"I wasn't fragile. I was... airing out."
"In February."
"Texas air is year-round. Ask anyone." I smiled. She almost smiled. And the almost was enough.
Sunday evening. I called Callie.
I'd been thinking about her all weekend — the way she'd stood beside my truck and let me see what it cost her. I wanted to know Maisie was home safe.
"Hey. She back?"
Silence. The kind that tells you everything.
"Callie?"
"She's back." Her voice was doing that thing — the bright, steady, everything's-fine thing that I was learning meant nothing was fine. "Preston was his usual charming self. Called my life 'your little setup out here.' Like Copper Creek is a hobby I picked up."
She paused. I didn't fill it.
"He handed her back like she was a library book he'd finished with. Didn't tell me about her weekend. Didn't say if she'd eaten. Just... here. I'm done." Her voice cracked. One fracture, quick, sealed before it could spread. "And she's been sitting on the couch for an hour holding her horse, and she won't talk. She won't even — Clay, she's justsittingthere. She once argued with a mailbox, and right now she's staring at nothing and I can't —"
She stopped herself. I heard the breath — sharp, controlled, a woman pulling herself back from the edge by her fingernails.
"I'm sorry. This isn't your problem. We're fine."
Something in my chest went tight. Not the dull ache of bruised ribs or the grinding of damaged joints. Something deeper. Something that had nothing to do with my body and everything to do with the sound of a strong woman trying not to break on the phone.
"I'll see you in twenty," I said.
"What?"
I was already grabbing my keys. "Twenty minutes."
"Clay, you don't have to —"
"Eighteen if I hit the lights right."
"That's not — you can't just —"
"Callie. I'm coming. You can yell at me about it when I get there."
Then, so small I almost missed it: "Okay."
I drove to her cottage in eighteen minutes. Parked out front, walked to the porch, and knocked.
She opened the door. Eyes red, chin lifted, arms crossed. She'd changed into a sweatshirt that was too big for her, and her hair was pulled back. She looked exhausted and furious and relieved in equal measure. Behind her, the cottage was dim — one lamp on, the couch visible through the hallway, and on that couch, a small shape curled tight, not moving.
"You drove here in eighteen minutes."
The corners of my mouth lifted. "I said I would."
"The speed limit is forty-five."
My smile grew a little more. "I'm aware."
"You broke the law. For a welfare check."
I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms, and fully smiling now. The charming one. The one that had women throwing themselves at me for years. The one that only sometimes worked on the one standing in front of me. “What can I say? I’m a rebel, Callie, It's part of my charm."
