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I didn’t answer her. I left her in the hallway, hating myself with every step.
I tried to block out the whole situation on the drive home. I played the radio loud enough that it was hard to think about Andrew being shirtless in her apartment. Or of what I should say or do to smooth things over. Still, I managed to think of little else but how happy I'd felt after I got there and how fast that had disappeared.
I didn't stop on the way back. I had enough gas, and I didn't have an appetite even though I hadn't eaten for hours. By the time I pulled into my driveway, the jealousy had eased a little bit.
I was still pissed that Andrew was daring to insert himself into Callie's life the way he was. And I was irritated that Callie just wouldn't see what he was doing. But the jealousy that had made me turn around and stomp back home had passed.
Is loving Callie really all it took for me to lose my cool like that? I didn't like that part of myself who wanted to grab Andrew by the short hairs and throw him down a flight of steps. I felt almost like I was losing myself, becoming someone I didn't know because I loved this woman so much.
That had been one of my biggest fears since my hurt feelings kept me from checking on Rosa earlier, letting my feelings interfere with my logic and instinct. That had been one of the biggest reasons I'd resisted Callie in the first place.
And wasn't that happening in spades right now?
Like it or not, I had some soul-searching to do.
I texted her, and I suddenly remembered that I'd left my gift there on her table. It didn't matter. I still thought taking some time was the smart thing to do.
I told her that I was sorry. It wasn't like me to be so jealous. And that I thought a lot of my frustration came from not being able to be near her while Andrew was there and could see her anytime.
Then I texted the hardest words I'd ever had to type.
I think I need some space and time to think things through.
I went inside my dark, lonely house and immediately turned my phone off. If she texted immediately, I didn't want to get into a back and forth. I really did need some time.
And if I'd acted like such an ass that she didn't answer me at all, I didn't want to know that, either.
37
CALLIE
About an hour after Blake left,I'd had a good angry cry and cleaned up the table from the lunch Andrew brought.
Andrew texted me. He thanked me again for the borrowed shirt. And he hoped Blake finding him at my place hadn’t caused any problems.
It did cause problems. Serious ones. I didn't answer him. Because something about the tone of it, the timing, made me start to wonder if Blake wasn't right about his intentions.
I still didn't like the accusatory tone in some of his questions. I'd done nothing wrong, and I wasn't about to let him make me feel like I had. But I thought I had been a little more trusting of Andrew and his motives than maybe I should have been. I could admit that much.
I didn't text Blake because I knew he'd be on the road for a couple of hours. I almost called, but I thought as angry as he'd been, it was probably better to wait.
Then I got his texts. The last one took my breath away. I sat on the couch, staring at it, wondering if it meant what I thought it would end up meaning.
Time and space. Think things through.
Those were code words forit's not you, it's me, weren't they? That was where they were going to lead? I'd been through enough break-ups that reading that text sent a cold chill through me.
I didn't know what to reply, so I didn't say anything. I needed a little time too. To figure out what the hell to do to keep Blake in my life. Because if nothing else, our argument had made it reallyclearto me that I did want that. More than anything.
I knew we could get past this Andrew nonsense if we just talked about it calmly. The question was, would we have a chance?
I got up to get a drink of water and spotted the little box on my dining table. It felt somehow wrong to open it after everything, but he hadn't taken it with him. And he could have.
If nothing else, curiosity got the best of me. Resting on a bed of crumpled pink satin, a pair of handcuffs gleamed under the light. The kind with fluffy fur around the cuffs.
I opened the notecard to read his careful, neat script:
A reminder I’m always with you.
