Chapter 23 - Callie
—
Callie
Jensen fires up the truck and begins the bumpy trek back into town. Every time he takes his eyes off the road to look over at me, warmth sinks deep into my bones.
Maybe it’s the actual heat blowing through the vents. It might be the hoodie he gave me, which smells so much like him that it takes everything I have in me not to press my nose into the fabric and inhale deeply.
Or . . . maybe it’s just Jensen.
Maybe it’s just the way he touches me, the way he holds me like I’m something precious, the way he kisses me, always as if it’s the last time he’ll do it.
Oh god, this is it, isn’t it? I’ve absolutely flung myself right off the cliff for him . . . and I think he has, too. A smile lifts my cheeks at the realization.
Buzzzz . . . buzzzz . . . buzzzz . . .
My phone starts to vibrate. When I pull it out of my bag, I notice the home screen is lit up with notifications. “Whoa,” I murmur, swiping my finger across the screen. “Looks like Mabel just uploaded the video she took of us at the falls.”
In the cupholder between us, Jensen’s phone is also vibrating like crazy.
“She works fast.”
“She must have posted it as soon as she got in the car,” I say, scrolling through the comments. “Everyone is absolutely losing it over us.” I flip the phone around so he can see how fast the comments are popping up. “It’s kinda . . . ” I trail off, not quite sure how to describe it.
“Intense?” Jensen supplies, apparently on the same wavelength as me.
“Yeah. I mean, I’m really happy for Mabel.
She’s already booked a dozen jobs from the first photoshoot and the publicity from the Good Day, Alabama interview, and if this is already going viral, I can’t imagine what it’s going to do for her business.
But these people seem really invested in you and me.
And they don’t know anything about us. I mean, we could be axe murderers for all they know. ”
“Are you?” Jensen lifts his eyebrows in mock terror. “An axe murderer, I mean?”
I smile sweetly and bat my eyelashes at him. “I guess you’ll find out soon.”
We both laugh, and I go back to scanning the comments. “They’re calling us the perfect couple, which is nice and all, but no pressure, right?”
“I think people just want something to invest in.”
“I get that. I mean, everyone loves a good story, right?” I shrug. “I don’t know, I guess it’s just a little weird when you’re the story, you know?”
I can’t help it, but my brain automatically hits rewind, images from the last six years flashing through my thoughts.
All the times I stood in the background so that Adam could be the center of attention, all the ways I made my light dimmer so that he could be the brightest and best thing in the room. “Or maybe it’s just me.”
Jensen reaches across the console and takes my hand.
“It’s not you. It is a little strange seeing all these folks on the internet shipping us like we’re some celebrity couple instead of two country kids trying to figure it out in rural Alabama.
But that doesn’t mean we’re not worthy of being rooted for. ”
It’s an unexpected response, especially from Jensen, but I like the way the words settle and soothe me. “I like the way you put that. Takes the pressure off a little bit.”
“We could always just toss our phones out the window,” Jensen suggests, pressing the button that makes both of our windows start to roll down.
I shriek out a laugh as a gust of wind and rain splatter hit me in the face. “Nope, no thank you!” I yell over the storm outside.
Jensen winks and rolls the windows back up. “Okay, well if you’re sure.”
“I guess it’s entertaining if nothing else. I mean, listen to some of these,” I point to the screen.
“ The chemistry between those two is unreal, ” I read. “And the next comment after that is nothing but like fifty fire emojis. ”
“And all of this just on the video?”
“Mmhmm,” I keep scanning. “There’s a bunch of comments directed at Mabel. She teased that she’d have the photos up soon, and everyone is begging her to get them up as soon as possible. And then there’s stuff like this . . . ” I clear my throat and begin to read off a handful of the comments:
I shake my head and look up from my phone.
“I’m not sure they’re going to be able to handle the photos once Mabel posts them.
” I blush when I think about some of the poses from today’s shoot.
They’re definitely more intimate and personal than our first session.
It’s a little weird to think about strangers seeing them.
I let out a little laugh and look over at Jensen.
He’s gripping the steering wheel with both of his hands, and his eyes are firmly fixed on the road ahead, but there’s a rigidness in his posture that wasn’t there before.
“Jensen?”
He doesn’t look at me, but a muscle ticks in his jaw. His brow is furrowed and there’s a thunderous look on his face that darkens his features and rivals the storm outside.
All the warmth leeches from my body as if a bucket of ice-cold water has been tipped over my head. Something is wrong, very, very wrong.
“Is everything okay?” I ask timidly.
“Yeah,” he responds, though his tone is clipped. “Just trying to focus on the road.”
The rain is coming down pretty hard now, and I’m sure it’s not the easiest to drive in, but there’s something about his answer, the cold timbre of his words, that makes my stomach drop.
I start to ask another question, to say something, anything that will get him to talk to me or explain what just happened, but everything about his demeanor and body language has me shrinking inside myself instead.
“Sorry, I’ll stop talking so much so you can focus.
” My own voice comes out softly, barely above a whisper, though I know he hears me.
I keep waiting for him to reassure me that it’s fine, that he likes hearing me talk.
But he doesn’t. He keeps his gaze straight ahead, almost as if he refuses to look at me.
It’s just the rain. It’s dark outside, and he’s trying to keep the truck on the road. The voice of reason comes to my aid. The roads are slick.
But as much as I want the explanation to make sense, it just doesn’t. We were fine a few minutes ago, joking and laughing, and before that?
Jensen’s words from before come back: “ I want to try. I don’t know what this mangled heart of mine is capable of, Callie, I really don’t, but when I’m with you, all I know is that it doesn’t hurt as much.
I can breathe again and I can laugh again and whatever that means, I want to hold onto it. I want to hold on to you. ”
How in the world did we go from that to this?
I want to ask him, but he’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly he reminds me of a coil that’s wrapped so snuggly that the slightest pressure will make it snap.
I must have said something wrong. Must have pushed some kind of button. I go back over our conversation in my head a few times, but I can’t find the blunder. I can’t seem to figure out what line I crossed.
By the time we pull onto the gravel driveway that leads to the farmhouse, I’m near tears, with my arms wrapped tightly around me.
What happened? What went wrong?
Jensen drives slowly past his place and brings the truck to a stop just outside my RV. “Thanks for the ride,” I tell him, forcing an upbeat and chipper tone.
He nods but doesn’t look at me .
“Do you want to come inside? I can make us some tea or something?” I don’t even have any tea bags inside, but it’s a desperate attempt to remedy this weirdness.
“I gotta get home and check on Peaches,” Jensen tells me, still refusing to look my way.
“Okay, no problem.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and pull the hoodie over my head.
“Um . . . here you go. Thanks for letting me borrow it.” I leave the hoodie on the center console and throw open the door.
I get out in a hurry, and I’ve only just barely shut the door before Jensen is off again.
He might as well have peeled out given how much of a rush he’s in to get away from me.
The rain is pouring now, and I know I should go inside and get dried off, but I can’t make myself move.
It’s like I’m stuck in quicksand, and the longer I stand out here, watching Jensen drive away, the more sure I am that the ground is never going to release me, that I’m going to be stuck out here forever wondering what the hell just happened.
“Move,” I grumble, willing my body to do something. “ Move .”
But I can’t. I can’t take a single step until I figure it out. I run over our conversation again and again in my mind, but I can’t find the misstep, can’t determine what it was I said or did that set him off. But something happened.
It’s Adam’s voice I hear in my head then, all the times he berated me for things that were “my” fault, all the ways I fell short in his eyes.
Tears fill mine as the memories slam into me like a battering ram, all the words he’d hurled at me like weapons, all the times he broke me and never bothered to put me back together again.
More memories flood to the surface, but these are of Jensen.
Like a movie reel, every moment we’ve spent together flashes before my eyes.
The moments when he was so tender and kind mix with the ones where he was standoffish and distant.
But this last one, this ride home from the photoshoot, is unlike the others.
Jensen has gruffed at me before, but nothing like this.
A dozen different rationales spring up as my mind tries to justify it, tries to justify his behavior, and even though some of them make sense, I still can’t land on one that explains this feeling in my chest. Hot and all-consuming, it licks through every cell in my body.
Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe Ms. Dorothy was wrong after all. Maybe jumping off the cliff is simply that. Not flying. Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
“No!” I shout the word, forcing that horrible thought as far away from me as I can.
I realize then that it’s anger, hot and unruly, filling my chest and spreading through my entire body.
The heat of it like a wildfire that completely consumes everything else, including my ability to excuse what just happened or accept that I’ve flung myself into nothing but pain and rejection . . . again.
Not this time. Whatever happened in that truck, it doesn’t negate every other moment between us.
Every touch, every caress, every kiss. I know it wasn’t just me that felt it.
It wasn’t just me that came alive under the lights of the dance hall or at the flea market.
It wasn’t just me that admitted things I never thought I’d admit beside that waterfall.
Falling or flying. Falling or flying. Falling or flying.
My heart pounds with an answer, and I know what I have to do.
My feet lift. I’m no longer stuck in quicksand.