46. CALLUM
46
CALLUM
February 1st.
Or nine days since the kitchen debacle. I hate that I made a promise to her that I’m not keeping.
I’ve been lost in my head, trying to figure out how to protect myself. How to protect her.
As desperately as I want to be with her, I can’t have another person see me as insufficient.
The flat is eerily quiet when I walk in. Tucker isn’t squeaking a toy or running to greet me. There isn’t music, TV, or Chloe on the phone with Emerson.
It’s too quiet.
I think for a minute that maybe she isn’t home, but her fridge calendar says otherwise.
Maybe she’s walking Tucker.
Checking over my shoulder, I see his harness, the ruby red leash hanging on top of it. Her keys are on the hook next to it. A small burst of pride shoots through me that she’s using my organization system, finally.
That quickly fades. The feeling that something is wrong replaces it as my throat goes dry.
“Chloe?” I call out.
My keys hit the wall behind the hooks with a clash. No response.
Dropping my work messenger bag off in the office before going to the stairs, I head to her bedroom.
Halfway up the stairs, I quiet my steps in case she’s taking a nap.
When has Chloe ever taken a nap? Never. Maybe she did today .
Possibility after possibility calculates in my head, each with an implausible outcome.
As I walk up the steps into the hallway leading to our respective bedrooms, I hear a low whimper. A drawn-out cry.
Tucker.
Following the sounds, they grow louder and more desperate.
Her door is open.
I bite my lip, inhale deeply, and exhale before entering. Steadying myself for. . . for what, Cal? She’s okay.
My chest tightens.
Her lights are off, but the curtains are open, the lengthening daylight cascading in. Head swiveling, I spin slowly around her room.
I cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong.
It scares me.
Another loud cry sounds. My eyes shoot to Tucker. He’s lying by the door to the ensuite bathroom. Snout pressed up against the door. One of his front paws flicks up and down, scratching at the door.
Behind his crying, the sound of water is present.
I close my eyes, breathing easier. She’s in the shower.
Chloe’s in the shower , I repeat in my head. Tucker needs to go out.
“Need to go outside, buddy?” I walk over to him, crouching down to pet his head.
He peers up at me. I’ve never had a pet before—the only animals I have experience with are cows and horses on a farm—and I never know how to tell what he needs. Staring into his brown eyes, I see terror, not his pangryness (needing to poop so bad that it makes him angry). He is concerned for what’s on the other side of the wooden door.
“Your mom in there?” I ask him as if he’s going to respond to me. “You want to have eyes on her? I’ll open the door for ya, buddy. ”
I reach for the handle, and he rises to all fours. Twisting it to the right, it barely moves. Locked.
“Chloe?” I knock. “You in there?”
No response. I try again. No response.
Retreating to the kitchen, I dig into our organized junk drawer. There is a key to all the doors in here somewhere. Too impatient to find it, I grab a bobby pin—I never expected Audrey and I’s lock picking skills would ever come in handy.
Bounding up the stairs, Tucker is standing by the door. When he hears me enter, his tail wags, bouncing off the wall.
“We’re going to figure it out, I promise,” I tell him and myself.
Contorting the bobby pin into a tool, I push it into the small hole on the door handle. Wiggling it around, the lock pops. Testing the handle, it twists, opening. Tucker pushes through between my legs, finding a spot next to the shower and immediately laying down protectively.
The bathroom isn’t billowing with steam.
The air isn’t even warm, but cold. It’s freezing in here.
Is she. . . is Chloe taking a cold shower?
In the corner of the shower, pressed up against the tile is Chloe. Naked. Hair flat and stuck to her face. Her legs folded up into her, arms hugging her knees. Head tilted back, using the tile for support, black makeup streaking down her cheeks.
Fully clothed, with no second thoughts, I step over Tucker, pushing open the glass door.
The rainfall shower pelts my back.
Shit, it’s cold. The water is freezing—it has to be on the coldest setting. Quickly glancing at the setting not wanting to take my eyes off her, it’s as far left as it can go. She’s been in here long enough for the temperature to plummet.
I get on my haunches, trying my best to lock my eyes with hers but they are glassy, distant, haunted—a possessed appearance.
My butt hits the shower floor, slipping on the wet tile. Scooting as close to her as I can be, my knees go on either side of her body .
“Daisy,” I call to her. Her eyes don’t change, she doesn’t even react. It’s as if she doesn’t hear or know I’m in front of her.
I move the wet hair from her forehead, tucking the soaked strands behind her ears. Using my thumbs, I swipe under her eyes removing the smudged mascara residue, wiping it on my pants.
“It’s going to be okay, Daisy. Whatever is going on, we are going to get through this.” My tone is soft. My insides are unsteady, but I keep my exterior as steady as possible for her.
Time passes by. Minutes of us sitting here when her body shudders.
“You’re freezing, Chloe.” Goosebumps are all over her body. Skin is pale. “We need to get you out of the shower and into something warm. I’m going to pick you up. Okay?”
Using both hands, I find her waist and pick her up. When I place her on two feet, she sways, legs barely able to support her. I scoop her up into my arms bridal style. Her head falls to my chest.
We walk through the water, and Chloe shakes under the cold stream. I cradle her closer to me, hoping I can warm her up.
Out of the shower, I set her down on the counter. She’s still unresponsive. “Sit here. I’m going to get you a towel.”
I grab the towel hanging from the hook on the back of the door and toss it to the floor.
“I’ll be right back.” I plant a kiss on her forehead. “Tucker, keep an eye on her.”
He sits in front of Chloe, chin propped up on her knee.
Sprinting to my room, I grab two new ones from my room and change into sweats.
Wrapping one towel around her shoulders. “I need to wrap the other around your body. Can you stand?” She nods. A ping of relief. I take her hand to help her stand, then raise her hands above her head. “Arms up, Dais.”
For the first time since knowing she’s naked, I look at her body. I’ve seen it once before, but that was different. My eyes roam up and down her body, my stare heated. Her full breasts, slim waist, and muscular legs.
None of that is important right now.
The only important thing is Chloe. She’s always been important to me—will be forever.
I pick up the warm towel off the counter, unfold it, and wrap it around her body. My left hand meets the right, bringing the corners together and tucking the towel into itself.
Setting her on the counter, I run my hands up her arms.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head no.
“Okay. If you change your mind, I’m here for you.” I kiss her temple, then her nose. “Or if you want me to call Emerson.” Softly, I kiss her lips.
Color is slowly returning to her skin and features as she warms up.
“Where are your makeup wipes?” I ask her, pulling open drawers. She nods faintly when I open the middle drawer of the vanity.
Pulling out a cotton pad, I pour micellar water on it and gently swipe it across her face to remove her makeup. We repeat the process with her hair brush, but I carry her to her bed before brushing it.
I sit behind her, up against the pillows on her bed. Pulling her between my legs, I let her lean back into me. Brushing her hair, untangling the semi-matted wet strands. Running my hands along her scalp and shoulders.
And I start talking to her.