Chapter 9 Callie
NINE
CALLIE
Sasha lived in a barn.
On the outside, it was plain, with weathered gray, chipped boards, and a dark, pitched roof, the inside had been renovated to near perfection.
Natural light spilled through the overarching windows, illuminating the hardwood under our feet.
Thick rugs softened the space, along with cushioned chairs and a long, L-shaped couch.
The walls were redone with shiplap so they were smooth to the touch.
I sipped my coffee, taking in the decor and enjoying the sound of a nearby rooster crowing.
A tin can holding faux wheat stalks was in the corner, and so was Max, curled into a ball on his dog bed.
The guest bed she put me in was one of the softest I’d ever slept in, and from the fact that Laura was still sleeping, I had to assume hers was just as soft.
Overall, this place was incredible, but my eyes kept catching on little things that had my breath hitching the slightest bit.
Sasha had photos of my dad all over the place, and pictures of me as a little girl…
and pictures of me and my dad together. My heart squeezed painfully tight as I left the safety of my chair and walked over the scattered rugs to trace one of the images sitting on the mantel.
In the image, I’m wearing overalls, and in my hand is a big beach ball. I remembered that day.
How did she have all these photos?
“Oh good, you’re up.” Sasha yawned from behind me. “Did you find the coffee?”
I turned, lifting my cup. “Yeah, thanks for leaving it ready to go and having creamer.”
Fluffing one of the couch cushions, her thin robe swayed until she tied it more securely at her waist. This morning, without her makeup, she looked a few years older. I had placed her at mid-thirties, but now I was wondering if I was a few years off.
“What should we have for breakfast? I was thinking of grabbing some—”
“Why do you have pictures of my dad all over your house?” I cut in, then gestured to the photo on the mantel. “And of me? What is all this and who were you to my dad?”
Her arms fell to her sides, the pillow she was fluffing dropping with the movement. I watched her countenance transition from caring host to guarded and emotionally distant.
She blew out a breath, making some of her falling hair lift from her face.
“Could we at least have breakfast before we dive into all of it?”
She moved around the living room, briskly darting toward the kitchen.
I trailed her, hugging my coffee mug like it was a raft in the middle of the ocean. I knew her question was rhetorical, but a part of me wanted to sass back that breakfast could wait. It was really freaking strange that she had images of my entire life in here.
A cupboard creaked open as Sasha grabbed a mug and began pouring herself a cup of coffee. When she didn’t respond, I slid onto the bench, tucking my legs below her breakfast nook.
“Okay, can you at least tell me what you were to my dad? You two seemed close.”
She half turned, giving me a tiny laugh that came out strained. Her eyes watered as she leaned against the counter and sipped from her mug.
“Simon and I—” Her voice cracked, and suddenly my own seemed to be caught in my lungs. “We were together, romantically, for the past five years.”
My breath stalled for a moment as I processed what she’d said.
My dad had been single for most of my life, save for the one-night stands.
A part of me hated that I had missed seeing him in a committed relationship.
To see him smile and laugh, to see him in love.
By the way he looked in the pictures, I knew he loved Sasha.
Sorrow sharp and deep cut through me as the reality of how much I had missed of his life sank in.
“I didn’t realize…” I softly said, staring down into my cup.
Sasha moved forward and gripped my hand tightly.
“There’s so much behind my relationship with your dad, and more history than I have time to get into, but here are the facts. I loved him. He lived here with me. That’s why there are a million photos of you around here. He loved you so much. All the stories he’d tell…”
She looked off to the side, her lip trembling as tears trailed down her cheeks.
“I can’t bring myself to take them down.
You were a part of him, Callie. Even if you didn’t realize it, you lived in that man’s heart more than anyone else on this earth ever did or ever would.
Even more than me. I loved him, and because of him, I grew to love you, too. ”
A tear slipped from between my lashes, trailing my cold face. I hadn’t even realized my face had gotten so frigid; my hands were practically blocks of ice as well.
Sasha sniffed, then took my face in between her palms.
“You got the letter from your daddy, right? The one from the reading of the will?”
I nodded, even as new questions formed in my head. Like why he didn’t leave anything to Sasha, or the bigger question—why wasn’t she at his funeral? She would have known about his sickness, and even cared for him as he transitioned into hospice.
Sasha searched my face and dropped her voice into a whisper.
“You have to sell that place, Callie. There are too many skeletons in the closet. Get rid of it, honey. No matter what Wes has to say, you have to sell. Okay?”
My stomach twisted with those same familiar knots I’d felt the first time I had read my father’s words requesting that I sell. It just seemed strange. Why would he want to give up something that had been in the family for so long? That had been with his club?
“What if I keep it?” I asked, tilting my head just the smallest bit.
Sasha’s lips thinned and her grip on my face hardened, though not painfully—more like she was terrified of letting me go.
“You just can’t, honey. Your daddy barely made it through the last time you were hurt by that rival club.
You keep that property, and it’s like having a target on your back.
You’ve got to sell it, take the money, and move far, far away from here.
Go out west, settle down with some handsome banker, and pop out a few babies.
Smile, be free, live a safe life. That’s what your daddy wanted. ”
“But what if—”
A loud yawn interrupted our conversation as Laura made her way downstairs, and then immediately following her traipse down each step, a loud motorcycle engine reverberated through the walls.
Sasha popped up, her face swinging toward the window like she was nervous about who had just pulled up.
I watched carefully as she drew the sash of her robe tighter.
My old instincts were kicking in too; my dad would always give cues as to when we should be afraid of who had rolled onto our property.
The space near his eyes would always tighten, his mouth would turn down, and his finger would tap.
It was barely noticeable to anyone else, unless you were around him all the time.
I didn’t know Sasha to know if she gave anything away, but the way she dropped to her knees and tugged out a nickel-plated revolver, then slid it under the bag of bread in front of us, told me whoever was coming was dangerous.
“He’s going to knock, and then he’s going to open the door. Tell him nothing about yourselves. Don’t even tell him your names.” Sasha’s voice shook the smallest bit, making my stomach churn.
Laura was next to me in a heartbeat, hugging my wrist with a death grip.
“Callie, hide your tattoo. Throw on a sweater or something, but don’t engage with him at all.
He already knows you’re here because of your car, otherwise I’d have you just hide upstairs.
This will prevent him from getting suspicious.
Ignore everything that comes out of my mouth in the next few minutes. ”
Sasha walked forward as someone pounded on her front door, rattling a few of the picture frames near the trim. Max began barking, but I snapped my fingers, indicating he needed to sit next to me. He obeyed, morosely as he stared at the door.
“Go grab coffee. You have to act like we aren’t scared as shit right now,” I whispered to Laura, so she’d let go of my wrist. She snapped out of it a second later and did as I said, keeping her eyes lowered to the counter and the task at hand.
Sasha smiled widely as she opened the door, and a man walked in. Max made a sound, but I put my hand on his head, indicating he needed to calm.
The man wore a faded leather cut with a red, gaping shirt underneath, leaving all the ink on his arms available for me to see.
The Grim Reaper was inked into his skin over and over in varying ways.
That, and a few snakes, some military sigil that I wasn’t familiar with, and a few other faded lines I couldn’t make out, but it was enough to identify him as a Death Raider.
My skin pebbled with goosebumps as fear gripped me and my fingers itched to reach for the revolver hiding just inches in front of me.
“Thought you were coming over last night?” the man asked, walking further into Sasha’s home like he owned it.
His boots tracked in dirt, and his greasy hair was held back by a black bandanna.
His skin was tan, likely from riding, but it also looked weathered and hairy.
He looked to be roughly around the same age my dad was before he passed.
Well shit, I hadn’t seen him in seven years, he likely looked older.
I pushed the thought away, so I could focus on the interaction in front of me, regardless of the painful lump in my throat.
Sasha ducked her head to the side as he stepped closer and gripped her chin.
I had no idea what was happening, but I knew she didn’t like this man, nor did she want him touching her.
As if he could feel my gaze on him, his eyes suddenly jumped up, landing on mine.
“Who are your friends?”
I doubted very much this man was smart enough to make the connection of who I was based off the pictures around the room. I wasn’t any older than fifteen in any of them.