26. Callum
Callum
The room is pitch-black except for the sliver of moonlight pushing through the sheer curtains, casting soft, gray lines across the floral quilt. I’ve got my arms wrapped tight around Winifred, her back pressed flush against my chest, my chin resting in the crook of her neck.
She sniffles quietly. “Tomorrow?” her voice wobbles, rough from crying. “This all has to happen tomorrow?”
It’s another little truth Cass dropped on us at the dinner table like an anvil.
The tear in the Veil can only be safely mended during the Autumnal Equinox—when the daylight and the night sit in perfect, fleeting balance.
It’s the only time the ambient magic in the earth is thick enough to anchor a spell that massive, and the Equinox hits at dusk tomorrow.
I don’t say anything. I can’t. I want to comfort her but everything in me feels numb.
I have to leave her. Indefinitely.
As much as every single nerve ending in my body is screaming at me to stay right here in this bed, to hide out in this weird, magical town and never look back, I know I can’t.
I have a job waiting for me. I have my Gran, who relies on me.
I have Isla. I can’t put my sister and my Gran through the agony of another ghost—they barely survived losing Rory.
I won’t do that to them. I won’t let them grieve another brother, another grandson, who just vanished into thin air.
But god, the thought of leaving Winifred feels like someone reaching into my chest and ripping my ribs apart one by one. It’s a quiet, crushing ache that makes it hard to draw a full breath.
Winifred turns around in my arms, shifting until she’s facing me. Her small, warm hand comes up to touch my face, her index finger slowly tracing down the bridge of my nose.
I force a faint, tight smile and do the same to her, my calloused fingertip tracing the soft slope of her nose down to her top lip. Her eyes pool with water, the moonlight catching the tears before they spill over onto her cheek.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, wiping her cheek aggressively with the back of her wrist. “I’m sorry for crying. This is so stupid.”
“Hey,” I say quietly, leaning in to press a firm kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in. “It’s not stupid, Win.”
I’m already missing this. I breathe in again, trying to burn the smell of her straight into my lungs.
Strawberries and warm vanilla. I look past her shoulder at the faint outlines of her bedroom—the vintage movie posters taped crookedly near the closet, the dusty stack of old records resting on the nightstand, the framed black-and-white print of a ‘67 Mustang above her dresser.
It feels like I’m grieving in real time.
It’s a bizarre, excruciating thing—knowing down to the exact hour when you’re going to lose someone.
Knowing the clock is already running down.
How do you spend the hours you have left?
Laughing until your stomach hurts? Crying until you can’t see straight?
Dancing barefoot in the kitchen at two in the morning just because the song is good?
Holding on so tightly your fingers go numb and still feeling like it’s not enough?
Do you just lay here, praying for the sun to stay down?
I’ve only known her a short while, but somehow she’s folded herself into every quiet corner of me.
In just a few short weeks, this girl broke down every single wall I spent years building up after Rory died.
She saw right through my defensive sarcasm, my dry jokes, my stupid deflection tactics, and she just…
let me be. She made me feel seen in a way I didn’t think was possible anymore.
And now, I’m supposed to step through a door and forget the sound of her laugh?
Forget the feel of her skin? It feels like a sick joke.
“Callum?” she whispers, her hands resting flat on my chest.
“Yeah?”
She sits up just enough to look down at me, her dark hair falling in messy curls around her shoulders.
She sits up just enough that I can see her face in the low light. “No matter what happens tomorrow…I’m glad I met you. I’m better for it. And even if you can’t remember me, I’ll always remember you. I’ll remember us like this.”
Her voice stays steady even though her eyes are shining.
“You helped me meet a version of myself I didn’t know existed.
One that wasn’t afraid of her magic. One that could play guitar in front of people again and not wait for the sky to fall.
I didn’t know if that version was ever going to show up.
You made space for her. You made space for me.
And I’m going to carry that with me for the rest of my life.
I think a part of me will always love you for it. ”
My eyes sting, hot tears prickling at the corners, but I refuse to let them fall. I refuse to look away from her.
“Winifred,” I say as I reach up, cupping the back of her neck to pull her down just a little closer.
“You are the most exquisite, divine thing that has ever happened to me. You haven’t left my mind for a single second since the day I met you.
If I could only feel one thing for the rest of my life, I’d choose the way I feel when I’m with you. Every single time.”
Tears are streaming down her face in silent, heartbreaking rivers, but a wobbly, impossibly beautiful smile breaks across her lips.
She leans in and kisses me. It’s slow and soft and tastes like salt.
I kiss her back like I’m trying to memorize the shape of her mouth, the quiet sound she makes, the way her fingers curl into my shirt.
Outside the window the streetlight keeps glowing, but inside this room we still have a few more hours.
So we use them.