Chapter 25 Callum
CALLUM
Grant and I have been at it for days fixing up Noelle’s shop.
From hammering new shelves into the studs, patching the walls and sanding them smooth, and repainting everything in soft whites and pale greens.
Every brushstroke feels like a small act of restoration for what had once been a devastating loss now turned into a well-deserved rebirth.
This project has been our secret since the moment we decided to stay in this sleepy little town for good.
To everyone else, we’re just taking our time “settling in”, ironing out details and finalizing paperwork to sell the ranch.
But in truth, every spare hour has gone into this place.
To Noelle’s shop and her dream, the thing she lost the night Jared shattered her peace.
Now we’re giving it back to her.
Rebuilding it from the inside out.
The bell above the door jingles faintly each time one of us steps out for supplies, and even that small sound feels like a heartbeat returning to a long-silent space.
The smell of sawdust and fresh paint fills the air, the floors gleam with a new coat of polish, and the sunlight slants through the front window, glinting off the glass ornaments saved during our cleanup.
My muscles ache in the kind of way that feels earned—tight shoulders, sore wrists, paint still speckled across my forearms.
It’s the kind of ache that reminds you what it means to build something not just for yourself, but for someone you love.
But even as I clean the paint roller and wipe the sweat from my brow, my mind keeps drifting to tomorrow.
New Year’s Eve.
Fireworks with Eli once it gets dark enough, his little mittened hands gripping sparklers and his bright laugh echoing in the cold.
Toasts later once he’s tucked in safe and warm upstairs, and then it will be just the four of us again.
It’s become our strange little tradition, this life we’ve carved together.
Unconventional, complicated, but wholly ours.
I can already picture it: Noelle in that soft knit sweater she always wears when she’s had too much champagne, her cheeks flushed from laughter and heat.
Dean with his arm around her waist, murmuring something against her ear that makes her giggle.
Grant beside me, leaning back with that quiet, satisfied smile he gets when everything feels right in his world.
And later when the laughter fades and the house goes quiet, when the last of the fire dies in hearth, we’ll take her upstairs.
We’ll worship her the way we always do: with reverence, with hunger, with gratitude that she’s still ours after everything that’s happened.
It’s not about claiming her anymore.
It’s about belonging to her, to each other, and to this strange, beautiful thing we’ve built from the wreckage of our pasts.
That’s our way of ringing in the new year.
Not with resolutions or countdowns, but with closeness.
With a reminder that against all odds, we made it.
Selling the ranch, quitting our jobs, walking away from everything familiar had sounded impossible at first, but in the end it was the easiest thing we’ve ever done.
Because when you finally find something that feels like home, you don’t hesitate.
You just stay.
The afternoon light is fading by the time Grant and I get to the last shelf.
Grant’s humming quietly under his breath as he drills the last bracket into the wall, the rhythmic whine of the power tool filling the small space.
I’m crouched near the front window, sweeping away dust from the new trim and checking the caulking line.
“Once this dries,” Grant says, switching off the drill, “I think we’re done for the day. We could come in early tomorrow, hang the “Grand Reopening” sign, maybe restock the counter with those candles she likes.”
“Yeah. She’s gonna lose her mind when she sees it. In the best way.” I straighten and stretch my back until it pops.
“Hopefully. Or she’ll scold us for going out of our way like this.”
I’m about to reply when something outside makes me pause.
I catch a faint scraping sound, not loud but definitely out of place.
Like metal brushing against metal.
Grant stops too, catching the shift in my posture. “What?”
“Listen,” I murmur, lowering my voice.
For a second, all I hear is the creak of the old building settling in against the wind blowing past outside, and the ticking of the space heater in the corner.
Then it comes again, closer this time, a low clink like someone testing a lock.
Grant’s eyes meet mine, his jaw tightening.
We move in unison.
He sets the drill down quietly while I reach for the hammer lying on the floor close by me.
The sound comes again, louder now and is the definite jostle of the front door handle.
“Someone’s out there,” Grant mutters.
My pulse kicks up. “No one’s supposed to be stopping by. Dean shouldn’t be back from taking Eli to the movies until later.”
Grant steps toward the door, his boots whispering over the floorboards.
I follow a step behind, muscles tensed while my fingers tighten around the hammer’s handle.
The lock rattles again, followed by a muffled curse on the other side of the door.
Grant calls out, his voice loud and commanding. “Store’s closed!”
Something slams against the door then, rattling it hard against the frame.
I raise the hammer. “Fuck. They’re trying to break in.”
Grant’s already moving toward the door.
He grabs the handle, jerking it open in one swift motion, and suddenly the winter air blasts in.
Standing there on the other side of the threshold, half-shadowed by the dying sunlight behind him, is someone I never expected to see again.
Jared.
For a moment, my brain refuses to connect the dots.
He’s a little thinner than I remember, his face drawn, eyes sunken in and hollow.
There’s a deep bruise along his jawline that hasn’t healed well, and the smell of stale cigarettes clings to him even from a few feet away.
Grant inhales sharply, disbelief turning quickly to anger. “Jesus Christ. You’ve got some nerve showing your face here.”
Jared’s lips twitch into a crooked smirk, though there’s no humor behind it.
“I could say the same thing to you, cowboy.” He looks past us into the shop, scanning the room like he’s taking inventory of what’s been fixed, what’s been rebuilt. “Looks good in here. Guess I should be flattered you’re fixing my handiwork.”
“Get the hell out of here, Jared,” I snap, taking a step forward.
“Relax. Nobody got hurt. She deserved it anyway.” He shrugs.
Grant’s hand twitches like he’s about to swing, but I step in front of him before he can. “I mean it. You need to leave. Right now.”
Jared chuckles. His gaze flicks between us, a sneer working its way onto his face. “You think Noelle’s gonna play house with the three of you forever?”
Grant’s eyes go dark. “Watch your mouth.”
“I’m just saying,” Jared continues, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. “She’s good at pretending, isn’t she? All that innocence…until she gets bored, that is. I know how she is.”
Grant lunges before I can stop him, grabbing Jared by the collar and shoving him back.
He doesn’t let go, keeping a tight hold around the front of his shirt and using it to slam him against the brick wall outside.
“You don’t get to talk about her,” he snarls, his voice shaking with fury. “You don’t even get to say her name. Do you understand me?”
Jared laughs, though there’s a flicker of fear in his eyes now. “Touched a nerve, huh? Didn’t I warn you how much of a whore—”
“Grant!” I bark, grabbing his arm when he raises his fist. “Don’t. Not here.”
His chest heaves, his knuckles trembling inches from Jared’s jaw.
For a heartbeat, I’m not sure if he hears me. His pupils are blown so wide that his eyes look black.
His face taut with fury, teeth gritting hard enough to make his jaw twitch.
Jared sneers right back at him, trying to recover the upper hand. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Big man can’t finish what he started, huh.”
My first stupid move is dropping the hammer because I want a free hand.
My second is using that free hand to try to pry Grant away before he swings because as much as I want to see Jared eat pavement, we don’t need jail to ruin this for Noelle.
I yank at Grant’s arm, pull until he stumbles back, but Jared’s not done. He’s unhinged and fast like a cornered animal.
He lunges for the hammer and grabs it, bringing it up like a battering ram.
The swing is wild with no aim and all rage and it swings past Grant’s temple so close the force of it snaps his head.
Adrenaline kicks in so hard my legs feel like they’re on fire.
Grant shoves back from me, splitting us apart so we’re not targeted together.
Tires crunch nearby, squealing slightly as the driver jams on the brakes and throws the car into park right at the curb.
I’m too busy dodging another swing to look over and tell the person climbing out of the car to get back.
“Callum!” Grant shouts.
The hammer slams against the brick wall next to me, pieces of it chipping off and falling to the sidewalk, dusting my feet.
With Jared’s arms still extended out, I use the momentum of my already moving body to push away from the wall and shoulder him away from me.
Another pair of hands grabs at the back of his jacket, and for a moment I think it’s Grant.
But then a head of pepper grey hair flashes out of the corner of my eye right as Jared is yanked backward.
I blink a few times.
Richard?
He slams a fist into Jared’s cheek, snapping his head back from the force. Jared crumbles to the ground, the hammer in his hand falling from his slack fingers.
Richard leans over him, grabbing a fist full of his hair. “You think you come back here and fuck with my daughter’s life again? You think you get to make threats at my friends and then walk away?”
For the first time since meeting him, Jared looks small.
There’s real panic in the way his eyes dart between Richard and I as he silently begs to be let go.