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Guilt slams into my chest like a two-by-four as one wretched feeling after the other slashes at me with the subtlety of a razor. I. Am. A. Bitch. I could have—andshould have—handled everything so differently. I thought that keeping my distance would keep me safe. I thought being detached and indifferent would protect my heart.
And by doing so, I hurt Callan instead.
And possibly Katy, though she didn’t seem upset by me.
I agreed to this. I agreed to all of it. To moving in here and sharing a bed and playing the role I haven’t played all that well. Mrs. Bible is no joke, and I could see the fear in Callan’s eyes just now. This is bigger than me. Bigger than some feelings I’d rather not tempt out of hibernation.
This is about a little girl, and she is why I’m here.
I can be who they need me to be without giving away my heart. I have that bitch on lockdown anyway.
Peeling myself away from the entryway where Callan left me to lick my wounds like a diseased dog, I sheepishly make my way back into the living room. Only it’s empty. I hear Callan and Katy in the kitchen. She’s laughing at his latest cookie blunder.
When I came home Monday night around midnight or so, I could smell the charred remains of burned dough and found evidence of the atrocity in the trash.
“Movie theater butter,” Katy demands.
“Kettle corn,” Callan counters, and I inwardly throw up at that suggestion. What self-respecting person eats kettle corn when going to watch a movie? It should be illegal.
“Illegal?” Callan parrots, and yep, I did it again. Per Stella and Amelia, it’s not something new that I do. Usually only when I’m upset or flustered, which lately is often, but not my usual baseline.
They’re just so used to it by now that they hardly comment.
I enter the kitchen. “Do you have any Dermabond?” I ask, leaning against the white cabinets and beautiful brushed marble counters across from them.
“Dermabond?” he questions, his eyebrows hitting his hairline in worry as he does a quick scan of my body, likely searching for blood or multiple lacerations.
“Yeah. You know, to glue my mouth shut. It’s been getting me in a lot of trouble lately.”
His entire countenance darkens, and he quickly goes back to Katy, readily ignoring me. It takes me a moment to grasp the inference behind my words and I smack a hand to my forehead, registering the problem.
“Wait! That’s not…” I sigh. And sag. “That’s not how I meant it. I didn’t mean it like I shouldn’t have agreed—”
He shakes his head at me, cutting me off, visibly angry. His hands grip the edge of the counter, and he glances down at the stone between them. Finally, he blows out a breath and slowly raises his face until his eyes lock with mine.
For a long, pulsingly tense moment, his gaze holds mine, causing my heart rate to spike and my body to heat. “Solve the argument for us?” he asks, those deep blue eyes glimmering at me, and my knees practically give out.
“Movie theater butter. All the way.”
Katy bounces in her stool, pointing at Callan and laughing. “I told you!”
He groans in defeat. “Fine. You both win. Butter it is.” His eyes meet mine again. “Layla, do you want to watchThe Little Mermaidwith us, or do you have to get back to the bar since I pulled you from your shift?”
The disdainful taunt in his tone is unmistakable, but it’s no less than what I deserve.
“I’d love to watch with you. I’ll just scoot upstairs and throw on my pj's.” There. I’ve officially impaled myself on my sword. Sorta.
I turn to go when Callan calls out my name, stopping me. I spin back around, and he sighs, not following my name up with anything. It’s heavy, and a bit resigned, and also a little lost—and a lot scared.
Tonight rattled him and I’ve only added to his mounting stress.
“Thanks for coming tonight.”
“Sure thing. I’ll meet you in the TV room.” I smile softly and then flee the kitchen, needing a moment to catch my breath and realign my heart to its normal rhythm.
The TV room is actually most of the third floor of Callan’s house. It’s a theater room complete with a super comfy sectional that has pullout bays that turn into recliners. The room is loaded with speakers, a bar that has an ice maker, a refrigerator, and shades that cover the floor-to-ceiling windows with a simple touch of a button.
It’s essentially a bachelor pad.
