Chapter 33
thirty-three
brEE
“Bree—”
Lucy’s voice crackles through the line in a distraught, breathless rush of words I can barely understand. There’s one, though, that hits me like a lightning strike.
Accident.
The world tilts. My heart slams against my ribs, and my lungs refuse to pull in enough air. A cold, trembling wave of panic rises.
I press the phone closer to my ear, as if anything could make this less terrifying. My words come out in broken pieces, shaky gasps strung together. “Is he okay?”
The silence on the other end is its own answer. When Lucy finally speaks, her voice is frayed, barely holding it together. “We… We haven’t found him yet.”
My knuckles burn from gripping the phone so hard. Everything else is drowned out by the rising anxiety threading through me. My voice trembles as I ask, “What do you mean you haven’t found him?”
I don’t care if I’m causing a scene. I don’t care who’s staring. None of that matters. My worst nightmare is unraveling right in front of me, and I’m powerless to stop it. Thousands of miles away, and I can’t do a damn thing. It’s suffocating. I’m suffocating.
Lucy’s words spill into my ear in a frantic, disjointed stream of information that doesn’t make sense. “His bike was found on the side of the road near the river, but Callan… He’s not there. They think he might have…”
She trails off, her words cracking like brittle glass. The silence that follows feels louder than anything. She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t have to.
The images flood my mind anyway. Callan’s face, pale and strained, the water crashing over him and dragging him under. His arms fighting against the current, his breath too shallow, the river swallowing him whole. I feel the overpowering, desperate need for air in my own lungs.
I slam my eyes shut, squeezing them tight. Maybe if I shut everything out, it’ll stop. But the thoughts come faster, each one worse than the last. Every possible worst-case scenario plays out so quickly I can’t outrun the terror.
Panic sinks its claws deep, settling in my bones. My voice cracks, ragged and shaky, as I choke out, “No, no, no… This isn’t happening. It can’t be.”
But it is.
“I’m coming,” I say, forcing the words through a throat that feels too tight. My voice steadies just enough, but inside, I’m falling apart. “I’ll be on the next flight out.”
I don’t wait for Lucy’s response. I can’t.
My finger slams down on the end call button, and I set the phone down, my hand shaking so violently I nearly drop it.
It takes me a second to realize I’m holding my breath.
The room is closing in around me, the walls pressing in tighter with every agonizing second of silence.
Across the table, Dillon’s eyes are locked on me, his face morphing into a mask of alarm. I’m already coming apart at the seams, the panic swelling up inside me too big to contain.
“I have to go.”
Dillon pushes back his chair, his voice edged with worry. “What’s going on?”
I can’t find the words to explain as I shove my phone into my bag. “I just… I have to go.”
Before he can say anything else, I’m already on the move, brushing past him with my heart racing like it’s about to burst out of my chest. I fling the door open and step outside, gulping in the air like I’ve just come up for breath after a deep dive.
Callan.
He’s all I can think about. Getting to him. Seeing him. Holding him.
“He’s fine,” I whisper under my breath, the words looping in my head like a desperate prayer. He has to be fine.
Except doubt is merciless. What if he’s not okay? What if…
No. I can’t go there. I won’t let myself.
I fumble with my phone, hands trembling so badly I can barely see the screen through the blur of unshed tears. I need to book a flight.
My fingers move on autopilot, swiping and searching for the fastest route. Everything is too slow and too complicated. There are too many steps between me and him.
“Bree!” Dillon’s voice catches up to me, and then his hand is on my arm, turning me toward him. “What happened? Talk to me.”
I blink at him, trying to focus. His face swims in my vision, and I realize tears are streaming down my cheeks. When did I start crying?
“It’s Callan,” I manage, the name catching in my throat.
“Callan,” he repeats slowly, testing the name like he’s searching his memory for it, like maybe he should know.
And that’s when it hits me.
He has no idea who Callan is. Of course he wouldn’t know.
“Is he…” He stops, exhales, and starts again. “Something happened to him?”
“Yes.” My voice cracks on the single syllable. “There’s been an accident. He…” I can’t finish the sentence. Reality is closing in, and I can’t breathe through it.
Dillon’s face softens with concern, his hand still on my arm. “Who is he to you?”
How do I explain Callan? He’s laughter on rainy mornings and whispered promises under starlight. He’s the feeling of coming home when I never knew I was lost.
“He’s…”
Dillon studies my face, understanding dawning in his eyes. “You’re in love with him.”
It’s not a question. The tears on my face are answer enough.
“I need to get to Scotland.” My voice sounds distant now, like it belongs to someone else. Someone stronger, someone who isn’t falling apart at the seams.
He steps back, running a hand through his hair. “Scotland?”
“Yes, Scotland.” My voice breaks. The distance between us feels insurmountable right now, stretching across oceans and continents like a physical wound.
I turn my attention back to my phone, but my fingers won’t stop quivering long enough to do anything. The screen blurs through my tears, and I can’t seem to focus long enough to find any available flights. What if I’m too late? What if the last time I saw him was truly the last?
“Let me help,” Dillon says, his voice calm in a way mine can’t be right now. He gently takes the phone from my trembling hands. “Edinburgh, right?”
I look up at his face. It’s filled with concern, not judgment. Not the hurt or betrayal I might have expected.
I nod, unable to form words. My throat feels raw, as if I’ve been screaming. Maybe I have been, inside my head.
“I’ll book you the next flight out,” he says, already tapping at my phone screen. “And I’ll drive you to the airport.”
The kindness in his offer pierces through my panic. This is the version of Dillon I used to know. The sober one, at least. The one who once stayed up all night with me, rubbing circles into my back while I cried over things that felt like the end of the world.
The realization is bittersweet. For all the ways we broke, for all the ways we had to step back from each other, I can see he’s found his way back to himself.
And that means more than I can put into words.
“Thank you,” I whisper, the words seeming inadequate.
My mind races ahead to Callan and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, the stubborn cowlick in his hair that never stays put. The thought that I might never see those details again makes me physically ill.
“There’s a flight in three hours,” Dillon says, his voice breaking through my spiraling thoughts. “If we leave now, you’ll make it.”
His words are meant to be reassuring, but all I can think is… What if I’m already too late?