Chapter 5 Callie
FIVE
CALLIE
Maxwell rested his jaw on my raised knees.
My Great Dane was a cuddler, like an oversized emotional support dog.
He could always sense when I was upset or hurt…
or just needed extra love. He was a gorgeous blue breed with floppy ears and practically no manners whatsoever.
I found him at a shelter as a puppy, and at the time they had him labeled as a mutt, likely a heeler breed, but I didn’t even care.
His eyes met mine, and it was like we both just knew.
I’d driven home from the lawyer’s office under a cloudy sky, with rain pelting my windshield.
It was good. It made me focus on the road and not my raging emotions.
The reality that I had spoken to Wes sank into my mind like mud.
Not really spoke—we argued. His words were tiny pebbles in my mind that I kept turning over and over.
Did I want a war with him? With the club?
Obviously not, but at the same time, I wanted what was left to me.
The funeral was still heavy on my heart as well, regardless that I tried to act unfazed.
It really hurt that my dad was gone. I assumed I’d made peace with the fact that he and I would never have a relationship, that my dad was set in his ways and would never care what I did one way or the other, but as I sat reading his letter from the will, tears stuck to my lashes and a sob gathered in my throat.
My Dearest Callie,
Don’t know how I even got to this point…the one where I can’t pick up the phone and just call you. It’s my own fault, I know that. So, before I lay anything out, you should know that I’m sorry.
I am so sorry, sweetheart.
I was a failure as a father and have so many regrets…more than you’ll ever know.
I found out I was sick about six months ago; I didn’t tell a soul, and I know that I could have tracked you down.
I could have had Hamish look you up. He’s old as hell but he knows how to track.
Never left those bounty hunting days behind.
But I was scared, sweetie. I was scared you’d reject me, even knowing I was sick, knowing my time was limited.
Then I thought about what I’d even say to you, and I panicked.
You need to know that you were my sun, Callie.
Everything since has just been cloud cover and rain.
I’ve learned how to live with it, but I’ve been miserable every day since.
I hate what happened to you. There’s a part of me that can never forgive myself for them taking you.
After the incident, I sort of just shut down, and I knew back then you’d take it personal. I knew it, and I still did it.
It may be hard to understand, but me shutting you out forced you away, and by you leaving, it meant you’d live.
That had to be enough for me.
I never wanted any of this, never wanted you in this life, but I didn’t know any other way of living.
I can’t make up for a lifetime of wrongdoings in one letter, but I can try and fix what’s left of my legacy.
I’m leaving you the club.
It was the thing that drove us apart, Callie.
I know that now. I wish I could go back in time and choose you. I would have chosen you a thousand times over. This club was a placeholder in my life, and while it did mean something, because it gave me a family, it also cost me the only family that mattered.
I’m leaving it to you because you, of all people, deserve to choose its fate.
The Riders can move somewhere else. With me gone, maybe they’ll disband and gather under a new name.
Maybe all my sins can be washed away with whatever you decide to do with it.
Sell it. Burn it. Do whatever you want with it, honey.
Just don’t live there. Don’t tie yourself to that place, or that property.
You can get a decent price for it since it’s paid off.
Keep the cash and enjoy what’s left of this life.
I love you my beautiful girl, and I wish I would have done better by you.
Allow me, in death, to correct some wrongs.
-Dad.
I was slightly shocked that he didn’t reference his other letters that he’d sent for the past three years, nor did he mention Wes a single time.
I was jealous of the boy I once loved, who used to rescue me from the chaos of the club.
I still could not figure out why he had continued to stay with the Stone Riders.
It didn’t make any sense.
Wes came from one of those families that went to church, did family photos, and took summer vacations. He was smart. Graduated at sixteen, then started his college courses as I was still struggling with my basic level classes in high school.
He used to help me.
I’d recline against his chest while he held my textbook and began to instruct me on the topic in a way that made sense. He was the reason I graduated from high school.
I assumed he’d go to some specialty school…maybe something for mechanics. He was always so good with his hands. When we broke up, he was still deciding where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do.
My throat grew tight, like a golf-ball sized regret was suddenly stuck inside.
Every now and then I’d mentally trace over the way we’d ended and rehash all the ways we broke apart, inspecting it for places I could have had a different outcome.
But most of the time, I’d just shake my head and the pain would storm my emotions like a thunderhead.
I focused back on the letter, thinking over the other letters in my top drawer.
Wes was wrong. My father was literally telling me to get rid of the clubhouse.
To be honest, there was a tiny flicker in the back of my mind that made me inspect his choice of words carefully. He seemed insistent on it, and from everything I knew about the man, it did seem like the last thing he would have wanted. Maybe getting sick had changed him.
Maybe he really did have time to reflect on his failures.
Still…something was bothering me, and I couldn’t put my finger on what.
I tucked the letter away, preparing my heart for tearing into the rest. What did he have to say to me once a month for three years? Possibly that he was sick? Perhaps that he wanted to see me again or that he missed me.
Max whined at the door right before a soft knock sounded on the other side.
He tilted his head back like he knew who was on the other side then gazed at me, as if he wanted me to hurry up.
Which meant my visitor was Laura. I didn’t have any other friends in the city that I knew well enough for Max not to bark when they came over.
Just to be safe, I peeked through the eyehole and smiled.
Laura was five foot two and practically my twin in every way, save for her cascade of blonde curls and sharp blue eyes.
I had a milder temper, and I was quiet. If someone cut me off in traffic, I’d curse them out in my car, but if our windows were down, I wouldn’t say a thing.
Whereas Laura would crawl through her window to get to their car just to wring their neck.
She was dynamite walking on two legs. There was something about her that reminded me of Rose Ridge, and while I had no illusions about my life growing up, I still missed home.
Unlocking the deadbolt, I swung the door open with a sigh.
“You brought me wine?”
Shouldering past me, she headed straight for the kitchen, scoffing as she went.
“This is my security blanket and not for drinking.”
Max fell into a trot, moving past me toward Laura.
“What exactly about a bottle of wine acts as a security blanket?”
With her back to me, she set the bottle down and moved to the fridge.
Ducking inside and pulling out a Gogurt, she straightened while tearing off the top.
“Are we ever going to talk about why you get kids’ yogurt pouches?
And I just got off the train. Cops were called to the platform again because two people were reenacting some scene from The Avengers.
One of them kept saying he was Thanos and making everyone uncomfortable.
Also, your apartment is shady as fuck. There were two drug deals happening when I walked in, and one of the guys watched me like I was hiding a dime bag in my bra. ”
The Gogurt she was sucking on actually looked kind of good, and if I couldn’t have wine, it would be the next best thing.
“Give me a strawberry one, please.”
Laura dipped back into my fridge to retrieve it while I sunk onto one of the stools at my breakfast nook.
“So you carry the bottle as a means of protection?”
Her lips wrapped around the yogurt pouch as she tried to get the last remnants out. “I just have this theory that women holding bottles of wine don’t get kidnapped or approached.”
I shook my head, sucking on the tip of the pouch until the strawberry yogurt hit my tongue.
“Can’t argue with that logic.”
My best friend smiled wickedly as she grabbed a glass. “Right? It sort of makes sense, the more you think about it.”
“So” —she focused on me, sliding her elbows onto the counter—“you look like you’ve been crying. Wanna talk about it?”
No.
I shrugged. “My dad left me ten acres of property, his clubhouse, and a letter where he basically apologized for the past twenty-eight years of my life.”
Her blue eyes rounded.
“Damn.”
Maxwell whined, laying his chin onto his paws as he watched the both of us from his spot on the floor.
It was something he did whenever Laura or I were together.
It made me think of when I first met her.
She was on a delivery route, looking for someone on my floor.
She couldn’t find them, and when she knocked on my door, she was so frustrated she just gave me the food for free and asked if I had any beer.
I invited her in, we ate the guy’s food, and she ended up staying for four hours, effectively quitting her job.
Max laid on the floor watching us that night, just like he was now. We’ve been best friends ever since.