Chapter 44
forty-four
brEE
Afew days later, I stand in the driveway, wrapped in Mom’s arms, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume like it’s some kind of emotional life raft.
It’s hard to see my parents go.
“Take care of yourself, sweetheart,” she murmurs, pulling back to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
I clear my throat, willing my voice to stay strong. “I will.” Probably. Maybe. No promises.
Dad steps in next, pulling me into one of his classic bear hugs that makes me feel like a kid again, safe and untouchable. I grip the back of his jacket, pressing my face into his shoulder for half a second longer than I probably should.
“You know we’re just a call away, right?” His voice is gruff. “Anytime you need us.”
“I know.” I blink back the sting in my eyes. “Thanks, Dad.”
As they climb into their rental car, Nugget barks from the porch, his tail wagging furiously, completely oblivious to the fact that we’re saying goodbye. Callan stands beside him, leaning lightly on his crutch, his crooked grin soft but genuine as he waves them off.
The second their car pulls away, something inside me slips.
I stand there, watching until their taillights disappear while the silence of the countryside settles back in around me. It’s like my foundation cracks.
Panic hits like a rogue wave with no warning or mercy.
One second I’m standing there, rooted to the earth, and the next, everything feels off.
The world blurs, the edges of reality falling away.
The pressure builds in my chest, suffocating, until I can’t tell if it’s the air that’s harder to breathe or the gravity of my own thoughts.
Callan’s calling my name, but his voice sounds like it’s coming from a million miles away, distant and muffled. “Bree? Hey, what’s wrong?”
I open my mouth to speak, but the words are trapped.
I’m so tired of this. So tired of pretending it’s not there, of hiding it from him, from everyone.
The world careens, and I brace myself against the railing, my knuckles white with effort. I try to slow my breathing, but my body’s forgotten how to do that, too. Every inhale is shallow and jagged.
“Bree,” Callan’s voice is closer now but still filled with worry. His hand grips my shoulder, his warmth bleeding into me.
I close my eyes, squeezing them tight. I need to hold it together, but all I want to do is fall apart.
“Bree, love, look at me.” His voice cuts through, and I force my eyes open. His concerned gaze meets mine, and for a second, I get lost in the depth of it. His usual spark of mischief is dimmed, replaced by worry.
“That’s it. Just breathe with me, okay?” His voice is an anchor in the chaos. He takes a long, exaggerated breath, encouraging me to follow along. I try to match his rhythm, but my lungs are too tight. Each inhale is like trying to draw air through a straw.
His hand shifts from my shoulder to my back. He rubs gentle circles against my skin in comforting, slow movements that somehow makes the storm inside me a little less fierce.
“You’re doing great, love. Just keep breathing.”
I focus on the warmth of his touch, the rise and fall of his breaths. Slowly, painfully, the grip on my lungs releases. The world stops spinning, and I become aware of the gentle breeze on my skin, the chirping of birds in the distance.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to—”
He shakes his head, his hands gently guiding me into his arms, holding me close like he’s trying to pull the anxiousness from my chest with just his touch. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Bree. Nothing.”
I lean into his solid frame. It’s grounding. So grounding that, for a moment, I forget about the suffocating panic that’s still lingering just beneath the surface.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“I don’t know exactly,” I admit. “It’s been happening on and off for a while now.
Ever since…” I trail off, the unspoken weight of the accident hanging between us.
I swallow, then continue. “Sometimes it just hits me out of nowhere. I can’t breathe, can’t think straight.
Everything feels like it’s too much, too overwhelming. ”
His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer, his chin resting on top of my head.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is quiet, almost like a whisper.
I pull back slightly, meeting his eyes. “I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve been dealing with so much already. And I thought… I thought I could handle it.”
I watch as a flicker of hurt crosses his face. His gaze drops, and I see his shoulders sag. That’s when I realize I’ve unintentionally chipped away at the trust between us again.
“Bree…” He says my name softly, almost like a plea. “We’re in this together. The good, the bad, and everything in between. Let me be there for you like you’ve been here for me.”
I nod, my throat tight, the lump growing as I swallow the rush of emotions threatening to spill out. “I know. I just…didn’t want to be too much.”
His eyes widen, and for a moment, he’s still. He cups my face in his hands, his touch impossibly gentle, like I might break if he holds me any tighter. “Stop right there. You could never be too much. Never.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my eyes sting with more unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again, this time not for the panic attack, but for the distance I’ve put between us.
“No more apologies,” he says softly, his thumb gently wiping away the tear that escapes down my cheek. The warmth of his touch sends a tremor through me, and I let out a shaky breath. “Let’s focus on how we can tackle this together, aye?”
I nod, a small but real wave of relief washing over me.
“Have you thought about talking to someone? A professional, I mean.”
I bite my lip, considering his question. “I’ve thought about it.”
He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me with that unwavering gaze of his, the one that makes me feel like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
“There’s no shame in needing help, love. And if anyone gives you grief about it, they’ll have me to answer to.”
A small laugh bubbles up, surprising me. Leave it to Callan to make me smile, even when everything feels so heavy.
It’s been a couple days since I let the walls fall down around me and he didn’t run.
The house smells like garlic and butter, and Callan’s half hobbling around the kitchen on his crutches, determined to make dinner like he’s not one wrong move away from toppling headfirst into the oven.
“You know,” I call out from the couch, eyeing him warily, “I could help.”
He shoots me a look over his shoulder. “You offering out of kindness or because you think I’m gonna burn the place down?”
“A little of both.”
He smirks, flipping what looks to be a crab cake in the pan one-handed. “Sit down. I’ve got it handled.”
I settle deeper into the cushions, letting the domestic soundscape wrap around me. It feels…ridiculously nice.
“I was looking at flights earlier,” I say after a beat. “I need to head back at some point. I’ve still got my job, and my plants are probably dead.”
Callan goes still for a second, like he’s deciding what to say. He doesn’t turn around, just stirs whatever’s in the pan a little more aggressively than necessary.
Finally, he spins to look at me. “What if you…don’t go back.”
I blink. “What?”
He limps over with a smirk, like he’s not about to ruin me with a single sentence. Dropping onto the couch beside me, he says, “Stay. Move in with me.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m serious. Stay.”
My heart stutters, then races ahead like it’s desperate to reach a finish line I can’t even see. The room suddenly feels too warm, too small, too everything.
“Callan…”
His impossibly warm eyes hold mine. I take in his messy hair and ridiculous grin. His heart’s wide open.
“I know it’s fast,” he says, his Scottish accent thickening with emotion.
“And I know you’ve got a life back there.
But these past few weeks with you here…” His voice catches, and he reaches for my hand, his calloused fingers wrapping around mine.
“I don’t want to go back to a life without you in it. ”
I search his face for any hint of doubt, any shadow of uncertainty, but all I see is hope.
The practical part of my brain immediately starts listing all the reasons this is crazy. My job. My condo. My family. My entire life is in the States. I’d be leaving everything familiar behind, trading it for rain-soaked hills and a future that’s completely unwritten.
And yet, there’s the other voice, the one that’s been growing louder since I first arrived. The one that whispers how the air tastes different here. How the colors seem brighter, how time moves in a way that actually makes sense. How I’ve never felt more like myself than when I’m with him.
“My job…” I start, but even as I say it, I know it’s just a placeholder for my fear.
Callan’s thumb traces circles on my palm. “There are jobs here.”
“There’s tons of paperwork. I’ll still need to go back and forth a few times—”
“Hey,” he cuts me off. “I’m sure Juliette can help you with all of that since she just did it. And what about helping Rose out for a bit? While you figure out your next steps?”
I glance over at him, eyebrows shooting up. “What are you thinking?”
He shrugs, all casual, but there’s a glint of something thoughtful in his eyes. “We’ve been talking about expanding the distillery’s marketing, especially in the States. Rose is juggling too much on her own, and you know the market there better than anyone. It wouldn’t have to be forever.”
I blink, caught completely off guard by the suggestion. “Are you serious? I mean…wouldn’t that be a bit, I don’t know, nepotistic?”
Callan chuckles, the sound low and easy as he shakes his head. “Lass, it’s a family business. Everything we do is a wee bit nepotistic.”
I bite my lip, turning the idea over in my mind. “I don’t know, Callan. What if it doesn’t work out? Also…I hate whisky.”
That earns a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that makes it impossible not to smile back.
“Aye, but that’s not a problem, Sunshine.
You don’t need to like whisky to market it.
In fact,” he says, leaning forward, “it might even be an advantage. You can approach it from an outsider’s perspective.
See what’ll convince all the other whisky-haters to give it a try. ”
I narrow my eyes at him, but I can’t help the small laugh that escapes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet you’re still listening.”
I’ve spent so long defining myself by nursing, by the years of training, the grueling shifts, the controlled chaos of hospital life. It’s who I am. The idea of stepping outside of that makes me nervous, but at the same time, I’ve been wondering if it’s time to try something new.
The words slip out before I can stop them. “But what if I’m not good at it?”
He just watches me. “Then you learn. Same way you learned to be a nurse. Same way I learned to run a distillery.”
“What if it causes problems between us? Mixing business and pleasure and all that?”
He shakes his head, his expression serious now. “We’re stronger than that, lass. And it’s not like you’d be working under me.”
“You really think I could do it?”
“I know you could,” he says without hesitation, his hand finding mine and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re brilliant.”
The idea of switching careers entirely is overwhelming, but the trust in his eyes makes me feel like maybe I can.
“I’ll think about it. But I want you to think on it, too. Talk to Knox and Rose. See what they say, okay?”
Callan dips his chin in a small nod, his lips curving into a faint smile. “I can do that.”
“You’re really sure? About all of this?”
He edges closer, his hand coming up to cradle my cheek. “Bree,” he says, voice rich and rough in that signature rasp, “I’ve never been more sure of anything. Not in my whole damn life.”
His eyes search mine with unmistakable clarity. “I love you. Not just while you’re here patching me up. Not just because you make the house feel like home. I love you, and I want more.”
My breath hitches, but he keeps going.
“I love the way you take care of everyone else without even thinking twice. The way you fight to hold yourself together, even when you’re breaking a little. I love that you call me on my bullshit. I love that you came all this way, and you stayed. Even when it got hard.”
His voice is threaded with unflinching tenderness as he continues. “You make me want to be better. Not just for you. For me.”
Oh god. This is happening. And now I’m crying.
“Okay,” I whisper, my voice shaky but sure. I clear my throat and try to hide the tremble with a smirk. “But don’t get cocky. I still plan on roasting your accent daily.”
He laughs and tips his head back. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
And then, so quietly it nearly gets lost in the beat of his heart against mine, I say, “I’ll do it.”
“I’ll move in,” I say again, firmer now.
Callan doesn’t speak. He just wraps me up in his arms like he’s afraid I’ll change my mind, like he needs to feel it to believe it.
“Sunshine,” he murmurs against my hair, a smile in his voice, “you’ve just signed yourself up for a lifetime of soggy chips and sideways rain. No takebacks.”