Chapter 2
two
Callum
I've been wanting Kelly Thornton since she turned eighteen, and I've been hating myself for it for just as long.
Standing in her childhood bedroom with its pink walls and unicorn stickers, watching her try to put on a brave face while she's clearly falling apart, makes me feel like the worst kind of bastard.
She's Tyler's little sister. She's thirteen years younger than me.
She just got out of what sounds like a toxic relationship and came home to lick her wounds.
And all I can think about is how much I want to gather her up in my arms and promise her that no one will ever hurt her again.
"I know you have a thing for my sister," Tyler had said two years ago, drunk on cheap beer after a particularly long day clearing deadfall.
I'd nearly choked on my beer. "The hell are you talking about?"
"Come on, man. The way you look at her? Like she's made of porcelain and you're terrified you'll break her?" Tyler had shaken his head. "If she wasn't my baby sister, I'd probably think it was sweet."
"She's off limits," I'd said, and Tyler had nodded.
"Yeah. She is."
That conversation had been the end of it, or so I thought. But Tyler asking me to stay here, in this house where Kelly's presence seems to permeate every room, feels like some kind of test. Or maybe he's finally decided that his best friend isn't the worst option for his sister.
Either way, I'm screwed.
I grab my duffel bag from the truck and head back inside, taking the stairs two at a time. The guest room is at the end of the hall, past Kelly's bedroom, and I try not to think about how I'll be able to hear her moving around in there. The walls in this old house are paper thin.
The guest room is exactly what you'd expect from a house owned by people who raised two kids – clean but lived-in, with a double bed covered in a blue quilt and furniture that's seen better days. It's comfortable, homey, and makes me feel like an intruder.
I'm unpacking my clothes when I hear Tyler's truck start up outside. A few minutes later, Kelly appears in the doorway of the guest room, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed.
"He just left," she says, and there's something vulnerable in her voice that makes my chest tight.
"Tyler's not much for long goodbyes."
"No, I know. It's just..." She trails off, biting her lower lip in a way that makes me want to do things that would definitely violate Tyler's trust.
"Just what?"
"Nothing. It's silly." She pushes off from the doorframe. "I should let you get settled. Are you hungry? I could make dinner."
The offer surprises me. Kelly's always been polite when we've been in the same room, but she's never gone out of her way to be friendly. Usually she finds excuses to disappear whenever I show up.
"You don't have to cook for me," I say.
"I know I don't have to. I want to." Her chin lifts in a gesture I recognize from Tyler – stubborn and determined. "Besides, I need something to do with my hands or I'll go crazy thinking about... things."
The ex-boyfriend, probably. Tyler filled me in on the basics during the drive over here – some controlling jerk who spent six months tearing Kelly down before she finally found the strength to leave.
The thought of anyone treating her that way makes me want to hit something, preferably the guy's face.
"What do you like to eat?" she asks.
"I'm not picky."
Kelly rolls her eyes. "Of course you're not. You probably survive on protein bars and black coffee."
She's not wrong, which is embarrassing. "I can cook."
"Can you? What's your specialty?"
"Grilled cheese. Scrambled eggs. Things that don't require following directions."
For the first time since I walked into her bedroom, Kelly smiles – a real smile that transforms her entire face and makes her look like the girl I remember from years ago, before life got complicated.
"How do you feel about spaghetti?" she asks.
"I feel fine about spaghetti."
"Good. Come help me in the kitchen when you're done unpacking. You can be my sous chef."
She disappears before I can tell her I don't know what a sous chef is, leaving me alone with the scent of her perfume and the uncomfortable realization that this arrangement is going to be even harder than I thought.
I finish unpacking quickly and head downstairs to the kitchen.
Kelly's already got music playing from her phone, something soft and folky that matches her mood.
She's tied her hair back in a messy bun and changed into leggings and an oversized sweater that slips off one shoulder, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of creamy skin.
I clear my throat to announce my presence, and she looks up from where she's pulling ingredients out of the pantry.
"Perfect timing. Can you start boiling water for the pasta? Big pot, lots of salt."
I can manage that. We work in comfortable silence for a while, Kelly humming along to her music while she browns ground beef and I try not to watch the way she moves around the kitchen like she belongs here.
Which she does, obviously. This is her family's house, her childhood home. I'm the intruder.
"So," Kelly says as she adds garlic to the pan, filling the kitchen with the smell of cooking food. "Tyler said you've been living like a hermit lately."
"Tyler talks too much."
"He's worried about you." She glances at me over her shoulder. "He said you've been different since you got back from the oil sands."
The oil sands job. Three months of clearing trees around extraction sites, working eighteen-hour days in the middle of nowhere with a crew of guys who thought conversation was a sign of weakness.
It was exactly the kind of work I used to love – hard, physical, no complications.
But somewhere in the middle of those three months, I realized I was running away from something I couldn't escape.
"Just needed a change of scenery," I say, which isn't exactly a lie.
Kelly makes a noncommittal sound and adds crushed tomatoes to the pan. "You know, you don't have to stay here if you don't want to. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
"Are you?"
The question comes out harsher than I intended, and Kelly stiffens. "Excuse me?"
"You came home with one suitcase and bruises under your eyes from crying," I say, immediately regretting my bluntness. "Your brother's worried sick about you, and you're jumping at shadows. So forgive me if I question whether you should be alone right now."
Kelly turns to face me fully, and I can see the hurt in her expression. "Tyler told you about Derek."
"He told me you were in a bad relationship. He didn't give me details."
"Good." Kelly's voice is sharp now, defensive. "Because it's none of your business."
She's right, of course. But the need to protect her, to make sure no one ever hurts her again, is so strong it's making my body ache.
"You're right," I say. "I'm sorry."
Kelly blinks, clearly surprised by the apology. "Oh. I... okay."
We go back to cooking in silence, but the comfortable atmosphere from before is gone. Kelly's shoulders are tense, and she's avoiding eye contact. I've messed this up already, and I've been here less than two hours.
"I like rules," Kelly says suddenly, so quietly I almost miss it over the sound of simmering sauce.
"What?"
She clears her throat and speaks louder. "I said I like rules. Structure. Someone else making decisions sometimes." Her cheeks are pink now, like she's embarrassed by the admission. "Derek... he didn't give me rules. He just criticized everything I did and made me feel stupid for wanting guidance."
My hands tighten on the wooden spoon I'm using to stir the pasta. "He sounds like a piece of crap."
"He was." Kelly's voice is small. "But he was also right about some things. I am naive. I do make poor decisions. Maybe I do need someone to—"
"Stop." The word comes out rougher than I intended, and Kelly flinches. I take a breath and try again. "Kelly, look at me."
She does, reluctantly, and I can see the self-doubt written all over her face. It makes me want to find this Derek guy and show him what happens to men who tear down innocent women.
"You left," I say. "You recognized a bad situation and you got out. That doesn't sound naive to me."
"It took me six months."
"It took you as long as it took. The important thing is you did it." I turn off the heat under the pasta water and face her fully. "And for the record, wanting structure isn't something to be ashamed of. Some people need more guidance than others. That doesn't make them weak."
Kelly's eyes widen slightly, and I realize I've said too much. Revealed too much about how I see her, about what I want to give her.
“Do you think that's okay?" she asks, and there's something hopeful in her voice that makes my chest tight.
"I think," I say carefully, "that knowing what you need is the first step to getting it."
We stare at each other across the kitchen, and the air between us feels charged with possibility.
I can see the moment Kelly realizes what we're really talking about – not just structure and guidance, but the kind of relationship where she could surrender control to someone who would cherish that gift and not abuse it.
Someone like me.
The timer for the pasta goes off, breaking the spell, and Kelly turns back to the stove with flushed cheeks.
"Dinner's ready," she says, and her voice is a little breathless.
We eat at the kitchen table, making small talk about Tyler's job and the weather and anything that doesn't touch on the loaded conversation we just had.
But I can feel Kelly watching me when she thinks I'm not looking, and every time our eyes meet across the table, that same electric awareness sparks between us.
After dinner, Kelly insists on cleaning up, and I don't argue.
I need space to think, to remind myself why this is a bad idea.
But when I'm settling into bed an hour later, I can hear her moving around in her room – the creak of floorboards, the sound of drawers opening and closing, the soft rustle of fabric that might be her changing into pajamas.
The walls in this house are definitely too thin.
I'm just drifting off to sleep when Kelly's scream cuts through the quiet night like a knife.
I'm out of bed and down the hall before I'm fully awake, not bothering with a shirt or shoes. Kelly's bedroom door is open, and she's standing in the doorway in an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, staring down the stairs at something on the front porch.
"What is it?" I ask, moving to stand behind her.
"Look," she whispers, pointing.
There's a carved pumpkin sitting on the top step of the front porch, illuminated by the porch light. It's not particularly well done – the face is crooked and the mouth is more goofy than scary – but there are fake plastic spiders crawling out of the top, and in the dark, it's definitely startling.
"Probably just kids," I say, but Kelly is shaking.
"It wasn't there when we ate dinner. I would have seen it."
She's right. We would have noticed a jack-o'-lantern sitting on the front steps. Which means someone put it there sometime in the last few hours, while we were in our bedrooms.
Kelly wraps her arms around herself. "What if it's him? What if Derek followed me here?"
The fear in her voice makes something protective and primal rise up in my chest. I put my hands on her shoulders, turning her to face me.
"Hey. Look at me." When she does, I can see tears gathering in her eyes. "It's not him. It's just some teenagers playing pranks. It's almost Halloween – this stuff happens every year in small towns."
"But what if?"
"It's not him," I repeat, more firmly this time. "And even if it was, he'd have to go through me to get to you. That's not happening."
Kelly searches my face, and whatever she sees there seems to calm her down a little. Her shoulders relax under my hands, and she takes a shaky breath.
"You promise?"
The question is so soft, so trusting, that it makes my heart clench. "I promise, sweetheart. No one's going to hurt you while I'm here."
The endearment slips out before I can stop it, and Kelly's eyes widen. But she doesn't pull away from my touch, doesn't tell me I'm overstepping. Instead, she steps closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo and feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
"Thank you," she whispers.
We stand there in her bedroom doorway for a long moment, me in just my boxer shorts and her in that oversized t-shirt, and I know I should step back. Put some distance between us before I do something we'll both regret.
Instead, I find myself reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Kelly's breath catches, and her lips part slightly, and for one insane moment I think about what it would feel like to kiss her.
Then reality crashes back in, and I drop my hand.
"Go back to bed," I say, my voice rougher than it should be. "I'll take care of the pumpkin."
Kelly nods, but she doesn't move. "Callum?"
"Yeah?"
"Will you... could you maybe check the locks? And stay close until I fall asleep? I know it's silly, but—"
"It's not silly." I'm already moving toward the stairs before she can finish the request. "I'll check everything and stay nearby. You're safe."
I do a thorough check of all the doors and windows downstairs, then grab the old wooden chair from the hallway and position it outside Kelly's room. It's not comfortable, but I can hear if she needs anything, and my presence seems to calm her down.
Through her partially open door, I can hear her settling back into bed, the soft sounds of someone trying to fall asleep. Eventually, her breathing evens out, and I know she's finally resting.
But I stay in that chair all night, watching over her, because Kelly Thornton asked me to stay close, to protect her, to be the strong presence she needs.
And I'm no longer sure I have the willpower to keep my hands to myself for the next three weeks.