40. Callie Rae
Callie Rae
I’m adjusting the high waistline of my plaid trousers, making sure my fitted blouse is tucked in. My heels tap along the wood floor of the hallway, and Brant’s already holding out a mug for me.
I enter the kitchen, the running water of the shower humming from the distance. The roast of fresh coffee beans whirls through the air. The early morning sun casts a tender glow through the window, parking on Brant’s long-sleeve henley.
I flash a smirk as I take the hot drink from him. He leans down, his lips meshing to mine for a warm kiss. Then I stare at the top of his head, noticing the way his tiny hairs have been gelled slightly for work.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Good morning,” I answer, lifting my mug to my mouth.
He pops his chin to the eat-in table along the wall, peeling his lower back from the counter. I spin to follow him, placing my drink down on the polished wood.
When I drop into the thin padding of the seat, my shoulders jolt. A sharp pinch of discomfort courses through me, and I hiss. I cross one leg over the other to relieve the pressure, and Brant’s swiping a hand over his mouth.
He’s masking a quiet chuckle.
My tongue attaches to the inside of my cheek as I scold him. “Must be nice to be a man and walk away Scott-free,” I quip, easing myself into the chair at the new angle.
“Yeah, it is, actually,” he sighs, cradling his coffee in two palms over the tabletop. His hazel irises glint with amusement, his legs spread in that manly way in his jeans.
“Thanks,” I drawl sarcastically.
“No problem.” He raises his mug, a smirk emerging from his lips.
My eyes roll, sipping another warm taste before setting my cup down. Then I station my stare on the mug for a borrowed second, collecting the right words.
I slump back, my gaze still trained on my coffee when I finally say, “I’m going to gather the rest of my stuff. Return some things to Jesse.” My throat rolls when I lift my stare to Brant’s.
“He’s reached out to you?” he asks.
I simply nod. “I missed a few calls from him.”
“And you called him back?”
His question is prepared and curt.
“I texted him,” I admit. “How else am I supposed to make plans to gather everything I own?” My brows gently hike, pinning him with a confident glare. “I also have to return some things to him.”
“You can’t have someone else do it?” he tosses, sinking back in his chair. Then his hand absently gestures to the side, his jaw ticking. “Fuck, I’ll do it myself if that’s what you need.”
“That’s genius, Brant,” I mock. “Have him figure us out before he tarnishes your reputation and gets you fired.”
He rotates his head to the side as he licks his lips. His arm crosses over his chest before propping his opposite elbow on it. The pads of his fingers mindlessly toy with the stubble on his chin, and there’s anger woven in his hazel depths. But there’s also something more.
Fear
Dread.
Defeat.
“I already ended things with him, Brant,” I offer softly. My throat rolls, my eyes scanning his stiff expression. “It’s been over.”
His beautiful eyes—still averted from me—blink through the gloss thickening there. My heart splits as time slows down, and it’s like a tool of torture.
I just have to sit and watch the scene before me unfold.
His nose crinkles through a quick inhale, his thumb absently swiping it. He hugs his chest with both arms now when he asks, “When are you going?”
I pause, inhaling a breath. “Today.”
My chin dips, and I tuck my hair behind my ears. His fears aren’t off base. In fact, he’s right on target. Not about me, but about Jesse.
Jesse’s been apologizing to me through scattered voicemails, pleading with me to come home. I wound up texting him back and forth for a bit, setting up a time for me to collect the rest of my belongings. But he seems determined despite that little fact.
“Brant, I need to do this in person.”
The legs of his chair grate against the wood floor. He’s already popping from his seat to walk his coffee to the sink.
My lungs inflate with anger as I stand to stroll toward him. “What is your problem?”
Brant spins, curling his palms around the counter edge behind him. His chest ticks through tight breaths, his narrowed gaze cooling. “I don’t trust you, Callie,” he answers.
My brows crinkle in disarray, my surprised stare bouncing between his eyes.
He wags his head, body rigid when his jaw cements in place. “I never gave a shit about hurting your feelings,” he responds. “I tell you how I feel, and you tell me how you feel. That’s the way it’s always worked and will continue to work.”
“No,” I breathe, wincing my rebuttal. “Don’t make this about some childhood ritual we always had. You’re defaming my character. Questioning my loyalt—”
“I was right.”
His beaten eyes bore into mine. His Adam’s apple nudges a lump as he recounts something only he can see.
“What?” I ask.
“That day under the pine trees. I called it,” he affirms, his brow quirking. “You remember that? Us screaming hysterically at the top of our lungs?”
Our fight rushes into my mind like a waterfall. The cold water leaks into my heart, chilling the organ until it’s brittle.
Destined to crack.
“You’re just waiting for the day you leave here and leave all of this behind!
Including me!” Brant leaves a mere inch between us, towering over me as he hammers his point home through a low growl.
“You’re just waiting to go to New York, find some guy with money, just so you’ll never have to be afraid of living this life all over again. ”
My breaths slip through clenched teeth. “Now, I hate you. Ugh!” I punch both hands down, stomping my sneaker against the ground. “I hate you for saying this and makin’ me feel the way I do right now!”
“As if you’re not breakin’ my heart, Callie?!” he yells, darting a finger at me. “I know you! I fucking know you and what you’re gonna pull over there!”
His cheeks flush red, anger seething from every pore of his body as he filters his heart. Another tear scrolls down his face, and I sob maniacally as he unravels in front of me.
The boy who was always my crutch.
The boy who always made sure he was sturdy enough for the both of us.
The same boy whose structure is now destroyed.
All because of me.
He carried too much weight these past ten years.
Too damn much.
“I know that’s what you’re gonna do! And I swear, if that’s the way it’s gonna be on the other side, don’t ever think we’re gonna have a relationship past these goddamn pine trees! Ever!”
“I know you better than you know yourself, Callie.” My eyes connect with the solemn tint in Brant’s eyes. “Who’s to say you won’t make the same decision, huh?”
His voice is tattered with torment. Fear and desperation swirl through his tone, and the sound strangles my soul.
“You need to trust me, Brant,” I whisper.
“He’s what you always wanted, Cal,” he says.
“You always desired the shinier things. Everything that was the complete opposite of what you had.” Brant’s head dips as he waves a hand over the length of him.
“He’s the complete opposite of me.” His stare lands on mine again, his throat pushing through a knot.
“Those are the two sides. The only problem is I know which one you want more.”
A quiet breath rolls from my parted lips. The pieces of my heart flake as I sprint my gaze along his tense face.
“Do you have everything you ever wanted, Callie?” His question tilts every dream I ever had on its side. “It’s ironic, isn’t it?” he adds, searching each contour of my face. “Out of everything I’ve been given in the last ten years, none of it compares to what I was granted on the other side.”
The other side.
A tear settles in the pocket of my eye, and his head gently wags.
“You add everything up on this side, and it still doesn’t equate to what we had over there.”
We’re parked in place, our breathing falling in sync. Our hearts beat in a staggered melody—a discordant motion when I realize how much our perceptions have drifted apart since we were kids.
I’m an inch away from him, but our wings detach anyway.
“Goddammit, I’ve tried to find a love like that here.
I swear, I have,” he breathes, straightening up.
“It doesn’t work.” Then he’s pivoting to snatch a piece of paper off the butcher block counter.
When he returns to me, he’s dangling the sheet between us.
“For what it’s worth. If you have the time to swing by. ”
That’s all he says before dropping it in my hand and walking off.
Kids believe in everything. They believe in Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and a lot of other magical concepts.
Like the fact that they’re invincible. Too powerful to be defeated by any outside threat.
Then when those children grow up, they become more aware of their surroundings.
They feel less indestructible as they transition into adulthood.
But for me?
Brant reversed the spell.
If you asked me back then, I’d tell you dreams are just dreams. They’re imaginary. Impossible to manifest to life.
If you asked me now, I’d tell you they’re one wish away from being real. Because I’ve seen the impossible happen against all odds.
Since we were eight years old, our worlds were crafted together every step of the way. Until we made our way out of Willowhart. The pieces of our lives were sewn together so that our armor was thicker. Because of that, we stood a chance.
I finally look down, flipping the piece of paper in my hands before reading the printed side.
Mr. Beckett,
We would like to congratulate you on your recent nomination for Long Island’s Thirty Under Thirty Class of 2019.
The Thirty Under Thirty awards honor young professionals who are dedicated to their work and versatile in many areas.
We hope that you will join us for a formal dinner at The Larkwood Manor to accept your award and recognition.
Specific details for the event can be found below:
The Larkwood Manor
May 28th from six o’clock to ten o’clock in the evening
Cocktail Hour
Please RSVP by May 23rd
Sincerely,
Chamber of Members of Woodbury
My head peeks over my shoulder, the thudding of Brant’s boots resounding from his bedroom floor. All I want to do is dive into his arms.
My eyes glisten with the chains raveling around my body. I want to tell him there’s no number of words that could describe how proud I am of him. But they wouldn’t pay him justice.
How do you capture someone’s value when it never stops soaring?
Damn you, Dove.
I want to tell him his worries with Jesse are futile. I want to tell him exactly what’s been happening so he can be relieved.
But I know that if I do, I’d annihilate his life again. He’d play the aggressive hero, and I’d be left to live this life alone.
I was never meant to live it alone. I was always meant to live it with him.
I was meant to fight back.
I owe him that much.
I owe her that much.