30. Get out
CHAPTER 30
Get out
CALUM
Nerves. I’m a bundle of nerves and anger. Anger that hasn’t fully manifested and nerves from what I would see if the door opens. I ring the doorbell again, my feet unsteady, but it’s the same response. Silence. I look over my shoulder at the blue car waiting out front. Jason brought me here. He insisted on waiting until I was safely inside the house. I may have treated him badly, but he’s exactly how Amelia described him in her letter. Plus, he took care of my babies.
My babies. I have a son. Saying that to myself has no effect on me. Maybe it will when I see the blue-eyed miniature of me. The knob twists as I’m about to knock again, and the door opens. Unfortunately, it’s not the woman I want to see. I step back as my stepfather appears.
“Pete.”
“Calum,” he responds.
More greys occupy his hair than I last remembered. It’s an awkward family reunion. I rock on my heels, feeling like the twenty-two-year-old kid he took into his home. What should I say?
“Hi.”
“Hi,” he answers. The door shuts behind him, and he joins me outside. If I thought I had a chance of seeing Mace or Cathie, then I was wrong. “Good to see you, lad. You look nice.”
The corners of my lips curl in a smile that lasts half a second. I slide two fingers into my front pockets. How do I go from here? Will we talk about that day? How he swung at me before I could say a word because he thought I took advantage of his baby girl. A tattoo covers the scar. Giving him a once-over, I decide to let bygones be bygones. For now. Mace is my goal.
“Thanks. You don’t look bad yourself,” I say. Pete nods, and the awkward silence grows into something more suffocating. I fold my arms, and he frowns. My stance doesn’t change. Right now, he’s in the way. “Let’s get to the point. I know about Mace, and I’m here to see him.”
“Why didn’t you show up last year?”
The audacity of older people to ask questions after messing up. He and Mum did this to us.
“I need to see my son,” I reply.
Son. Even now, the word has little effect on me. But I swear I’ll be a good dad. I need to see my baby, Mace. I need to hold him. I need to be in his presence, run my fingers over his face and memorise every inch of him because he’s about to become my new favourite human.
Does he have my blues or his mother’s? We both have blue eyes, but mine is lighter. Does he have a single dimple like me? I run a hand through my tousled hair. I did a lot of freaking out on my way here. Taylor and Rose helped with the location, and Jason was happy to drive me.
“Pete, I need to see my son,” I say to the older man in case he missed it the first time. I don’t want to hurt him, but I’ll not leave here without seeing Mace. “I also need to talk to Cathie.”
Why didn’t she say anything? Bygones. It’s all bygones. We deserve fresh starts. Maybe in a new place. Besides, Amelia’s letter said she wrote to me. I know about that. I saw the emails.
When Pete doesn’t say a word, I cover the gap. I’m bulkier, not as much as Sam or Lucas, but enough to cause a glimmer of fear across his face. I gawk at him, but he doesn’t back down.
“Sorry, kid. You can’t go in.”
“Why? Cathie is in there, isn’t she?” I ask. He sighs. The wrinkles on his forehead seem to have multiplied in minutes. I’m still out here because I don’t want to ruin this. “I want to see them.”
“They don’t want to see you,” he replies.
“What?”
Pete pinches the bridge of his nose. “They, Cathie, don’t want to see you right now.”
The pep talk I gave myself about bygones leaves my head. He’s the reason I never knew I had a kid. If he didn’t hit me, I wouldn’t have had a memory loss or fucked up hands. I point a finger at him and slowly turn it to my chest. “My head was fucked up because of you, Pete.”
Pete’s eyes express his regret. His entire face does, but his stance shows he’s not letting me walk past this door to reach Mace unless I use brute force. “And I’m sorry about that, kid.”
“Don’t call me kid. I’m not your kid,” I yell. My chest sags. I glance at the door behind him. What if I hit him? Feeling suffocated, I take a step away from him. “You’re the reason we got separated. You and my mother. If there’s anyone she shouldn’t be talking to, it’s you, not me, Pete. You don’t get to tell me you’re sorry and stand in my way. I need to see my son now.”
This time, I shove Pete to the side and open the door. He doesn’t try to stop me, which is great because I might have hurt him. Inside is empty. The living room has pictures of Cathie and a little boy. None of Pete’s. They said this was his house. The curtains are drawn close, but light seeps in through the cracks. There’s a feeding bottle on the coffee table. Mace’s?
Where is he? I charge for the bottle, stopping abruptly at a baby’s cry. My chest constricts, and my eyes search the space. He’s not in the living room but in the dining. From here, all I see is a baby rocker. The mesh acting as a shade prevents me from seeing his face. I start towards him but stop short when someone clears their throat behind me. I turn slowly and reluctantly.
Cathie. She tilts her head towards the door I left open. “Get out,” she says. “Now, Calum.”
The gap between me and Mace is less than ten steps. I push a foot forward, and she cocks the shotgun in her hand, aiming it at my forehead. Like father, like daughter. Cold eyes stare back at me like what we shared those months ago was nothing. I shiver with fear and anxiety.
“I’m not playing,” she mutters.
“You’re going to shoot me because I want to see my son?” I ask. She says nothing. I raise my hands, hoping my frame blocks out this view for our son. We will not set this precedent for him. I’m not the enemy. We are the victims of our parents. I missed out on the first year of my son’s life. She had to go through it without my support. “Cathie, let’s just talk about this.”
“Get the fuck off our property,” she yells.
A cry breaks out. Her eyes don’t leave mine. One hand points at the table, the other raised in the air, silently pleading for her to give me a chance. Only a peek, then I’ll leave. Our son’s cries grow louder. She steps forward with the gun pointed at me, and I take steps backward.
“Cathie, he’s crying. Mace is crying.”
“And you will be, too, if you don’t get out of here now,” she replies. Who is this woman?
I stop moving. Last time, I ran away. This time, I won’t. “You want to shoot me?” I whisper. Grabbing the barrel, I slam my forehead against the muzzle. “Go ahead then, Cathie. Do it.”
A flicker of hesitation crosses her eyes. Our eyes collide. She holds my gaze, but there is no familiarity in her blues. I might have been her Cal once. Now, I’m a stranger to her, and she will hurt me if it’s the only way to get me out of here. What about Mace? I can see him later.
“Fine. I’m leaving.”
“Good for you.”
My heart clenches. “I’ll be back for my son, Cathie. You and your gun can’t stop me then.”
Going around the couch so I don’t have to walk past her, I storm outside. The cold air tickles my face. My legs buckle, and my feet crash to a stop. I bend, my hands gripping my knees. Why? The ache in my chest expands. My heart is breaking, and I don’t know how to mend it. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I retrieve and toss it to the floor when I see Mum’s name.
Mum did this to me. She ruined our lives. My chest caves, and my throat closes. Clutching at my neck, I try and fail to take a breath. Why can’t I breathe? I need a smoke, but my body doesn’t listen. I can’t move. A door opens. Footsteps pound in the distance. Someone forces me to straighten up, grabbing my shoulders to shake me out of my incoming panic attack.
“Yo, dude. Calum,” Jason says. I blink morosely at him, and he slaps me twice. I tell myself to breathe. Not for Cathie but for Mace. “Dude. What the fuck? What happened in there?”
I’m not thinking, only acting. I hug Jason for support, and everything comes crashing down.
She didn’t let me see my son.
She was going to shoot me in front of him.
An invisible hand locks around my neck, claws my chest open, and rips out my heart. I shake so much as emotions bubble inside me. There’s so much inside me that needs to be unpacked. Jason holds on tighter. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic for seeking comfort from a man I harassed yesterday, but I don’t let go of him. Right now, he’s anchoring me to earth.
“It gets worse before it gets better,” Jason murmurs. But I don’t want worse. The last few months have been horrible. “Unrelated, but sperm whales store a lot of sperm in their heads.”
My thoughts stagger to a stop. I step away from him. “What the fuck?”
Jason cracks a smile and shrugs. “Hmm. Still works,” he muses. “Do you feel better?”
After that sperm whale comment? Hell yeah. My thoughts have stopped raging, and my body has quietened. Jason watches me. I scoff when I realise that was his intention. “Thank you.”
“Thank Amelia. She says the silliest things. I guess it rubbed off on me.”
He still talks about her in the present. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Don’t be. She’s still here.” Bending, he picks up my phone and leads the way to the car. We are both seated and tucked in, with the heater turned on, when he says, “What happened inside?”
“A lot.”
Child endangerment. Kidnap. Wielding of weapons in front of a kid. Harassment. Violence.
“What next?” he whispers.
“I need a lawyer,” I reply and shut my eyes.
Silence falls over us. Jason doesn’t start the car, and I don’t ask him to. All I have waiting for me are the cold walls of the hotel room and an empty bed. Cathie took my heart and broke it into tiny pieces. Even after that, I’m not sure I want her to give them back. I am still madly in love with her because I never stopped, even when I didn’t remember her. Now that we have a son together, I can’t let go.