Chapter 33
what we dare to imagine
The only light in the room came from the streetlight outside, filtered through sheer curtains that fluttered in the lazy evening breeze. Jess lay on her side, propped on one elbow, watching the rise and fall of Callie’s chest with a smile somewhere between proud and smug.
Callie’s hair was a chaotic fan across the pillow; her skin was flushed and damp, glittering faintly with sweat and something more fleeting. Maybe Jess had done something extra magical. Perhaps just the truth of the moment was living in her body.
But Callie’s breathing was shallow. Too shallow.
Jess leaned in, her fingertips trailing the edge of the sheet wrapped loosely around Callie’s hips. “You okay?” she asked softly, her voice still rough around the edges from earlier sighs and groans. “You sound like you just did a triathlon. Did I…overachieve?”
Jess was kidding…mostly.
Callie nodded quickly. Too quickly. “I’m fine.” But her eyes weren’t open. Her lips were parted like she might say more, but the words were trapped behind clenched teeth.
Jess’s smile faded. “Hey.” She brushed back a strand of hair stuck to Callie’s temple. “What’s wrong?”
The moment cracked. Callie’s lips wobbled. Her eyes opened finally, full of tears she clearly hadn’t meant to let fall.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m okay. It’s just…don’t.”
But Jess was already holding her. There was no space for dignity here. She pulled Callie into her arms, bare skin against bare skin, letting the heat between them speak louder than questions.
“Talk to me,” Jess said low, nearly a command, though the kind you give someone because you’re desperate to understand.
Callie buried her face into Jess’s collarbone. Her voice came out muffled and cracked.
“I used to lie in my bed and think about this. About you. All the time. Not even in a creepy way, I swear..I just…” She choked on her breath, then laughed bitterly. “Okay, sometimes it was a little creepy. But it was beautiful. You were beautiful. I would think about the way your hands would feel on my skin. The way your voice would drop low when you whispered something just for me. The way you’d kiss my shoulder before getting up to make tea.”
Jess blinked. Her hand moved instinctively to do exactly that—kiss Callie’s shoulder, but she stopped herself, waiting.
“I dreamed about dancing in my kitchen with you,” Callie went on, her voice gathering speed like she had to get it all out before she broke. “About pretending not to stare at you at the gym. About camping up in the woods and not sleeping because we’d be too busy making love in a tent that smelled like citronella and cheap marshmallows. I thought about what your laugh would sound like when I surprised you with stupid, dorky gifts. I imagined you singing to me in the car. I even…God, Jess. I dared to imagine the shape of the life we would find together. The one where I grow old and soft and weird with you.”
Jess was silent. Not because she didn’t have anything to say, because she did, and she knew anything said too soon would break whatever thread was currently holding Callie together.
“And I know this sounds like some wild, unhinged monologue,” Callie breathed, “but it’s not. It’s just…I need you to know I meant it. I loved you in every dream. And I love you now. But I’m scared that this is all I get. That this night…this moment, is the top of the hill.”
She finally looked up. Eyes swollen, mouth trembling, face so achingly open, Jess could barely stand it.
“I’m scared,” Callie whispered, “And I can’t tell you why.”
Jess pulled her entirely into her arms then, wrapping her like a secret, pressing her face into Callie’s hair, and closing her eyes against the sting of tears she didn’t fully understand.
“Okay,” Jess murmured. “You don’t have to tell me. Not yet. But you’re not alone. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
But Callie couldn’t answer. Her body shook with silent sobs, shoulders jerking against Jess’s chest. Jess held her through it all. Through the trembling breaths, the whispered apologies, the need to explain, and the failure to find the right words.
Eventually, Callie’s breathing slowed. Sleep pulled at her like the tide pulling back from the shore. Jess felt it happen, felt the way Callie’s weight shifted from tension to surrender. Still holding her, Jess leaned down and kissed the hollow just beneath her ear.
“I’ll be right here,” she said, “Always.”
Callie didn’t stir. But her fingers, resting against Jess’s side, curled in response.
Jess stayed awake long after Callie had fallen asleep.
She lay flat on her back, Callie’s leg tossed over hers, her breath warm and steady now.
The room smelled like sex, sage, and a few wildflowers she couldn’t name.
She stared at the ceiling, as if it might explain the tectonic shift she felt in her chest.
No one had ever loved her like that. Not Max, not Emelia. Not even Zach, though that felt like blasphemy to admit. Zach loved her like a sunrise, faithful, comforting, and gentle.
Callie loved her like a storm she wanted to dance in. Like a story she already knew the ending to, but she chose to tell it anyway. A love reckless in its honesty, almost prophetic.
Jess turned her head, brushing her lips to the top of Callie’s head. The words were on the tip of her tongue.
I love you.
But she didn’t say it.
Instead, she let herself wonder, was this what it meant to be seen? Completely? Not for her strength or her past or the darkness she’d buried, but simply for being.
She wasn’t sure she could carry the weight of someone else’s dream. But to all the gods, known and unknown, she would try.
“This isn’t the top of the hill, sweetheart. We’re just getting started. There is so much more ahead.”
And finally, with the sound of soft breathing filling the room and the night thick with promise and fear, Jess closed her eyes and drifted off, her arms still wrapped around the woman who had just laid her soul bare in the dark.
She did not dream.