Chapter 20
twenty
CALLAN
The sound of gloves hitting heavy bags, the rhythmic pounding of feet against the canvas, it’s all music to my ears. The gym’s air is thick with sweat and leather, and it’s exactly the kind of atmosphere I need right now. A place to work out the chaos and focus on nothing but the next punch.
Goddamn it. I’m an idiot. She’s right. I suck at feelings. I can handle chaos, but emotions? That’s the part I’ve never quite figured out how to fix or finesse, and now I’m sitting here with the echo of her footsteps fading into the airport, and this fucking ache behind my ribs that won’t let up.
Because she’s gone. I know it’s just for now but still. I let her walk away without being the guy she needed me to be.
It’s not just that I miss her already. It’s that I wanted her to know she could lean on me. That I’d show up. That I’d stand in the damn storm if it meant shielding her for even one second. But I didn’t say that.
Instead, I gave her half of what she deserved. Played it cool when everything in me wanted to grab her hand and tell her she’s not alone anymore.
I want to be better for her because this isn’t just some passing fling for me. This is her. Bree. And she’s got this way of laughing and looking at me like I might actually be worth something.
I drag in a breath that scarcely fills my lungs. Still tight. Still heavy. Letting her go without telling her how much she matters? That’s a mistake I can feel down to my damn bones.
I need to drown out these thoughts.
Adrenaline’s the answer. That rush, that raw energy that pushes everything else out of my mind. I just need to chase it. I need to move and get out of my head before it consumes me completely.
Drew, the owner of the gym and an old friend who’s seen me at both my best and worst, spots me the second I walk in, a shit-eating grin already plastered on his face. “Long time, no see, killer.” He tosses me a pair of gloves from the shelf.
I catch them without missing a beat, slipping them on and letting my fingers curl into the padding. “Yeah, I’ve been busy trying not to make an arse of myself,” I mutter, already moving toward the bag. I don’t need to say much more. My body remembers the rhythm, and I’m itching to get into it.
He just raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained by my tone. “You know the drill, man. Don’t half arse it. The bag isn’t gonna hit back.”
I roll my neck, giving it a few cracks for good measure. “You know, Drew, I really wish it would. Might make this a bit more interesting.”
Without waiting for his response, I step in and slam my first punch into the bag, but it’s not nearly enough.
My fists begin to move faster, harder. A jab, a right hook, then another as the bag swings back, only for me to meet it again with relentless force.
Every punch I land feels like I’m trying to destroy the uncertainty, the anger, the helplessness crawling under my skin.
“Keep your guard up!” Drew’s voice cuts through the air, but it’s background noise, barely registering. “You’re here to control the fight!”
Control. Right. That’s what I’m after. I’m losing it in every other part of my life, but this I can control. My fists pound the bag harder, faster, as if each hit might erase the image of her walking away from me.
Sweat pours down my face, stinging my eyes, but I wipe it away without a second thought. Each strike reverberates through me, and the faster I hit, the louder my heart pounds. The bag isn’t the enemy. She’s not the enemy. But god, I’m battling something much bigger than I can handle.
Drew steps closer. “Focus. You’re not gonna solve anything by swinging at thin air. Quit letting your mind wander.”
I grunt in acknowledgment as I launch into another series of punches. The burn in my muscles and the rush of exertion are almost enough to make me forget. For a second, I’m only aware of the bag, the force of my strikes, and the primal rhythm of my breath.
Adrenaline surges. The temporary escape. My thoughts clear and the world narrows down to nothing but the power of my fists and the sharp sting of each punch. It’s almost enough to make me believe I’ve got control.
But the fear’s still there, creeping in from the edges. This isn’t fixing anything.
“Cheer up, you sour puss.”
I shoot Lucy my best death glare, but it crumbles quickly. She has this way of cracking through my defenses, and damn it, it’s impossible to stay mad at her.
“Oh no, not the death stare,” she teases. “Should I start drafting my will?”
“You’re lucky you’re my sister,” I grumble.
“And you’re lucky I’m this charming,” she quips, launching a plastic spoon in my direction.
I dodge it with a laugh. “Charmingly annoying, maybe.”
Her smile slowly fades as she starts unpacking the takeaway. “Seriously, though. I hate seeing you so mopey. It’s not like you.”
I swipe a hand over my face. It’s been a week since Bree went back home. A week of restless nights and days spent staring at my phone, willing it to ring. This isn’t the first time she’s left. She’s always had a life to return to, far away from mine.
But this time, she left after I’d held her and memorized the way her body fit against mine. After I’d tasted her lips and breathed in her moans. After I’d loved her in every way that mattered.
She took a piece of me with her, and for the first time, I’m not sure how to be myself without her here. This is new to me, and the emptiness gnaws at me. I hate it.
I grab a couple of beers from the fridge and set them on the table.
Lucy showed up with dinner, and the least I can do is act like I’m happy she’s here.
Which, to be fair, I am. She’s my sister, and she’s always had my back, but it doesn’t take a genius to know I’m not exactly the best company right now.
She raises an eyebrow at the beers. “What, no wine? You really know how to spoil a girl.”
I pop the caps off and slide one over to her. “You’re lucky you got anything. Showing up unannounced has its risks.”
She laughs, pulling out plates and setting them down with exaggerated care. “You’d miss me if I didn’t.”
I won’t argue with that.
We’re barely settled at the table when she clears her throat, the kind of sound that screams I’ve got something to say. I take a long sip of my beer, stalling as the cold liquid slides down my throat.
Her eyes are locked on me, though. Full of curiosity and the right amount of concern.
“Okay…” she says slowly, weighing her words carefully. “You want to talk about this? Or should I keep pretending you’re fine?”
I set my beer down with a thud and run a hand through my hair, trying to pull my thoughts together. “Pretty sure you just ruined the pretending option,” I mutter.
“Good,” she says. “Because you’re terrible at it.”
I drag a hand down my face, taking a deep breath. “You want the truth?”
Her eyes practically sparkle as she leans forward. “I already know the truth,” she says smugly. “I just want to hear you say it.”
I take a beat, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “It’s about Bree.”
She claps her hands together. “I knew it!” she exclaims. “I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out for months.”
I can’t help but laugh, a small sense of relief creeping in. “You’re such a pain,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“I’m just trying to help,” she says. “Now, come on. Spill the details. What happened?”
I lean back, and the knot in my chest loosens with each word. I tell her everything.
Bree and I talk every day, even if it’s just for a few minutes on the phone in between texts. The time difference and her work schedule are tough, but we make it work. I do my best to keep things light, cracking jokes and staying upbeat, even when every call leaves me wanting more.
She doesn’t need to hear about how much I hate the silence when we hang up, or how every goodbye twists in my gut. How I catch myself reaching for her in the middle of the night only to find the bed empty. How I’ve developed a completely irrational hatred for time zones.
So I do what I can. Swallow the ache. Focus on being the guy who makes her laugh instead of the one who misses her so much it’s pathetic. I hold onto the hope that, at some point, this whole long-distance thing won’t feel like I’m slowly bleeding out.
I can still hear her voice in my head from our call earlier.
“Hey, love,” I said. “How’s everything?”
Bree’s voice came through the phone strained, even if she was trying to mask it. “Oh, you know, same old. Busy, but fine.” Her words were clipped, too rushed, like she was trying to sound normal, but I could hear it. The exhaustion. The cracks in the armor.
I stayed quiet for a moment, knowing she wouldn’t open up unless I pushed a little. “You sure?”
A soft laugh came through the line. “I’m fine, Callan. Really.”
I knew she wasn’t fine. I could feel it through the silence, the way she hesitated a little too long before responding. “You don’t have to lie to me, Bree. What’s really going on?”
There was a long pause. I could hear her breathing—slow, heavy, like she was trying to keep it together. Then, finally, she spoke, her voice the softest whisper. “It’s just…a lot, you know? I miss you.”
I knew she was struggling but hearing it out loud tore me apart.
“I miss you more,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “You don’t have to hide that from me, you know.”
Her voice wavered again, and I knew she was holding back tears. “I know, Callan. I just… I don’t want to be that person.”
“You’re not that person, Bree,” I said fiercely.
She fell silent, and I could almost feel the weight of the moment between us. I wanted so badly to reach through the phone, to hold her, to make everything better.
“I’ll be okay,” she finally said.
She’s not okay. And no matter how much I tell myself I’m doing enough, I know I’m not. Not even close.
“I think…I should go visit her.”
“Well, of course you should,” Lucy replies. “It’s a two-way street, aye? She came to you. Now it’s your turn to haul your broody arse over there.”
I snort. “More like a twelve-hour flight across an entire ocean, but sure, we’ll call it a street. Nice, easy commute.”
I can joke about skipping the country, but the truth is, I’d do it in a heartbeat just to see her.