Chapter 41
forty-one
brEE
Islept for hours this afternoon, and I thought I’d be refreshed but…nope.
I’m pacing the bedroom, gripping the phone tight. My parents’ voices drift through the speaker, warm and familiar, laced with concern.
Mom’s voice comes first. “How’s he doing, sweetheart?”
“He’s… He’s okay,” I say, forcing the words out, but they wobble at the edges. I clear my throat, trying to smooth them over.
There’s a pause before Dad speaks, his usual gruffness softened in a way that makes me want to cry. “And what about you, kid? You holding up?”
His words hit harder than I expect. Because the truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know how I’m holding up. I don’t even know if I am holding up.
“I’m fine.”
The silence stretches on the other end of the line. They’re not convinced.
“You sure about that?” Mom asks.
I close my eyes as I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off the pressure that’s building. “It’s just…a lot—watching him go through this. I’ll be okay.”
Only, I’m not really managing at all. I’m still waking up with my heart pounding, still battling panic attacks that hit for reasons I don’t understand. Callan’s here. He’s alive. The worst is supposed to be over. So why doesn’t it feel that way? Why doesn’t it feel okay?
“Bree,” Mom’s voice is softer now, more knowing, “it’s okay not to be okay. You’ve been through hell. You don’t have to carry it all on your own.”
I flinch. “I’m not.”
It’s a lie, and my voice is a little too clipped.
“Sweetheart,” Dad cuts in. “We’re here. Just say the word.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, my voice cracking, but I swallow it down. “I just… I need to focus on him right now. He needs me.”
“And you need to take care of yourself, too,” Mom insists.
They’re right, of course. I know they’re right. But the thought of putting myself first seems impossible. The pressure begins to mount like it always does when I try to breathe through the spiral that’s already curling around my ribs, ready to pull me down again.
I shake it off, forcing a breath in, and grasp for something to pull myself out of my own head. “Hey, how’s Nugget doing? Tell my sweet boy I miss him, and I’m coming to get him soon.”
Mom’s soft laugh drifts through the line, and I can almost picture her rolling her eyes. “He’s fine, Bree. Spoiled rotten. You’d think he owned the place the way he struts around.”
Dad chuckles in the background. “He’s taken to sleeping on my chair. Won’t budge, no matter how many times I tell him to get down. It’s like he knows he’s untouchable because he’s your dog.”
The image of Nugget, cozy and stubborn in his new throne, brings a small smile to my face. A fleeting moment of normalcy. “That sounds about right. He’s probably plotting to take over the entire house by now.”
“He already has,” Dad grumbles.
“Well, at least someone’s living their best life.”
There’s a pause, an undeniable silence that enters the conversation.
Finally, Mom clears her throat. “Honey, we’ve been thinking. Why don’t we come visit while you’re there? We could bring Nugget, spend some time with you and Callan…”
The unexpected offer hits me hard. The comfort of having them here would be a welcome distraction, a break from the constant pressure of trying to keep it together. And yet, I hesitate. A small knot forms in my stomach as I try to figure out how to say this without making it worse.
“I just…don’t want to be a hassle.”
“You’re not a hassle,” Dad chimes in. “You’re our daughter. And besides, Nugget misses you. If I don’t get him to you soon, he’s gonna stage a rebellion.”
The thought of my parents in Scotland, navigating the narrow, winding roads and trying to decipher the thick Scottish accents almost makes me laugh.
It’s a picture I never thought I’d visualize, but it’s comforting to think about them here, fumbling through the unfamiliar in their own way.
It tugs at a part of me I didn’t realize was homesick.
“Okay. You’ve convinced me. Get Nugget here before he starts a full-blown mutiny. ”
“Good, good,” Dad says with a note of satisfaction in his voice that makes me smile. “I’ll let him know he’s got the green light.”
I laugh, a genuine one this time, the tension in my shoulders releasing a fraction. “Love you both. I’ll text you later about dates, okay?”
“We’ll be ready,” Mom promises. “Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you, kid,” Dad echoes.
When we hang up, I linger by the window, my arms wrapped around myself as I watch the twilight settle over the hills, deep purples and blues stretching across the horizon. I love it here. I really do. The plan was always to be here. I just wish I hadn’t crash-landed into it.
I’m about to head downstairs when a thunderous crash echoes through the house. My heart slams against my ribs, a bolt of adrenaline hitting so hard and fast it leaves me lightheaded.
Callan.
I launch myself toward the stairs, taking them two at a time, my socked feet nearly slipping on the hardwood as I round the corner, my breath caught in my throat.
I skid into the living room, my pulse hammering, my brain still primed for catastrophe. And then I spot him.
Callan is in the kitchen, upright but moving slowly, his back to me as he fumbles with the coffee maker. There’s a shattered mug at his feet, a mess of ceramic shards across the floor.
He’s okay.
He hears me before I can make it to him, turning his head to look over his shoulder with that familiar half smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I’m okay,” he says quickly, holding up his hands when he sees my face. “Just butterfingers.”
I let out a tense breath as I brace myself against the counter. “God, Callan, you scared the hell out of me.” There’s no hiding the nerves I’m still trying to keep at bay.
He straightens up, his shoulders stiffening as he sets the coffee maker back in place. His eyes drift to the broken mug on the floor. “I’m so sorry, lass,” he mutters. “Guess I’ve still got some kinks to work out.”
I take a step closer, my concern creeping in despite his attempt at humor. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“I’m fine, Sunshine. Just a bit of a slip up,” he says, rubbing his forehead and wincing slightly, though he doesn’t let the pain show for long. “Coffee seems to be harder to handle than I thought.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re lucky I didn’t think you fell or something,” I joke, kneeling down to clean up the mess, my hands moving almost automatically as I start to gather the broken pieces. “I was ready to call an ambulance for you.”
He huffs a laugh, leaning against the counter. “As much as I love the drama, I think we’ll skip that part today.”
I chuckle, shaking my head as I carefully sweep up the debris. “Good, because I don’t think my heart could take another hospital visit right now.”
But as I reach for another shard, my hands falter, hovering over the mess, and suddenly, I’m not here. I’m back at my old house with Dillon, kneeling on cold tile, my fingers trembling as I pick up the pieces of a different mug.
Dillon had thrown it, and it had exploded against the cabinets. I cleaned it up, silent and careful, my stomach knotted so tightly I could barely breathe.
I blink, and the memory fades as quickly as it came.
Callan reaches out, his fingers brushing my shoulder with an unexpected tenderness. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a scare.”
I swallow hard and stand up, dumping the broken pieces into the trash. “It’s okay,” I say, forcing a small smile. “I’m just…a little on edge still, I guess.”
His eyes soften as he takes me in, and I see the concern etched in the fine lines around his mouth. Without saying a word, he holds out his arms, motioning me toward him with a gentle tilt of his head.
“Come here,” he whispers.
I hesitate for a moment, caught between my instinct to stay strong and the overwhelming desire to collapse into him.
He wiggles his fingers, a small gesture that breaks through my resistance. “Just for a minute, Sunshine. Let me hold you.”
The slightly irrational part of my brain is screaming about how I should keep it together and don’t need to be coddled like some fragile little thing. At the same time, there’s the other part that’s been running on fumes and is desperate for a moment of normalcy with him.
I cross the kitchen in a few careful steps and let myself lean into him, careful not to put too much pressure on his still-healing body.
He pulls me against him, his heartbeat strong and alive beneath my cheek.
His arms encircle me completely, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other traces slow circles on my back.
His hands settle on my waist as he pulls back slightly, a playful gleam in his eyes. One moment they’re soft and inviting, the next piercing and mischievous. “You’re tense, love. If you need to work out that tension, I’m happy to volunteer. Though, I can’t promise I won’t break anything else.”
I roll my eyes, doing my best to suppress the smile tugging at my lips. “You’re unbelievable.”
Although, I’m not entirely upset by his suggestion. As much as I tell myself I shouldn’t, at least not while he’s still healing, I miss his touch. I miss him.
That grin of his spreads across his face, lighting up his whole expression and making it impossible to be annoyed.
It’s so unapologetically him, and it’s both infuriating and irresistible.
As I look at him, a familiar squeeze wraps around my ribs, a quiet ache that doesn’t ease no matter how close he is.
“Hey.” His voice dips lower. “You don’t have to hold back with me, you know.”
The sincerity in his eyes makes my heart flip. “I know,” I say, my fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt. “I just…don’t want to hurt you.”
His playful edge melts into something more intimate. There’s an obvious understanding in the way his eyes hold mine, his thumb brushing idly against my hip in a way that sends sparks across my skin. “You won’t.”