I don't have words. I just nod, my throat too tight to speak, and he smiles at me like I've given him a gift instead of the other way around.
"Now." He claps my shoulder. "Go get your girl. And bring her home so I can gloat and be happy."
I do just that, hoping she will still have me.
40
LILY
The morning after the wedding, I stand in my kitchen with a glass of water and absolutely no idea what comes next.
Erin and Rome had come home with me after the reception, afraid I'd shatter if they let me out of their sight. Which, fair. I probably looked like shattering was imminent.
I didn't want to talk when they got back. It was like my words had dried up, evaporated somewhere between the dance floor and my front door. Erin had tried, gently, and I'd just shaken my head.
Rome was small in a way I'd never seen him, his eyes carrying something a lot like guilt, and I'd given him a reassuring smile before deciding that bed was the only place I could survive the night.
Erin had slept with me, curled around my back like she could hold me together through sheer proximity. Rome had taken the couch, and I'd heard him get up twice in the nightto check that I hadn't dissolved into nothing while he wasn't looking.
Now they're both in my bedroom, whispering about something. I hear the low murmur of their voices through the wall, the occasional pause that means they're listening for me. Checking. Waiting.
I take a sip of water and stare out the window at Main Street, at the morning light falling across the sidewalk, at the life I'm supposed to be leaving in a couple of weeks.
The knock at the door makes me jump. I cross the living room on autopilot, my brain not quite caught up to my feet, and pull open the door to find Callahan standing there.
He looks tired. There are shadows under his eyes and his hair is still damp and he's wearing a gray t-shirt just like the three others I have stolen from him
And he's smiling. He looks happy. I don't understand. I am feeling raw and broken, and he looks happy?
"When will I get over how beautiful you are?" he murmurs, more to himself than to me, his eyes tracing my face like he missed it.
I can't speak. I just stand there, holding the door, trying to make sense of him on my doorstep watching me like that.
"Can I come in?"
I nod and step back, and he moves past me into the apartment. He smells freshly showered, that familiar combination of his shampoo and body wash, the same ones he keeps in my bathroom now because mine are "too expensive and girly." The scent of him hits me straight to my foolish heart, and I have to close my eyes for a second to steady myself.
We end up in the kitchen, facing each other across thesmall space. He seems nervous, his hands flexing at his sides, and it would be adorable if he wasn't breaking my heart.
He reaches out and takes the glass of water from my hand. He drinks the whole thing in three long swallows, then sets it on the counter with a soft click.
"I'm coming with you."
I blink. And then I blink again. "What?"
"Chicago." His eyes hold mine. "I'm coming with you."
I stare at him. My brain is running behind my pulse, trying to catch up, trying to make sense of the words in the order he said them. Chicago. Coming. With me.
"Callahan..."
"I love you."
And just like that everything in me goes still. Calm. Quiet. Peaceful. Like a lake after a storm, all the churning finally settling into stillness. The fight leaves my body so completely that I have to set a hand on the counter to hold myself up.
He takes a step closer, then stops himself, backs up slightly to give me space. Like he knows I need room to process this. Like he's spent enough time studying me to understand exactly how I work.
"I wanted to tell you last night," he says on a swallow.
