19. Callie Rae #3
The crook of my lip flinches, a smile emerging across my face. He’s fully grown, but somehow, I hear that teenage boy I fell in love with all those years ago. The boy who never shied away from hitting me with a blunt truth. Or wearing his heart on his sleeve.
We’re not over.
I tentatively lift, rotating my body so I’m on my stomach. He pivots his head toward me just as I reach over to grab his right hand.
That’s when I hold his eyes.
I rest his damp fingers on my mouth, and the tang of my orgasm coats my lips. Brant’s face is unmoved; his eyes parked on my lips. There’s a subtle tick in his jaw, but he refuses to give me anything more.
Rightfully so in this fucked up scenario.
I plant a kiss on the tip of his fingers, releasing his hand right after. My cheek rests on my crossed forearms when he finally speaks.
“You should get going.”
My throat bobs. I hesitate for a few beats when he directs his attention away from me.
“You’re not getting my body while you’re with him, Cal,” he asserts lowly.
I still, internally shuddering when I envision a life where I never get Brant’s body again. I never feel him inside of me again. A life where we never make love again.
It’s utterly cruel.
Inhumane.
Devastatingly so as my soul dives into the pit of my belly.
With his attention still averted, he continues. “I gave my body to you once only to give you away, and I—” He sucks in a short breath, his words cutting off as his eyes develop a glossy film. “I won’t survive it again.”
His eyes flicker with sadness.
A grief only I know.
We know.
“I want to be your last more than I wanted to be your first.” His throat cocks, a jagged breath slipping out of him. “I didn’t think that was possible, but it is.”
A tear sneaks out of the crook of my eye, knowing how all of this ends. Knowing that my heart will be a hollow vessel if I choose the easy route.
If I choose to keep everything the way it is now.
“Brant, what am I gonna do?” I breathe. “I’m terrified.”
Blatant panic pools my plea. Brant’s always had an answer to every question I’ve ever had. He’s always been the one to steer me on the right path, and I’m at a crossroads where I need him more than ever.
He pivots to lay his back on the floor. Our eyes connect when he lifts his arm to frame my cheek in his hand. His expression remains stoic, but those hazel irises sell him out.
They’re shimmering with yearning.
Ten years of it.
And he’s going to wait it out even longer.
Just for me.
His jaw tenses when he gulps. “Just say the word, and I’ll find you again,” he murmurs. He settles his fingers on my earlobe to toy with my pear-shaped diamond earring. “Underneath all of this. I’ll find you, Callie.”
My lip twitches, a tremble scrolling over it as my eyes water. Then his head gently wags.
“I’d never lie to you. You know that,” he whispers.
I eagerly nod, wrenching another tear out. “I do. I know that. I know.”
His Adam’s apple rolls once more, and he keeps himself parked on the floor.
For his own good.
But I’m already lifting my body to meet him. I sniffle just as he sits up, and I wrap my arms behind his neck. Brant snuggles me into his lap, my knees hiking to my chest as I bend into a fetal position.
He tightens his hold on me, his large hands cradling the back of my head. His stubbled lips connect to my hairline, and the only thing that’s missing from this picture are clusters of pine trees.
But I’m home.
I’m home.
“It’s gonna be alright, Cal,” he coos. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here, Cal. Always.”
This is what paradise is.
My fingers rest on his steel chest, his words branding my veins. That’s when I catch the thin chain and circular pendant.
His necklace is exposed.
I narrow my gaze to fixate on the gold plate that dangles from the skinny chain. And a short engraving flashes before my eyes.
My heart lunges in my throat.
10.
The number is carved, glowing under the recessed lighting of the living room ceiling. My lungs deplete with the bated breath I extract, eyes blooming with fresh tears.
My gaze runs over the contours of his pecs and abdomen. Olive skin is stretched so taut. He’s tight and strong. Molded just for me.
For me.
He wears a necklace for me. To keep me close to his heart. And if there was ever a question about who wrote the book for romance, Brant would be the answer.
My fingers fiddle with the charm over his heart. “The day your heart found a home.”
I echo the words he spoke to me ten years ago.
“My favorite day of the year,” he mutters.
My chin tips toward him, a final salty droplet trailing down my cheek. He sheds a fumbling smirk at the same time, his emotions clawing at the contours of his face.
And within a second, our arms snuggle each other.
Tightly.
Fiercely.
Brutally.
We’re holding on for dear life.
A grin spreads across my lips. I take the card from between his fingers, my trimmed nails sinking into the corner crease.
I tear the seam and extract the birthday card.
There’s a bundle of flowers painted on the cover. Every pastel shade of color bursts from the image.
Then I open it, my belly tenting when I skip the pre-printed message. And I land on his at the bottom.
5/10/09
10 will always be my favorite number.
It’s the day my heart found a home.
Dove