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Callie glares at her sister.
“And that’s why you both look like you just lost your best friend?” I ask.
“Maybe it’s time to level with him, Cal,” Rory says.
I raise my brows. “Level with me? About what?”
“This is our problem, Donny.”
“Listen, your problems are my problems. Come on now. You probably already know I’m wondering why the two of you have a safe-deposit box in Denver when you live on the western slope.”
“You have one here,” Callie says.
“I lived here for over ten years.” Of course, it’s not my safe-deposit box, but who has to know?
Apparently it’s in my name, though. Fuck it all. What the hell is going on?
Callie stares at her coffee cup. Her lips tremble. Only slightly, but I’m intimately acquainted with her mouth, so I notice.
“Baby, whatever it is, I’ll help.”
“No one can help,” Callie says softly.
“Cal,” Rory says, “maybe he can.”
“Of course I can. What’s going on with you two? Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.”
“We don’t take charity,” Callie says.
Callie is clearly distraught, but still, I can’t help a flick of anger. I love this woman, and she doesn’t trust me. I want to help because I love her. Not to give her charity.
I squeeze my hands into fists, my knuckles whitening.
“Callie,” Rory says gently, “let him help. We have to trust someone.”
Callie turns to me then, and her eyes—those beautiful amber poppy eyes—glow with an odd mixture of rage and fear.
I’ve never seen this look on her face, and it nearly sends me over the edge.
“Callie,” I finally say, willing my voice not to break, “do you trust me?”
Silence.
“Do you fucking trust me, because if you don’t, we may as well end this now.”
She drops her mouth open. “In a coffee shop? In front of my sister?”
“What the hell do you want? You don’t trust me.”
“You guys are getting kind of loud,” Rory says.
I stand then. “I need some air.” I walk briskly out of the small shop and pace along the sidewalk, nearly taking out a young woman dressed in a black suit.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
I rake my fingers through my hair and stare through the window, meeting Callie’s gaze.
And I wonder what to do now.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Callie
“Go after him,” Rory says.
I let out a sigh. “Maybe it’s best not to be involved with someone right now. Until we get this shit settled with Pat Lamone.”
“Callie, just because my relationship ended doesn’t mean yours has to.”
“Again, have you thought about why? We should go see Raine while we’re here. Find out if Lamone got to her.”
“Raine and I are over,” she says. “Let it go, Callie. I have.”
“But—”
“No more buts. You have a man out there who adores you, and right now he thinks you don’t trust him. I’d say you have about ten more seconds before he leaves forever.”
“He can’t. He’s our ride home.”
Rory rubs at her forehead. “My God, you give me a migraine sometimes, Cal. Go get him. You know you want to, and you know he wants you to.”
I stand. I do want to. I can’t imagine my life without Donny Steel, and I do trust him. I trust him with my life.
“I’ll be back.”
“Take whatever time you need. I can Uber back to the hotel, or maybe… Maybe I will go see Raine. I keep going back and forth.”
“I think you should. Love you, Ror.” I dash through the shop and out the door.
Donny stands on the street, smoke curling out of his ears.
Not really, but that’s what his tense stance indicates.
Plus, he’s glaring at me. Seriously showering me with flaming darts.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what? That you don’t trust me?”
“I do trust you, Donny.”
“Do you? I’m not sure you do. I trusted you with some family stuff—after I promised Dale I wouldn’t tell anyone. I told you because I trusted you with it.”
“Your trust wasn’t misplaced,” I say. “I haven’t said a—”
“For God’s sake, Callie, that’s not even the point. I don’t for a minute think you violated my trust. I’m pissed because you won’t give me the same trust I gave you.”
I bite my lower lip. He’s right. I have no argument. Even if I did, he’d out-argue me. He’s a lawyer. I’m only a lawyer wannabe.
“You’re right.” For a moment, I’m unable to meet his gaze, but then I force myself to look him in the eye.
He’s angry. Angry, but also sad.
I can bear anything but his sadness. Even anger is better than that.
“I do trust you, Donny,” I continue, “but—”
“No way.” He gestures at me to stop talking. “No buts. Either you trust me or you don’t, Callie. That’s all there is to it.”
I gulp. Again, I have no argument. My father once told me that anything that comes before a “but” is all bullshit.
Maybe he’s right.
I want to confide in Donny. I want him to make all the mess go away.
