57. CALLUM

57

CALLUM

Pushing through a brutal run, the pavement and rain do little to ease the pain that has taken over mentally. Mindlessly, I end up at the office. No one is here—it is Sunday, after all.

I don’t know how I ended up here, but my feet carried me here.

I sat behind my old desk for minutes, maybe hours.

The sky is fading when I emerge from the building and head back to the hotel.

Chloe is sitting on the bed, folding her clothes, humming. Her hair is wrapped in a towel and she’s in one of my old shirts.

She’s beautiful.

I lean against the wall, watching her, memorizing her. Memories are a fickle sort of thing. You don’t have a choice in what your brain decides to remember forever. It either hands up a memory in the museum of your life or trash it. How do I tell it to keep her memory?

Hastily, I move to her. Spin her in my arms and cup her cheeks. Kissing her. Burning the feel of her in my arms into my brain, not that it isn’t all over my body.

The towel falls from her hair. I comb my fingers through the darkened strands.

“Long run?”

“For some.”

“How many miles?”

“Enough. How was shopping? ”

“Fun.” She crawls out of my arms and across the bed, around the hill of clothes, grabbing a bag from Tom Ford. “I bought you a few pieces.”

“Oh.”

Chloe looks me up and down. “You aren’t allowed to complain, tell me I shouldn’t have, or return them. Say thank you and come give me a fashion show.”

The muscles in my face want to smile. The tug-of-war with my frown is brutal. Smiling doesn’t win, even how much I wish it could.

I spot her smile. She does that a lot more now. There’s still an edge to her, but it’s softer. A square with rounded edges.

“Can we talk?”

“Well, aren’t those words every girl's worst nightmare,” she jokes.

I take her hand, leading her away from the bed.

We sit on the couch in the suite’s sitting area. Chloe faces me, back pushed against the arm, drawing her knees up to her chest. Pulling her hair into a braid, a few strands fall into her face and it takes everything in me not to touch them. Not to touch her. Not to cling to her like a lifeboat from the ship that’s going down.

“Let me guess. You want to stay here, in London.” Her bottom lip is pushed between her teeth as she sucks in air through her nose.

“For right now, I need to.”

“Right now,” she repeats. “How long is right now ?”

“I. . . I don’t know.”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“No. You should take the plane and go back to Chicago as planned.”

“Did I do something?”

I can’t look at her. I can’t look into her eyes. So gray. So magnetizing .

If I tell her yes, a lie, at least she might hate herself instead of me. But I don’t want her to hate herself. If I tell her the truth, why would she choose me? Why would she still pick me?

“Is this over?”

My silence is gasoline. Chloe’s knee bounces before she bolts up and to the bed. Her head swivels, clocking the bathroom.

I jump from the couch, sprinting to her. What am I doing? Why am I allowing these negative thoughts to weasle in?

Her eyelids fall shut at the touch of my hand on her face, cupping her cheek.

“No,” I respond confidently.

A tear falls from her face. “Then what’s going on, Callum? What aren’t you telling me?” She covers my hand with hers.

“I-its. . .”

CHLOE

I can see it in his eyes. His touch is now cold, when it used to be warm.

It’s the same look in his eyes I saw all those months ago. The night of Emerson’s birthday.

Cal is broken, broken like me.

The memory flashes before me from the first time I thought this. His drunken confession. The tears prickling his face.

How often did I wish he’d talk to me about what happened? How many times did I give him space to share after he made space for me? Does Cal not believe that I can handle him, that his burdens are too big for me to help carry?

He sat with me in my darkness, but won’t make room for me in his.

“Let me in,” I beg. “I need you to let me all the way in, Cal.”

“Let you in? ”

I shake my head up and down slowly. “You let me need you. For months, I’ve relied on you and you let me.” I let him in. Carved out a piece of my fucking heart, giving it to him and letting him fill the cavity. “When I needed somewhere safe, someone to build up my trust again, it was you. But I need you to need me too, Callum. Why won’t you let me in right now? Why won’t you tell me what happened?”

His chest rises, pausing before he releases all the air in his lungs. The air in the room drains right along it.

“You’ve seen my darkness and held the flashlight to guide me through it.” I re-gift the words he gave me, “I’m not afraid. You can show me.”

Another breath.

Another break of silence.

“Needing someone is a weakness and distraction I can’t have.”

“Weakness?” It comes out raspy, meekly, laced with hurt. Is that what I am? Weak.

I relied on myself for a long time after Aaron passed, not accepting help to process my grief—a misplaced can-do attitude. Slowly, I leaned on Emerson. Then Callum. When I said I could do it alone, they were right there to say, “I know, but let me.”

I’ve needed him and that makes me weak?

No. No, it doesn’t. And he isn’t weak for needing me.

“ Chloe— ”

“Is this what you’ve thought of me this whole time?” I remove his hand from my skin. My voice crackles. “Is that how you see Miller for needing help with Riley? Or my therapy?”

Cal takes a step toward me. I take one back, shaking my hands in front of my chest.

“No.”

“Then what did you mean?” Moving around him, I hold my ground and his eyes.

“I didn’t mean anything.”

“You said it, so you must.” Tears make a river down my cheeks .

He runs his hands through his hair frantically. “I’m messing this up,” Cal mumbles to himself.

I go to him.

Slumping down onto the floor together.

Hold him.

Breathe with him.

“I-I’m sorry, Chloe.”

“Don’t apologize.” Truly, I know he didn’t mean what he said. That the words flew out without caution. “Just tell me what happened. I’m not afraid.”

His silence is sharp and I worry that if I take a breath, I’ll cut myself on it. But it doesn’t matter because what he says cuts me anyway. Cuts me for him and if anyone saw, they’d see me bleeding him. Bleeding my love and protectiveness over him.

I can’t believe—maybe I can. It all makes sense—that Sienna isn’t his mom.

“I’m so so so sorry, Cal. I can’t even begin to imagine how you are feeling.”

“Honestly, I’m relieved,” he laughs. “Which feels so fucking wrong. Like this ceiling above me that I’ve been trying to touch is no longer there.” He fiddles with my thumb, my hand resting on his knee. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I never meant to hurt you—I never want to.” His voice grows small. “For a moment I was terrified. Everything I believed about myself was changing.”

“It’s not.”

A weak smile spreads across his face. “I’m trying to believe that.”

“What happened after?”

“I cursed. Then left. Came to you, but when I saw you—”

And because I could sense the direction of his words, I butt in, “It doesn’t change my love for you. I think I might even love you more.”

“Kept telling myself that. I think it’s why I ran today. My heart propelling me, exhausting my brain of any lie it was trying to tell. Came to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter anymore who loves me as long as you love me. I don’t want to be good enough for everyone, only you, Dais. That’s all I need.”

I drag his chin my direction, capturing stunning blues. “You’ve always been enough for me.”

Callum apologizes again.

“It happened. And it’ll probably happen again—we aren’t perfect. You know that, Pretty Boy.” I smile. “Let’s promise to talk it out, always.”

He nods. Swallows heavily. Eyes tired—I bet his heart is too.

“When you said you want to stay, you want to talk to your dad.”

“I need answers.”

“Okay.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to stay, but I need to do this alone.”

“Weirdly, I get it.” I tilt my head. “But you aren’t alone. We’re in this. . . together .” I kiss him. “I’ll be waiting for you. You promised you wouldn’t leave and I’m not either.”

Cal stands, pulling me to my feet. Cupping my cheeks, he kisses me. Pushing me up against the wall, he drops his hands from my face to pick me up. My legs lock around his back.

He spins, walking us to the bed before dropping me on the clothes.

“Get dressed. Maybe that lilac dress? I want to show you around my second favorite home .”

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