Chapter 24
twenty-four
CAL
My fingers are sore. They’re not used to playing the guitar anymore. Ever since Harlow dragged me down here, I’ve been playing on my own. It feels good to play again, but I won’t do it on stage. I’m not that good, and honestly, I don’t want to.
But here in my own home? Here I can sit and play and write songs that no one will ever hear. If I even mentioned I wrote I song, I would be laughed at. Which I guess is my own fault. I started cultivating this jokester personality almost by instinct when I was a kid. Now I play into it. Everything around us is so heavy, it has been for years. So I let them laugh at me, call me dumb, think of me as the nice guy with only air in his head. If they need to laugh at me, let them. I can handle it.
Harlow noticed, though. My firecracker. She doesn’t miss anything. And she hates it. She might be the only person who really knows me inside and out. But she stays quiet while everyone laughs. Because I asked her to. Because she knows why I asked her to.
I close my eyes and bring my tired fingers to the strings, playing the notes to the song I wrote that day. That first day, Harlow brought me here and fell asleep on the couch.
I sing about the fire that’s just out of my reach. The fire I want to consume and burn with. The one I know will incinerate me and help me rise from the ashes.
I let the last note fade and see Harlow standing in the doorway with tears in her eyes. “What’s that song called?” she asks.
I swallow the lump in my throat. No one was supposed to hear that. I know I’m not a good songwriter, but I don’t think I can handle Harlow telling me that. And she’s not the type to sugarcoat her opinions.
“Firecracker,” I admit.
She walks into the small studio and takes a seat on the couch. “Play it again.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “It’s late. We should probably go to bed.”
“Play it again, Callahan,” she demands. “Please,” she adds softly.
I nod and take a deep breath. I close my eyes and play the song again. Even as the last notes fade, I keep my eyes closed. The vulnerable part of me that I keep pushed down is terrified of her reaction.
I smell her sweet perfume, and I know she’s right there. Gently, she removes the guitar from my hands and replaces it with her own body. Her lips trace a line along my jaw and up to my lips.
“Did you write that about me?” she asks before kissing each one of my closed eyelids.
“Yes,” I admit in a whisper.
“Why did you say you were bad at writing songs? I’d bet my left boob that would be a Top 40.”
My eyes fly open and search hers. I can’t tell if she’s making fun of me or not. “But the left one is my favorite,” I joke.
“Mine too. That’s how you know how serious I am.” And she is serious. I can see it in her face.
“You really think it’s okay?” I ask anyway.
“Okay? Cal, it’s amazing! And I’m not saying that because my super-hot rock star boyfriend wrote me a song.”
“Super-hot, huh?”
Harlow rolls her eyes. “Of course, that’s what you focus on.”
I smile and kiss her fiercely. The relief that she isn’t laughing at me almost makes me want to cry. I should’ve known better. Harlow never laughs at me , only ever with me .
“Your super-hot rock star future husband,” I correct her.
She laughs. “You’re not going to let that one go, are you?”
“Only when I’m your super-hot rock star husband.”
Harlow shakes her head, but she’s smiling. She kisses me sweetly before standing and holding out her hand.
“We actually do need to go to bed. Cora is going to be up in a few hours.”
I groan playfully but follow my firecracker to bed.
“Absolutely not.” I’m pacing back and forth in the kitchen as Cora claps in her highchair, where Harlow is helping her with breakfast. I don’t know if she’s clapping for me or for the French toast I made. Probably the French toast.
“Absolutely yes,” Harlow counters.
Apparently, Harlow recorded me singing last night and wants to show the band and have it added to the album. I think she’s biased and thinks I’m better than I actually am.
“I can’t,” I plead with her. Harlow smiles sadly and walks over to where I’m standing. She takes my face in her hands, forcing me to meet her gaze.
“You, Callahan Elizabeth Griffin, are so much more amazing than you give yourself credit for.”
I laugh. “My middle name is Jason.”
“That makes a lot of sense, but I like Elizabeth better.”
I laugh again, feeling like a thousand pound weight has been lifted off my chest even though we’re still in the middle of a disagreement. That’s just how perfect Harlow is. She makes me laugh in the middle of an argument.
“I don’t think I can handle the rejection. Not with something that personal,” I admit.
“I’ll be right there with you. And if you think I won’t get into a fistfight with each and every one of them, well, you’d be right because Willa is terrifying,” Harlow says, making me laugh once again. “But the rest are fair game.”
I pull her into me, holding her close and basking in her warmth. Just being near her makes me feel like I can do anything.
I sigh, and I can feel her smile against me. She knows she won. “You’re willing to die on this hill, aren’t you?”
“You bet your tight ass I am.”
I bark out a laugh and shake my head. “Fine. If my dad can watch Cora, we can do it today.” I’m not going to embarrass myself in front of my daughter.
“He should be here any minute,” Harlow says. I drop my cheek to her head and sigh again. She knew. Of course, she knew I wouldn’t want to do this in front of Cora. Even though Cora won’t know what’s going on or even remember.
“What did I do to deserve you?” I ask Harlow.
“You just had to be you, Callahan. Stop thinking you have to be anyone other than yourself to deserve love.” She kisses me quickly and moves to clean the syrup off Cora, leaving me standing there dumbstruck by her words.
I knew Harlow had firmly planted herself in my heart, but I think maybe she’s in my bones too.
I suddenly know what Eminem was rapping about when he said his palms were sweaty and his knees were weak. My arms feel like uselessly heavy stumps by my side. Arms heavy, check.
“Why do you look like you’re trying not to shit your pants?” Kai asks from where he’s sitting with everyone else on the couch. Harlow made all the band members, other than me, squish together on the one couch. Belle is in Kai’s lap so that they would all fit.
I just glare at him and continue pacing.
Harlow is connecting her phone to the TV since, according to her, it’s not enough for them just to hear my song, they need to see it too. I might actually shit my pants. Or throw up. Or shit my pants while throwing up.
“Don’t distract him, he’ll trip,” Mav says, causing everyone except Harlow to laugh.
“I swear if you have another surprise baby,” Willa says, looking completely serious.
“Even Cal wouldn’t be that stupid,” Kai says, laughing. Harlow’s expression is tight, but she keeps her thoughts to herself.
“What are we here to watch, Harlow?” Belle asks. “We know Cal can sing.”
Harlow turns to face them. “Yes, we know Cal can sing. But he can write too. You’re here to watch a video of him singing a song he wrote.”
Belle’s eyes light with interest, but everyone else laughs.
“Cal can’t write,” Mav says laughing so hard he almost doubles over.
“Can he even spell?” Kai says.
I wince. Normally, I don’t care about being the butt of a joke, but I’m feeling really vulnerable right now.
Harlow picks up one of Cora’s toy cars and throws it against the wall behind the couch, startling everyone into silence.
“Callahan is not stupid. He is not illiterate. He lets you use him as a joke because your lives have a lot of darkness in them, and he is the fucking sun! That man sacrifices so much for you, and you’re too busy making fun of him to see it.” Her face is red with anger, and I want to reach out and pull her to me, but even I’m frozen in place. “You wrote a song about a purple dildo and put that on an album,” Harlow says, pointing at Mav, who looks embarrassed.
Harlow walks over to me and grabs my hand. I grip hers so hard, I might be hurting her, but if I am, she isn’t letting it show.
“All of you are going to sit down and shut the fuck up. You will watch the entirety of the video I’m about to play. Then you will give your honest opinions.” With that, she hits play on her phone and pulls me along with her to the loveseat. Pushing me down, she puts herself in my lap and watches the video with everyone else.
I tighten my arms around her. “Thank you,” I whisper. She leans into me, her focus still on the image of me singing her song. I didn’t know how much I needed someone to stand up for me like that. Those three little words are on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say them. This isn’t the time or place for that.