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I watch the screen for a few minutes, but no reply comes through.
Unusual, but I don’t pay much attention to it. He’s with his family and they need to talk.
He’ll get back to me the second he can.
Is everything okay? ~Venus
That’s the last message I sent Callum around four in the morning, fifteen minutes before sleep pulled me under. We didn’t talk again after our exchange while I was getting my nails done. Not so much as a smoke signal from him, and the more time passed, the worry grew.
And grew.
It grew to the point that I called Aurora under the pretense of returning her calls from the day before. Not that she gave me much to go on; Aurora’s attention was on her guest, not us, and after a few minutes of stilted conversation, she promised to call in an hour or two.
She didn’t. Hasn’t.
So, I sent him another text. No answer.
Another one around ten at night. Nothing.
Watching my phone’s screen became a necessity, and I did so, until I couldn’t stave off my sleep. That’s why I’m uncoordinated when my doorbell rings and the app chimes through the kitchen’s hub and then my phone. The time right now is irrelevant to me, and as if in déjà vu, I once again scramble and rush to the door, not worrying about how I look.
All I want is to see him. To know he’s okay before I punch him for scaring me like this.
However, the person on the other side is not someone I expected to see today.
I don’t want to see him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Is that how you say hello to your father?” He’s looking at me with disdain, something that makes him grimace as his face has been at the end of someone’s fury. Black eye. Busted lip. His clothes are disheveled and he smells a bit, as if he forgot to put on deodorant and spent a few hours under the hot sun. “Well?”
“Why are you here?” My ponytail sometime during the night became undone, and I take the tie out and twist my shorter locks into a low bun. “We have nothing to say to each other.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Pushing past me, he enters my home and heads straight for the fridge. Inside he finds a frozen bag of peas and after removing his jacket and rolling up his dirty sleeves, he puts the cold vegetables against his face. “Fuck, this shit hurts.”
“Again, why are you here?” My phone is on the counter, and I press number one this time, Callum’s digits. Lindsey and Kray are out of town for a few days, taking advantage of Callum being here, to spend some time alone. Lowering the volume, I wait for the connect sign to come on, but nothing.
It never connects. As if he’s out of service range.
What the hell is going on?
I try Giannis next. The same. No call goes through.
“If you’re calling Mr. Jameson, he’s busy at the moment.”
“Busy?”
“Are you deaf now as well? What part are you not—”
“Get out.”
Ignoring my request, Dad walks to my sofa and sits back, looking at me with humor in his eyes. “Tell me, hija. Why aren’t you at work today?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“Are you ill?”
“Leave.”
