Page 105 of Keepsakes and Kismet

I kiss her tenderly instead. “Tell me I didn’t imagine you.”

Peyton pushes my hair back from my forehead. “This is real, Callum. You…us… what we have is more real than anything I’ve ever known.”

Closing my eyes, I let her affirmation settle over me and cautiously wrap it around my heart. Then, I lay her down gently next to me. She scoots closer, resting her head on my chest.

My heartbeat bump-bumps against her ear. Sometimes faster, sometimes slower.

I wonder if Peyton knows she sets the rhythm.

And we fall asleep exactly like that.

Chapter 23

Peyton

When I wake up in Callum’s bed, my heart feels heavy, and not because of his confessions last night. His vulnerability actually made me feel lighter in a way. But this morning, guilt sits low in my stomach, and a restless, anxious feeling crowds my chest.

I’ve always been open about my epilepsy. It’s not something I actively hide, or mean to hide. My seizures have been controlled for ten years, and other than taking my daily meds and knowing my limits, it doesn’t consume my life. Especially with my touch aversion taking center stage with Callum. But now I feel like I’m keeping a secret. I’m not sure how he’ll react when he finds out. He’s made so much progress, and I don’t want to set him back.

But it’s not just my own epilepsy that weighs on me—it’s Tyler’s, too. As soon as Callum said his name, I knew his Tyler was Tammy’s Tyler. Her and Jeff’s son. And, even though Callum’s retelling adds layers to Tyler’s story, I’m already very familiar with it, having heard Tammy speak at foundation events. But now that I’m aware of the link between Tyler’s death and Callum’s trauma… Well, I’m basically a walking trigger for my boyfriend.

How can we move past this? Can he move past it? For the first time since we became an “us,” I’m worried about our ability to stay that way.

I carefully rise out of bed, leaving a sleeping Callum behind, and walk to his ensuite bathroom, snagging my satchel purse from the chair in his bedroom along the way. Happy that I thought ahead yesterday, I retrieve my travel bag of toiletries, pulling out my toothbrush and medication. The little orange bottle seems to point an accusatory finger at me. When I shake out two blue pills and swallow them, the cup of water I got from the sink doesn’t wash them down as easily as normal. They feel stuck, lodged in my throat, even though I know they aren’t.

Sighing, I catalog the evidence of guilt in the mirror. Undereye bags. Frizzy hair in a messy bun. The oversized pajama shirt I stole from Callum’s drawer in the middle of the night. I change into my clothes from yesterday—sweats and a blue T-shirt—folded on the counter. Reaching for the soap to wash my hands, I breathe out a laugh. It smells like cherry blossoms. Nearly identical to the one at Minghin Kitchen. This damn soap scent is the first thing to bring a small smile to my face since I woke up, and I’m considering it a good sign. Feeling a bit better, I brush my teeth and head into the kitchen.

I’m going to tell him. Today. No—this morning. As soon as he wakes up.

Relief rests on my heart, now that I’ve made that vow, and I open the fridge to see what I’m working with. Better to have a full belly when sharing tough news. He’ll have time to eat, since I doubt he’ll be making it to the gym—he’s already missed his 4:30 a.m. slot.

I find eggs and bacon in the fridge and get to work. Once the eggs are fried to sunny-side-up perfection, I plate them up and grab the silverware. Everything’s so organized in Callum’s kitchen that it takes me no time at all to find what I need.

Just as I’m pulling the bacon out of the oven and setting it on the counter, a hoarse voice fractures the silence.

“What’s this?”

A rattling sound, like an object’s being shaken, fills me with dread. And that’s when I know.

I left my pills out on his bathroom counter.

My shoulders tense.

Fuck.

Tentatively, I swivel around to face him.

“What is this, Pey?” The corners of his eyes are still a little red and swollen from last night, and his hair is mussed as he stands there, wearing just his boxers and holding my pill bottle.

What do I say? What can I say? Everything that runs through my head sounds so fake, like I’m scrambling to make up excuses, even though it’s the truth.

“Because it looks like…” He takes a deep breath. “It looks identical to the pills that Ty took for his seizures. Same name, too.”

“Callum…”

He swallows. “Do you… Do you have epilepsy?”

I nod slowly.