Chapter Twenty-Five Callum #2
The name slips out before I even realize. Her eyes widen, a little surprised, but then she reaches up and cups my face in both hands, pulling me down to kiss her. I go willingly, gladly, happily, kissing her like it's the only thing I want to do. And it is.
"We can talk more tomorrow," I murmur when we finally part, her eyes already heavier than before. "I want to talk with you... about us. About everything. About where we're going. Okay?"
"Okay," she whispers, a sleepy smile on her lips. The smile slips slightly, "Callum?"
"Yes, sweet girl?" I shift a little closer to her, and she reaches out, tangling our fingers together. I lift her hand to my lips and hold it there. "What do you need?"
"Do you have..." she trails off, looking a little unsure. I can't abide by that, so I gently cup her cheek and lift her gaze back to mine. I hate the uncertainty in her voice, in her expression.
"Tell me what you need, Sophie."
"An electric razor," she whispers.
An electric razor. The meaning behind her words is clear to me immediately—she wants to shave her head, to let go of the hair, and to take control in return.
I smile, cupping her face with my hand and brushing my thumb along her cheekbone.
She leans into the contact, sleepy and dreamy, and it helps wipe the worried expression on her face.
I will go out first thing and get one just for her—the best one I can find.
"Do you want me to bring it tomorrow?"
She nods her head, eyes shimmering. The sight of her tears hurts me, and I lower my voice.
"Do you want me to do it?"
“I don’t want to miss any spots, and..." A tear slips, and I brush it away. Her voice is a whisper now, "I don't want to do it alone, and... I trust you."
Her trust.
That is the most valuable thing I have, will ever have.
I press a lingering kiss on her forehead and feel the tension melt from her body as she relaxes deeper into the bed.
"Anything you need."
"Thank you," she whispers, exhaling a shaky breath. I tuck the covers tighter around her and brush my fingers against her cheek.
"Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Text me when you get home," she mumbles, eyes closing already. I stifle my laughter, knowing she's going to be fast asleep long before I get home.
"I promise," I stand slowly, reluctant to leave her but knowing she needs her rest. Switching off her bedside lamp, I whisper, "Goodnight, my otter."
It's not till I'm at the door that I hear her response, her voice dreamy and thick with sleep.
"Goodnight, my otter."
◆◆◆
"Are you ready?"
I glance over toward Sophie's voice—and promptly drop the box in my hands that hits the hardwood floor with a loud plunk.
She's giggling, no doubt at the struck dumb look on my face and my butterfingers.
I crouch to pick up the electric razor box, averting my eyes from the reason I'm blushing like a teenager.
Sophie stands in the doorway of her bedroom, hatless and shoeless, looking so adorable in a frilly white tank top with tiny red hearts and matching pants.
It's a really lovely little set, revealing more skin than I've ever seen on her before.
I can even see the port on her chest for the first time, a little circular bump under her skin.
She's so soft and strong, and I feel a wave of awe wash over me.
God, she's beautiful.
"Y-Yeah, I'm ready," I manage, walking toward her and clearing my throat. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," she says softly, but with firm resolve in her voice, she's silk-wrapped steel, and my chest tightens just looking at her.
I follow her into the bedroom, then into the bathroom, where she's already cleared the mats from the floor and set a towel out on the edge of the sink.
The hand vacuum is already in the corner, ready to clean up the hair that falls.
Every detail has been thought through, of course.
When I take the razor out of the box, she smiles at its pink color. I had spent over an hour reading reviews, comparing models, and making sure to buy the absolute best one I could find in the store. Sophie wraps a towel around her shoulders, and I attach the appropriate guard to the razor.
Sophie pauses and looks at herself in the mirror, turning her head one way and then the other, not vanity. It looks like she’s saying goodbye. I turn on the razor, and the soft buzzing noise fills the bathroom. Sophie’s eyes grow sad, for just a moment, before hardening with determination.
She straightens her spine and takes a deep, slow breath.
Meeting my eyes in the mirror, I step behind her and wrap my arm around her shoulders.
"Ready?"
"Ready," she nods once, firm and brave.
I press a kiss to her temple, inhale the soft, familiar scent of her, and then gently—so gently—bring the razor to the side of her head.
The first tear falls from her eye after the first pass, the lock of dark hair falling to the floor, and I feel my own eyes stinging now.
"Brave girl," I whisper, my voice catching, a little rough at the edges. In the mirror, her glassy eyes meet mine, and she offers me the softest, sweetest smile I've ever seen.
The second and third passes are the same: a couple more tears—a little bit of sorrow and loss —but also something like healing. With every lock of hair that falls, it looks like she's letting go—of grief, of fear, of shame.
I murmur the words directly from my soul, meant for no one but her, and Sophie's tense shoulders drop more and more.
"You're safe..."
“I’m so proud of you..."
"God, you're stunning..."
"I'm here, I've got you..."
Sophie closes her eyes and breathes, leaning back against me.
Her body is a soft, trusting weight against mine as I continue working slowly around her head.
I keep my movements deliberate and methodical, and I realize that this is more intimate than anything I've ever experienced.
The trust, the hope, the love coursing through my body threatens to overwhelm me.
When Sophie's eyes open and meet mine in the mirror, I almost fall clean over. I see everything I’m feeling reflected back to me in her eyes.
It's not unrequited, it's balanced. It's true.
She smiles radiantly at me, and I gently turn her head toward me, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.
The tension in her body eases a little more, and I keep going until there's no more hair left on her scalp.
When I click the razor off, the silence feels deafening.
I gently brush the rest of the hair off her head, and Sophie gently pulls the towel off her shoulders, tossing it in her hamper. For a moment, neither of us moves, just keeping eye contact in the mirror until her gaze shifts to her own reflection and she shakily exhales.
She steps a little closer to the mirror, gently running her fingertips over her scalp and looking at herself like she's a brand new person...
But all I see is my Sophie.
Her beautiful face is now unobstructed by her hair, giving me a clear view of its gorgeous shape. The curve of her jaw, the soft slope of her nose, the delicate arch of her eyebrows—every detail is absolute perfection.
"Good Lord," I breathe before I can stop myself.
"What?" she asks, her eyes looking a little alarmed. "Do... do I look okay?"
"You are so damn beautiful, Sophie," I tell her, the truth spilling out, unfiltered. Reaching up, I cup her face between my hands, appreciating her up close. "Wow..."
Her eyes look soft, but she snorts and jokes. "Even when I'm looking like Dr. Evil?"
"Very shagadelic, baby," I do my best—terrible—Austin Powers impression.
She giggles, the sound bright and loud, the light slowly coming back to her face and chasing away any lingering shadows. That laugh is worth everything, and I'd embarrass myself a thousand times over to hear it.
I had never really had the whole foot-in-mouth thing before meeting her. I was better with my words—I mean, my entire career revolves around them—but Sophie just allows me to lower every defense I've ever built. I've never been so thrown, so tilted upside down for a woman before her.
I've had crushes, I've had relationships, I've had feelings for women before, but with Sophie it's... different. Deeper. I'm simultaneously at ease and on edge, grounded and spinning, resting and electrified. I want more. I want it all.
"Even when I'm throwing up?" she asks suddenly, cringing a little, clearly remembering earlier tonight in the truck. She got sick again on the ride home, murmuring embarrassed apologies through tears while I rubbed her back and handed her the ginger candies to settle her upset stomach.
"I'll hold the bag and still think you're the most beautiful person on this earth."
"Even when..." Her voice fades, her expression flickering with something darker. Then she flinches—barely, but I see it—and I'm immediately on alert, brushing my thumbs against her cheekbones.
"What? What is it?"
"My..." her voice breaks for a second before she clears her throat and straightens her spine. "My breasts. I know we haven't reached that stage yet, but I'm going to get implants, you don't need to worry about—"
"I wasn't worried about that," I answer immediately, dread pooling in the pit of my stomach. I know I'm not going to like what she's going to say, so I brace myself and let her take her time finding the words.
"Paul said it was going to be a problem.
That's why he..." she trails off, gesturing vaguely to her chest. The implication hangs clearly in the air between us.
That's why he cheated. I know she's said it before—during that first book club meeting, tossed out like it was just another fact of life—but hearing it again now, here, after what we just did, after everything we've shared. .. it makes me sick.
I go still with fury when I tell her, "His cheating on you had more to do with him and his issues than it had to do with you. I can guarantee you that, baby. What he did to you is pathetic. And he's weak for it."