Chapter Thirty-Three
Callum
I didn’t look back until I heard his tires fade into the hills.
If I had, I might’ve done something stupid like deck the guy.
Lydia had said she was fine. And maybe she was. But I’d seen the way she stiffened when that jackass touched her arm.
I’d seen the forced calm in her voice, the way her shoulders tensed even while she tried to play it cool. She might’ve told me it was nothing, but I’ve been around long enough to recognize the kind of nothing that leaves bruises on the inside.
That wasn’t nothing.
That was a ghost showing up where it didn’t belong.
And I wasn’t going to let it happen again.
My boots hit the pavement harder than usual as I turned and started walking. I didn’t have a destination. I just needed to move. Burn some of the heat off before it turned into something else.
Hell, I hadn’t felt this worked up since… I didn’t even know. Probably not since Lucy.
And that was a whole different kind of pain.
This?
This was fire under the ribs.
That bastard had rolled into town like some discount movie villain, thinking he could just claim Lydia like she was something to possess. He didn’t know her. Not anymore. And the fact that he thought she’d welcome him back with open arms told me everything I needed to know about how little he’d seen her in the first place.
Because the woman I’d come to know in this short, wild stretch of time? She wasn’t anyone’s backup plan.
She was a damn force to be reckoned with, which was perfect for Reckless River.
I ran a hand through my hair and let out a long breath, still hearing how he said her name like it was his to use. The way he smirked like he thought I was just some small-town distraction she’d grow bored of.
He didn’t see what I saw.
The grit under her kindness. The quiet strength in her eyes. The way she could peel back layers of this place and make it brighter just by being here.
I hadn’t wanted this.
I’d told myself again and again that I couldn’t handle this. That after everything I lost, it wasn’t worth opening the door to something that could end just as painfully.
But Lydia didn’t just knock on the door.
She walked in and rearranged the furniture.
And now she was in every corner of my damn mind.
I stopped at the end of the street and leaned against the railing by the river. The breeze was cool, tugging at the edge of my sleeves, and I let it wash over me like it could put out the fire in my chest.
I’d spent so long making sure I didn’t need anyone.
Even longer pretending that no one needed me.
But the second I saw that guy crowding her space, touching her like he had some kind of claim? That careful little wall I’d built didn’t just crack. It exploded.
I’d felt something primal rise up in me. Not just jealousy.
Possession.
Mine.
And that scared the hell out of me.
Not because it wasn’t true.
But because it was.
Lydia meant something to me. Something real. And the more I tried to bury it, the louder it got.
I could feel it now…this undeniable pull to her. The instinct to protect, yes, but more than that. I wanted to be the one she leaned on. The one she called when her car wouldn’t start, the paint wouldn’t stick, or the world felt too heavy, and she needed someone to say You’re not alone.
I hadn’t let myself want that since Lucy.
But Lydia wasn’t a replacement.
She was a reckoning.
And that jackass from her past showing up like a neon sign was just confirmation of everything I already suspected. She’d been through more than she let on. And she didn’t need saving. But maybe, just maybe, she could use someone who stood beside her instead of walking away.
I turned from the river and headed back toward the bar.
I didn’t know what came next. I didn’t have a plan. I wasn’t the kind of guy who made speeches or grand gestures.
But I knew one thing.
I wasn’t going to let her think, even for a second, that she was alone in this town.
Not while I was still breathing.
And if Trevor, or anyone else, thought they could roll in and shake her like she didn’t have roots now?
They were gonna have to get through me first.
By the time I climbed into my truck and shut the door, the tension in my shoulders had started to settle, but only a little.
My truck rumbled to life like it had something to say about my mood, and I let it grumble all the way up the winding road to the edge of town where my place sat tucked against the trees like it had grown right out of them.
I built this place with my own hands. Every beam. Every nail. I stained the logs myself, even though I hated that damn job. I wanted it to be permanent. Solid. A place where I could dig in my roots.
It had everything I thought I wanted at the time—seclusion, quiet, enough space for peace and tools and bourbon.
But lately?
It just felt empty.
The porch light kicked on as I pulled in, casting a warm glow over the split-rail fencing and the two wooden chairs out front that had more dust than stories. I killed the engine and sat there for a second, watching the breeze shift through the pine trees and brush past the house like it was asking me what the hell I was doing.
Good question.
I stepped inside, kicked off my boots, and dropped my keys in the dish near the door. The familiar creak of the floorboards greeted me, but the sound felt louder tonight. Too loud. Like the walls had been waiting for someone to come home and weren’t sure what to do now that it was just me again.
I walked through the open space and glanced at the kitchen to the left, living room ahead, dark beams overhead, and the stone fireplace. Everything was clean, kept up, and organized in the way that people without distractions tend to live.
I poured a couple fingers of bourbon and tossed some chicken on the stove with garlic and pepper, just enough to count as food but not enough to impress. I wasn’t cooking for anyone. No one to sit across the table. No one to argue about whether we were watching old Westerns or something with dragons and an obnoxious fanbase.
I took my plate to the couch and ate in front of the TV, flipping through channels until I landed on a documentary about weather patterns I wasn’t even listening to. My mind was elsewhere. Still stuck on the sidewalk. On the sound of Lydia’s voice when she told Trevor to leave. The fire in her eyes when she stood her ground.
The way she looked at me was like she wasn’t sure what to feel anymore.
And hell, neither was I.
I was mid-bite, lost in thought, when the doorbell rang.
I froze.
No one just showed up here.
I set the plate on the coffee table and crossed to the door, hand resting on the knob for a second longer than necessary.
Then I opened it.
And there she was.
Lydia stood on my porch, one hand curled around the strap of her bag, the other tucked into the sleeve of her cardigan. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her eyes guarded but searching mine like she was trying to figure out if this was a good idea or a terrible one.
Behind her, Melanie’s little car was parked crooked in the gravel. Figures.
“Hey,” she said, voice soft but steady.
My throat tightened. “Hey.”
She looked past me for a second, taking in the dim light and the house behind me. “I hope it’s okay that I came by. I wouldn’t normally just show up, but—well, Melanie offered me her car, and I said no three times, and then she just handed me the keys, so…”
I didn’t say anything. Just opened the door a little wider.
She stepped inside like it was familiar. Like she belonged there. And damn it, part of me wanted to believe she did.
The door shut behind her with a gentle thud.
She glanced around, smiling faintly. “It’s exactly how I pictured it. Rugged. Broody. Smells like cedar and firewood.”
“I keep it simple.”
“It’s nice.”
I scratched the back of my neck. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“I know,” she said, turning to face me again. “But I didn’t want to go to sleep tonight wondering if I should’ve said something. Or worse, regretting that I didn’t.”
The air between us hummed.
I gestured toward the living room. “Want to sit?”
She nodded, and we walked to the couch. I sat on one end. She took the other. The space between us felt charged, like a storm cloud that hadn’t decided whether to pour or pass.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you. For earlier.”
“Didn’t do anything special.”
“You did.” Her voice softened. “You showed up. You saw what was happening, and you didn’t hesitate.”
I stared at the wall, jaw tight. “Didn’t like the way he looked at you. The way he touched your arm.”
“I didn’t either.”
My fists unclenched slightly.
“I guess I came here tonight,” she went on, “because I wanted you to know that... that meant something to me.”
My eyes finally met hers. “You mean something to me, Lydia.”
There it was.
The truth, out in the open. Raw. Real.
She blinked, like the words had hit harder than she expected. “You do, too. Even when I try to pretend you don’t.”
“Is that what this is?” I asked, voice lower. “Pretending?”
She didn’t answer right away. Just leaned back, curling one leg beneath her as she looked around my living room like she was trying to get her bearings.
“No,” she said at last. “Not anymore.”
Something loosened in my chest. Just a little.
She turned to me again. “I’m tired of running from things that scare me. Especially the ones that make me feel something.”
I nodded once, heart hammering in my ribs.
“Then stay,” I said. “Just for a little while.”
Her eyes didn’t waver. “Okay.”
And just like that, the house didn’t feel so damn empty anymore.