Chapter 7
SEVEN
Callum
Present Day
I only make it a few steps into my house before bracing a hand against the wall to steady myself. My fingers tremble as I run my free hand through my hair. I can’t seem to catch my breath. All I needed was a gallon of milk, but I forgot how to fucking breathe—forgot my own name—when my gaze caught a glimpse of a familiar golden head of hair and set of steel-gray eyes.
I thought I would never see her again. But there she was, in the middle of a grocery store. In Gulf Shores, Alabama. In the blink of an eye, my biggest regret became my reality.
Birdie Wren.
I didn’t need to search for Birdie on social media to know she would still be beautiful. She’s always been stunning. But God, really seeing her and not just imagining what she must look like after eleven years was a moment I could have never prepared myself for .
When she met my stare, I saw so many things.
I saw the little girl on the bus who quickly became my best friend. I saw my first crush. My first love.
I saw the teenage girl who spent all her free time on the shores of Myrtle Beach. I saw the way she looked at me the night before I left, like I was the beginning and the end of her world. And then, I saw a piece of her that I’d never seen before.
I saw a woman.
A woman who grew up to be strong, independent, and so painfully breathtaking. Absolutely fucking flawless.
The first thing I noticed was her eyes. Those mesmerizing silver eyes that haunt me in my sleep. Without a second thought, I knew it was her. I’ve never seen eyes like Birdie’s before. They remind me of a mirror ball, changing colors and revealing her every emotion. It was faint, but I saw a hint of pain in those reflective eyes. Similar to my own agony.
Just as I remembered, a natural shade of rose painted the curves of her smooth cheeks. Her button nose and pouty lips, which I used to kiss, haven't changed either. The first time I fell in love with Birdie’s lips, I thought they were the prettiest color of peach I had ever seen. I often wondered if she tasted like peaches, too. Unfortunately, it was better than that.
Today, I found myself staring at those heart-shaped lips and remembering exactly how sweet they tasted.
Her blonde hair—bright like rays of sunshine—fell in waves past her shoulders. Her signature surfer girl hair, even though she was never a surfer. Birdie’s best friends even envied her because of her locks. Meanwhile, all the boys wanted to run their fingers through it.
That’s the thing about Birdie Wren, she never had to try to stand out in a room. She could roll out of bed, throw on a wrinkled T-shirt, and still make every jaw drop.
I used to hate how people would look at Birdie, despising her simply because of her beauty. It’s no different than when someone wrinkles their nose at a person they find unattractive. It’s so fucking cheap to judge a human without knowing their heart.
Speaking of her heart, I didn’t miss the way Birdie’s pulse fluttered against the tan skin of her neck. Beating in sync with mine.
She was wearing this little gray tank top that showed exactly how much of a woman she’d become. The thin cotton stretched across her full breasts and stopped right above her belly button. She had on these ripped jean shorts that reminded me of something she would have worn in high school. And hell…The sight of Birdie, grown and wearing those fucking shorts, did shit to my head that I haven’t felt in years.
In so many ways, she’s still the exact same Birdie. But it’s also clear that she’s changed…Matured. And she made it known that she wants nothing to do with an asshole like me.
I’ve seen lots of different emotions paint Birdie’s face, but what I saw today…It was a look of pure devastation. Hatred.
“You’ve had ten fucking years, Callum.”
Our short interaction has been playing on a loop in my mind since I left the grocery store. I deserved every last word she said. There’s no doubt about that.
But God, I miss her smile. I want to see her smile. I need to see it again.
Since I left her, not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about Birdie. Not one day. Selfishly, I’ve wanted to break all my rules and run to her. Hold her in my arms again and tell her that I’m so fucking sorry for leaving the way I did, explaining that I only did it because I love her. But for her own well-being, I’ve prayed to God that she’d never find me.
But after seeing her today, witnessing the pain and sorrow etched across her pretty face, I don’t think I can live with myself without at least having a chance to explain everything. Whether Birdie wants to hear it or not, she deserves to know the truth.
I want her to know that leaving was the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. Harder than law school. Harder than passing the bar exam. Harder than putting my piece of shit father in his fucking place. Harder than cutting my own brother out of my life.
Leaving Birdie was the most difficult, gut-wrenching experience of all.
I don’t know how I’m going to get her to hear me out, but I would be a fool not to try. I’m not naive—I know there’s zero chance we could work things out. For all I know, she could be in a relationship. Hell, she might even be married.
Just the thought of another man’s ring on her finger has my stomach churning. But if she’s truly happy, that’s all I could ever want for her.
After I abandoned Birdie, I have no right to feel like I have any sort of claim over her. She doesn't owe me anything.
But after all these years, there’s no denying that I’m still hers. Before I was too young to understand it, I was hers. And that will never change.
Even though I let her slip through my fingers, I’m still wrapped around hers.
I wonder if she lives here now? Surely she’s just here on vacation…
My thought is cut short by Ollie—my border collie—crashing into me at full speed, nearly knocking me off my feet.
Ollie the collie. My best bud.
“ Ollie ,” I chuckle in greeting, reaching down to scratch the black and white fur covering his head and ears.
He opens his mouth, dropping his favorite tennis ball to the hardwood floor. The once neon yellow ball is now brown, but I can’t bring myself to throw it away. I could give Ollie a hundred new balls, and he would still want this damn thing.
When I get home from work, we usually spend half an hour playing fetch. It helps me get my mind off the day and gives Ollie some exercise.
My beachfront house, which is more like a modern bungalow, sits right on the shore. I can walk out of my back door and have my toes in the sand within a few steps. It’s the entire reason I bought this little two-bedroom home. The outside is white and powder blue; the inside is all wooden floors and natural lighting from large windows.
Ollie whimpers, nudging his nose against my leg.
“In a minute, buddy,” I mutter, giving his head another scratch.
One thing has been on my mind since I left the grocery store: Birdie Wren.
I have to find her. I need to know if she’s living here or if I’ll have to make a trip back to Myrtle Beach.
I walk through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the spare bedroom I’ve converted into my home office. I plop down in my leather chair, turn on the computer, and inhale a deep breath.
I promised myself that I would never do this. I would never look her up. But here I am, doing what I always knew was inevitable. Searching for her .
Years ago, I created an Instagram account to keep up with my buddies and their families from law school. But after six months of comparing myself to everyone’s picture-perfect families, I deleted it, deciding that I fucking hate social media. It’s such a waste of time and nothing but a highlight reel of people’s so-called immaculate lives. It’s incredibly fake and shallow. On top of that, with my career as a lawyer, it’s best that I don’t post my personal life all over the internet .
Since I don’t have any active social media accounts, I take a chance by searching her full name in the Google search bar: Birdie Wren Ambrose.
Cutest damn name on the planet.
The first link that loads has my eyes widening.
Birdie Ambrose, RN
I click on her name, and immediately, a LinkedIn page pulls up with her profile picture in the left-hand corner. A professional, ivory backdrop is behind her, and she’s wearing a navy pair of scrubs with a stethoscope resting around her shoulders. Her arms are folded across her chest, and her head is tilted to the side with the sweetest smile stretched across her face. Her hair is down, long blonde curls tumbling past her breasts.
My eyes lower to the title below her picture.
Registered Nurse (Contract)
Gulf Shores Memorial Hospital
Birdie is a nurse? Here in Gulf Shores?
It makes complete sense that Birdie would choose nursing as her profession. She has always been a caretaker, putting others before herself no matter what.
But how in the hell did she end up in Alabama of all places? And what does “contract” mean? I’m assuming that means she’ll only be here for an extended period of time because all her previous roles have contract nurse listed as well. It looks like she stays in each job for two to four months.
I’m curious as to why she’s changed locations so much. What is she running from?
I’m determined to find answers. I’m dead set on seeing her again.
I know it’s selfish of me to waltz back into her life after all this time, but what are the odds that in a world of seven billion people, the only girl I’ve ever truly loved ends up working ten miles down the road from my house?
What are the fucking odds of that?
I have to see her again. It’s not even a question in my mind.
Call it fate. Call it divine intervention. Call it whatever you want. But for some reason, the universe put her here…in the same small town as me.
And I’m not about to take that for granted.