Chapter 4
FOUR
Callum
Present Day
“You’re young, Callum,” Dr. Martin mutters. “All of your labs came back normal. I’m sure it’s just stress.”
My brows pinch together as I stare down at my hands. I flex my fingers before balling them into a fist.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “I’ve been stressed my entire life. My childhood was the most anxiety-inducing experience I’ve ever had, but I’ve never dealt with this. The cramps and stiffness just started in the past year.”
He nods slowly.
“Yes, but as we get older, we handle stress differently,” he assures me. “You’re only twenty-nine. I’m not worried about anything severe. You have a high-stress job as a lawyer, most likely contributing to your symptoms. Anxiety and stress are much more physical than people think.”
I wish I could believe him, but something feels off. I know my body. Aside from my shitty childhood, I’ve never been an anxious person at my core. I’m the furthest thing from a hypochondriac. I don’t go to the doctor unless I feel like I’m on my deathbed. I’m not just making these symptoms up in my head.
“Okay…” I reply hesitantly.
“Before you leave, I’ll have the nurse give you a few handouts on reducing stress,” he says calmly. “Take some time to read through them; they are full of beneficial information. Focus on lowering your stress levels for the next couple of months, and if you don’t see any improvement, call the office, and we’ll go from there. How does that sound?”
This is why I hate going to the doctor. Instead of getting clarity, I’m going home with a pamphlet on stress and anxiety that I’d bet was printed straight from Google.
I purse my lips together and nod.
“Sounds good,” I sigh in an unconvincing tone.
Twenty minutes later, I’m leaving Dr. Martin’s office and walking to my car. Thankfully, I snagged the first appointment of the day, which gives me the pleasure of watching the morning sun peek through palm trees bordering the street.
After attending law school in New York and living there for six years, I couldn’t wait to leave the city. I moved to the coast of Alabama four years ago, and it’s been one of the best decisions of my life. There’s just something about being near the ocean that settles me.
Of all the places in the world, there’s one city that’s etched into my heart for eternity.
Myrtle Beach.
I left there when I was eighteen, and I haven’t returned since. My hometown is like a blessing and a curse. It holds the best and worst memories of my life.
It’s the place where I was abused and neglected for years, held prisoner by a man who hated his own child. Everyone thought of me as the rich kid living in the Wylie Street mansion. What they didn’t know was that I almost lost my life in that home.
Myrtle Beach is the capsule that holds my trauma, but it’s also the place where I met her .
Birdie Wren.
She’s the reason I look back at my childhood and smile. She’s why I love the soft sound of ocean waves and the sulfur smell of saltwater. She’s the reason I can hardly watch a sunset because the golden rays remind me of her sandy-blonde hair.
She’s why I’ve stayed away all these years. Because I don’t think I could look her in the eyes after how I left.
It’s my biggest regret. But it’s also the most difficult decision I’ve ever made.
I needed to keep her far, far away from him . I would do anything—move to the opposite ends of the Earth—if it meant that he never laid a finger on her.
I wanted her to forget about me. I hope that she has forgotten about me.
As much as I’ve craved her touch and the sound of her voice, I never want her to search for me. Until the day my father dies, I will be linked to a monster.
I’ve thought about what my life will look like when he dies. For my own sanity, I don’t let myself search Birdie’s name on social media because I think it would drive me insane. Of course, I hope she’s happy. But seeing her with someone else is an unthinkable pain that I’d rather not subject myself to.
But one day, when he’s dead and buried…When I know that he can’t hurt anyone else, I’ve thought about reaching out to Birdie Wren. Just to listen to the sound of her breathing. Just to hear her feathery voice again. And maybe she’d want to hear mine too .
Even though I hope she’s moved on, I wonder if there’s still a hole in her heart. Because there’s damn sure one in mine.
I look down at my arm, wincing as I brush my thumb against the small tattoo on the inside of my wrist. My fingers tremble, and even though Dr. Martin says it’s just stress, I know that this pain is for a different reason.
I miss her. I miss her in my bones. And that will never go away.