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She gaps, which prompts a laugh from me. “Jerk.”
“I’m kidding.”
“Mark my words, one day, I’m going to buy my own BMW. I’ll be mega successful and you’ll be singing a different tune,” she states, pointing at me.
“I can’t wait,” I tell her with a smile. “Drive safe, Juliette.”
“Good night, Mr. Callahan.”
“Oh, and I think it’s criminal that you can’t swim,” I say, remembering her words from earlier.
She turns to face me. “I’m not the biggest fan of water. Trust me, people have tried to teach me. And failed.”
“I’ll take that as a challenge. I’m not like most people.”
“Did you just offer to give me swimming lessons?”
Shit, did I?
Under normal circumstances, I would not offer to be spending any more time with her, but I want to.
I shrug. “Why not?”
She smiles. “You’re definitely not what I expected you to be, Alexander Callahan.”
“Is that a compliment?” I ask but she has already walked out of the kitchen and my only reply is the sound of her melodious laugh.
* * *
“Kathy, please wake up,”I say as tears run down my face. “I’m fucking begging right now, baby. You need to stand up. Please.”
But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how much I beg. It doesn’t matter how desperate I am.
She never opens her eyes.
Her nightmares are terrifying and deeply depressing. They became much more realistic when you’ve gone through a traumatic experience. Realistic in the sense that you find yourself back there. On that cold night. It’s like the scene is playing in front of you, over and over again. And you’re powerless to stop it.
It’s my brain. My dream. I should be able to fucking stop it.
Safe to say I’m in a sour mood by the time I get out of bed the next morning. It’s Sunday, and the sun’s shining bright. All should be right in the world. But the spot beside me is empty and my kids don’t have their mother anymore. Nothing will ever be right in the world for me. For my family. And I hate it. So damn much.
My phone buzzes on the bedside table and I move to pick it up. It’s an incoming call from one of the security men on the compound.
“Hello?”
“Morning, sir,” Jack greets. “Sorry to bother you, but Mr. White is here and you asked us to call you before letting him onto the property next time.”
His words are followed by a loud horn and what sounds like some swearing from Declan. He really is the bane of my existence. What the hell is he doing here this early on a Sunday morning?
“Let him in,” I say before hanging up.
I grab a bathrobe and put it on before heading to the kitchen downstairs. I turned on the coffee machine and brew myself a cup of coffee. Declan walks in at that moment. He’s wearing gym attire consisting of black joggers and a tank top. It’s 7 a.m., what time did he get up to work out?
I shouldn’t be surprised. Declan’s never really sitting still. His youth was filled with him traveling from one country to another. He’s always looking for the next rush, ready for the next adventure.
There’s a frown on his face, an uncommon occurrence. I never manage to piss him off. I’m sure he’ll be smiling in a few minutes.
“What the hell?” he asks, taking a seat in front of the counter.
