dragging her into it without a way out. And I was so scared of doing that to you—tying you to a life where all you did was wait for me to figure out if I was going to make it."
Sienna’s lips part slightly. Her brow furrows as she studies me. "You thought if you didn't take Morrison's offer to move the Nashville, that I’d end up like her?" Her voice is quiet and careful, and hearing her say those words nearly rips out my heart.
I let out a shaky breath, my chest tight. "Yeah. I did. When that oil salesman of a talent agent came along and offered me Nashville, I saw it as my shot—not just to make something of myself, but to make sure you didn’t waste your life waiting for me. I didn't say so then because I didn't know how, but I was protecting you. When I said I would come back, I meant it. I thought you gave up on me."
She leans back slightly, her fingers brushing over her wine glass. "This insight would have been helpful six years ago," she says with a laugh.
I can tell she is trying to lighten the moment, but I do think what she is saying is true. I was too immature to communicate effectively, and when I thought she didn't respond, I assumed she was done.
All I can do is shake my head, letting out a humorless laugh. "For you and me both. Luckily, I've grown up a little in that time. I promise to always communicate with you. If nothing else, that is my pledge to you."
Her eyes widen slightly, her fingers tightening around the glass. "I promise to do the same for you."
Her gaze doesn’t waver, but I can see the storm behind her eyes, the way she’s working through everything I’ve said. Finally, she leans forward again, her hand brushing mine. "Callum, you didn’t drag me down. You broke my heart, yeah. But you didn’t ruin me. And you didn’t make me wait. Although, in retrospect, I wish I had!"
Her words hit like a jolt, and for a second, I can’t breathe. I stare at her, my chest tight with something I can’t name. Finally, I shake my head. "You deserved better than to wait. But look, here we are now!"
"What? You have that look."
"We signed the paperwork yesterday. Morrison’s officially out of my life."
"Seriously? That’s huge, Callum. It’s done-done? Like he can’t come back no matter what?"
"Yup. Hasta la vista, biatch. I hated giving him anything, but it’s worth every penny to know he can’t touch anything I create from here on out."
"Let’s celebrate! Another cocktail?"
I glance at my watch, then back at her. "I have a better idea," I say, a small grin tugging at my lips. "I realized the hotel has an amazing rooftop terrace earlier. It’s got an amazing view of the city. You want to check it out?"
Her eyebrows lift, and then a slow smile spreads across her face. "Are you trying to impress me, Reid?"
"Always," I say, standing and holding out my hand. "Come on. Let me woo you. Call it our clean slate celebration"
She laughs softly, slipping her hand into mine. "Alright. Let’s do it."
We head inside, and as we step into the elevator, I glance at her reflection in the mirrored walls. Her face is calm and relaxed, but there’s a quiet excitement in her eyes that makes my chest ache in the best way.
When the doors open, I lead her out onto the terrace. The air is cool but not cold, the faint hum of the city rising up from below. String lights crisscross overhead, casting a warm glow over the chic seating areas and low tables.
But it’s the view that steals the show—the skyline stretching out in every direction, glittering and alive.
"Wow," she breathes, stepping toward the edge. "This is... incredible."
I follow her, my hands slipping into my pockets as I watch her take it all in. She leans against the railing, her hair catching the light, and for a moment, I forget about everything else. The album, the deadlines, the weight of all the shit I’ve been carrying—it all fades away.
She turns back to me, her smile soft and a little shy. "You weren’t kidding about the view."
"Told you," I say, stepping closer. "Best spot in the city."
She tilts her head, her eyes locking on mine. "I think you just like showing off."
"Maybe," I admit, grinning. "Is it working?"
Her laugh is soft, but it’s enough to make my chest feel lighter. "Yeah," she says, her voice quieter now. "It’s working."