Chapter 22 #2
He shrugs. "It's just me and my dad."
Something about the way he says it feels heavy.
I pause. "And your mom?"
"She died when I was a kid." His voice is flat, matter-of-fact.
I frown, my chest tightening. "Oh. I'm so sorry."
He shakes his head. "Alcohol took her. It was her demon and she didn't try and fight it."
I don't know what to say to that. The rawness of the admission makes me wish I hadn't asked.
Instead, I clear my throat. "Where does your dad live?"
"Pennsylvania," he says. "Owns a wood shop out there. He likes to keep busy."
I nod. "Do you see him often?"
Callahan shrugs. "Not as often as I should."
"Is he religious?" I ask after a beat.
"Yeah," Callahan says. "Not Catholic, though."
"Well, Easter is still an important holiday."
His eyes study my face as though trying to read something there.
"You should call him," I say, shrugging. "Before next Sunday. Maybe you guys could talk."
He exhales, looking away. "Yeah. Maybe."
I nod, letting the silence settle for just a moment. Because I think he might actually be considering it. And I don't know why that makes me feel like I did something good.
"So," I say, trying to steer us into calmer waters. "What do you even do for fun? Since I ruined your Friday night, I feel like I should make it up to you."
Callahan lifts a brow. "You didn't ruin anything. I told you, I made the choice to stay."
I roll my eyes. "Okay, but still. What does Callahan do for fun on weekends?"
He leans back slightly, looking way too relaxed. "Not much."
"Define ‘not much.’"
He shrugs. "I work out. Cook for the week."
I narrow my eyes. "That's it?"
"Pretty much."
I gape at him. "You don't go out? Drink? Have a little fun?"
His expression shifts slightly, and I know I've just said something wrong. The air in the room seems to cool by several degrees.
"I don't really drink," he says, voice even. "Not after what happened with my mom."
Oh.
Oh, shit.
I instantly regret it. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so sorry.”
A subtle change crosses his face—curiosity, maybe concern—but it’s gone almost as fast as it appears.
"You apologize a lot, you know that?"
I press my lips together. "Well, yeah, I—"
He tilts his head. "Why?"
"What do you mean, why?"
"You say sorry like it's a reflex," he says, watching me. "Like you think you have to. Even when you didn't actually do anything wrong."
I open my mouth. Close it.
I scoff. "Jeez. Everyone in my life is trying to work on my self-esteem these days."
He deadpans. "Can't imagine why."
I huff, shaking my head. "First Amanda, then you, then Caleb."
Callahan furrows his brows. "Who's Caleb?"
I freeze.
Fuck.
Think. THINK.
I lick my lips, my heartbeat suddenly loud in my ears. "Uh...he's my therapist."
Nailed it.
Callahan nods, seemingly satisfied. "That's good. Is it helping?"
"Huh?"
"Therapy. You finding it helpful?"
I shift in place, panicking. "Oh. Yeah. Totally."
Callahan watches me, like he's assessing if I'm lying.
Which, technically, I'm not.
Because Caleb is kind of like a therapist.
A therapist that made me come last night in my drunken state—which is probably a massive violation of patient-doctor ethics or whatever—but Callahan doesn't need to know that. I clear my throat. "So, uh—"
My phone buzzes, the sound jarring in the quiet apartment.
I glance down and grimace.
Evan.
Ugh.
Callahan notices immediately. "That him?"
I nod, biting my lip.
I hesitate, about to decline the call, but then I glance at Callahan.
"Sorry," I murmur. "Do you mind?"
He watches me closely and sits up a little straighter. The mattress shifts beneath us.
"Yes. I do. I don't like the idea of you talking to that asshole ever again."
I suck in a breath, because he says it so casually. Like it’s just a plain fact, like it’s completely normal to drop something that possessive into a conversation like this. Like he’s been thinking it for a while.
"But you should still make your own decision," he adds, leaning back, arms crossed. "Answer it. Or don't. But don't do it because you think you have to."
I stare at him, the phone still buzzing in my hand.
And for the first time ever, I hesitate before answering Evan's call. But my anxiety wins out, and the moment I do, Evan's voice explodes through the speaker.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME, IZZY?"
I flinch, pulling the phone slightly away from my ear and stand, trying to put some distance between Callahan and what I’m about to do. "Evan—"
"You haven't called me back. You just ignored me. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?"
I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. Here we go.
"I wasn't ignoring you," I say, keeping my voice even. "I just—"
"You missed your appointment yesterday!" he snaps. "And I had to reschedule it for this morning, but guess what? You didn't pick up your phone for that either!"
I rub my temple, stealing a glance at Callahan.
He's still leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. His track my reactions, assessing every wince, every shift of discomfort.
I try to act unbothered. I swallow, forcing myself to focus. "Evan, I—"
"I'm coming to your place," he interrupts. "We're going to that appointment. No more excuses."
"I'm... not home right now."
Evan pauses. "Then where are you?"
I grip my phone a little tighter, the plastic case digging into my palm. "At the store. I had to handle some things for work."
Silence.
Then, flatly: "Fine. I'm coming to get you. We'll go to the appointment together. We should be able to make it before they close."
I turn back to look at Callahan. He hasn't moved. But something in his eyes is different. Something dangerous. He’s mad for me, and in a weird way, it gives me the confidence to be mad for me.
I shift my focus back to my phone. "No."
Evan scoffs. "What do you mean, no?"
"I can't," I say, voice stronger this time. "I have things to take care of for work."
"I'm just trying to help you, Izzy."
There it is.
The gaslighting.
The subtle manipulation.
"Why are you being so difficult?" he presses.
I close my eyes. Steady myself. "I have things to take care of for work," I repeat, still watching Callahan.
And then, suddenly, something inside me snaps.
I don’t know what causes it. Maybe it’s the way Callahan’s expression hardens with every word Evan says, or the way I feel nauseas at the idea of being around Evan any longer, or the fact that I’ve been defending myself against this man for far too long.
Either way, the words come out before I can stop them.
"And actually, I don't want to go to that appointment."
Silence.
I exhale, my pulse racing.
"Because there's nothing wrong with my weight."
He groans. "I can't talk to you when you're like this."
And then the line goes dead. I stare at my phone, my chest rising and falling fast.
I don't know if I want to laugh or scream.
All I know is that Callahan is still watching me.
And I don't know what the hell he's thinking.