I should have known today was going to be a bad day when one of my kids’ parents nearly brought me to tears after ripping into me during a meeting to discuss their child failing my class. Then two of my students got caught skipping school during my period.
All it takes is a certain number calling me to push me straight over the edge and directly into meltdown territory. I consider ignoring my sister’s call, but my guilty conscience doesn’t let me.
I’m great at establishing boundaries for everyone in my life but my sister. It’s a massive issue she exploits, and the reason I spent a large chunk of the inheritance Brady left me trying to save her from self-destructing.
The phone vibrates in my hand.
Just get it over with.
I lock the door to my classroom before answering the phone. “Hello.”
“Alana!” My sister’s overly excited voice makes my speaker crackle.
“Antonella.” I keep my tone flat despite my escalating pulse.
“I’ve missed you. How are you?”
“Working.”
She laughs. “Of course. How’s your job going at the school?”
“Same old, same old.”
“And Cami?”
My spine straightens. Unless my sister needs something from me, she never cares to ask about Cami.
“What do you want?”
She huffs. “Do most people need a reason to call their baby sister?”
“People? No. You? Absolutely.” Antonella usually calls for two things: money or housing—neither of which I can provide her with anymore. I made that mistake right after Mom died, and the result nearly broke Cami’s heart. Although my little superstar didn’t know Anto was her mom, she grew attached to my sister hanging around, only to be broken-hearted when she disappeared.
It was my fault for being stupid and hopeful.
Not anymore though.
“I didn’t like how we left things last time,” she says like it hasn’t been over two years since we have talked.
“It’s been two years already and you decide to call now?” My hand clutching on to the phone tightens.
“I’m in a bit of a pinch and I was hoping you could help me out.”
“No.”
“But—”
“I’m not helping you anymore.” Pure intentions haven’t worked for me in the past, so maybe a little tough love will work better. And even if I wanted to help my sister, I can’t. Between paying off my mom’s medical bills, supporting Cami, and then saving Antonella from herself, I’m out of funds.
“But I’m sober for real this time. All thanks to you.”
More like thanks to the cash you stole from my safe.
I shut my eyes. “That’s good.”
Assuming she is even telling the truth, the skeptical voice in my head says. I learned a long time ago not to trust my sister. It only took a hundred different disappointments to get there.
“Does that mean you’ll let me crash at your place?”
“No, but I’m happy for you.”
She makes an indiscernible noise. “Come on, Alana. Just give me a couple of weeks to get things sorted out. I’m struggling to pay my rent and bills since Trent moved out. He covered his half until the end of June to give me some time, but after that, I’m all on my own.”
I’m not sure who Trent is or what his connection is to my sister, but at least he paid his part of the rent. I can’t say the same about most of the men my sister has hung around with.
She keeps going. “I can’t stay here past June, and I don’t have anywhere else to go. It’s not like I want to head back to Lake Hysteria, but what other choice do I have? I won’t be there for long. I promise.”
My chest pinches.
Don’t you dare fall for her usual shit. Think about Cami.
“I’m sorry, Anto. That’s a sucky situation to be in—”
“But you won’t help me.” Her voice is sharper this time. My sister has always acted the same way, being sweet as flan de coco until she doesn’t get what she wants.
I shake my head. “It’s not fair to Cami.”
“Really? Or is it not fair to you?”
I suck in a breath. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s obvious you’re intimidated that Cami might not want you anymore if I come back around.”
I bite back a bitter laugh. “I’m not intimidated by you. Nothing you can do or say will change the fact that I’m her mother.” Anto made sure of that the day she signed away her parental rights and made me a mother of a premature baby who was saved from neonatal abstinence syndrome due to her preterm birth.
“You wouldn’t even be her mother if it weren’t for me, so how about you show a little gratitude?”
Anto’s harsh comment shouldn’t come as a shock, but the heavy disappointment that hits me does. I thought I was used to this kind of treatment. Yet despite all the pep talks I have given myself over the years, my sister’s words still have the ability to cut through me quicker than any blade.
It’s the people we love most who always hurt us the hardest.
It is hard for me to accept that this version of Anto is the same person who would wipe my tears whenever I cried, and hug me through entire thunderstorms because I was afraid of them. The sister I grew up with would never speak to me like this, which can only mean one thing.
She isn’t sober. She’s strung out.
The pain blooming over my heart pushes me to end this conversation before it gets worse. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
“God, I forgot what a coldhearted bitch you can be. No wonder men are always running far away from you.” Her words penetrate with the power of a missile, blowing through my last bit of restraint.
“Bye, Anto.” I end the call and tuck my phone into the bottom drawer of my desk. My eyes prick, and I do everything in my power to hold the tears back. Rapid blinking. Not blinking at all. Fanning my eyes with my hands and then holding my head back to prevent them from falling.
Despite all my attempts, a single tear escapes in an act of betrayal. I swipe it away with angry fingers.
You will not shed another tear for her.
The chant seems to center me. I take a few deep breaths, lessening some of the weight pressing against my chest.
You made the right choice.
Yet no matter how many times I tell myself, it never feels like I did. And that’s what hurts me the most.
On sucky days like today, once Cami falls asleep, I hang out on the dock by myself. Ever since I was a kid, I found something calming about lying out on the planks and listening to the water slapping against the wood poles.
One of the wood planks underneath my sandals creaks, and a large shadow the size of a black bear moves at the end of the dock, striking the fear of God into me. I stumble, and the tip of my shoe catches on a half-exposed nail.
I go down hard. The baby monitor flies out of my hand and lands with a plop somewhere in the water. My palms slam into the wood, saving my fall, although the momentum from my landing pushes them forward. A piercing sensation of splinters breaking through my skin makes my eyes water.
“Ow.” Just when you thought today couldn’t get any worse.
“Shit! Are you okay?” Cal bolts from his spot, and I internally groan.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” I remain in the same position, too afraid to check out the damage on my palms. Thankfully, the leggings I chose prevent my knees from suffering a similar fate, although they ache from the blow.
The old planks creak under his heavy footsteps. He stops in front of me, and I look up at him from my position on my hands and knees.
Well, of all the positions to be caught in, this might be the worst.
The flush of my cheeks is hidden by the limited lighting.
“Do you plan on getting up or…?” Humor seeps into his voice. Shadows cling to the sharp edges of his jaw, drawing my eyes toward them.
“I think I’m good here. Feel free to head back to the guesthouse after giving me a heart attack.”
His raspy chuckle makes my stomach flutter.
You’re hopeless, Alana. Absolutely hopeless.
“Sorry for scaring you.”
“I thought you were a bear,” I hiss through clenched teeth as I sit back on my heels. I’m not sure how many splinters I have pressing into my palms, but it feels like hundreds.
“What’s wrong with your hands?”
Damn Cal and his ability to notice everything about me.
“Nothing. Just a couple of splinters.”
“A couple?” He grabs my hand and flips it palm side up.
I snatch it back. “Stop!”
“I’m just trying to check out the damage.”
I can either choose to be difficult or allow him to help me, solely because I have no chance of pulling the splinters out without any assistance.
“Fine.” I hold out my hand for him to assess the splinters.
He pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight. “Hmm.” He delicately traces over the soft skin of my palm, sending a wave of goose bumps across my arms. At least ten splinters are poking through my skin at different angles.
He accidentally brushes over a splinter, and I suck in a breath.
“Sorry. What did your mom used to say? Sana, sana, colita de rana?”
“Si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana,” I finish for him with a small smile.
My mom always made any injury feel ten times better with a single little song. Cal remembering that…
It makes my chest feel all warm and tingly.
He looks up from my hand. “Do you have tweezers and a needle inside?”
I do not like the sound of that whatsoever. “Nope.”
He grins as his hand reaches out to trace the slope of my scrunched nose, drawing a sharp breath from me. “Liar,” he whispers close enough for me to smell his aftershave. His proximity sends my every cell into hyperdrive, making me feel as if my body was plugged into an electric socket.
He gives his head a shake and pulls away. “Let’s get those splinters out before you chicken out and end up with an infection.”
I cross my arms and lift my chin. “I’m not a chicken.”
“You cried once because of a papercut.”
The tips of my ears heat. “To be fair, it was a really deep cut.”
“You’re right. It was nearly fatal, if my memory serves me right. I’m almost positive if it weren’t for that Hello Kitty Band-Aid, you might have not made it.”
I flip him off, although my lower belly warms at him remembering the tiniest details like what kind of Band-Aid I had on.
“Does that count for the swear jar?” His wide grin makes my heart jolt in my chest.
“Jerk,” I mutter under my breath as I walk around Cal and into the house.
“I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.” He disappears around the corner, leaving me to gather the supplies. I find everything I need in my bathroom. My mom took enough splinters out of my hands for me to know the drill.
I return to the kitchen to find Cal sitting at the island, completely unaware of my presence as he watches a YouTube video describing how to remove splinters as painlessly as possible. He pauses and replays a specific part twice before moving on with a satisfied nod.
My chest clenches at the intense look of concentration on his face. This is the reason why I want to create distance between us. Because it’s the little things Cal does—the things that most people might not even notice or care much about—that get me every single time.
Sober Cal is a dream. He is witty, charming, and nearly impossible to resist. It’s the drunk version of himself that I have a hard time accepting. That version is depressing, angry, and extremely difficult to love.
And it’s the version of him that I still resent years later.
I drop all the supplies on the counter.
“Ready?” He looks up with a smile.
I frown. “Please try to look a little less excited about torturing me.”
“There are plenty of ways I’d enjoy torturing you—all of which you would be excited for.”
My head empties of any coherent thoughts.
Are you surprised? You always knew he was a flirt.
Knowing and experiencing are two very different situations. My heart rate skyrockets as he taps the barstool next to him, and I fall into it with the grace of a newborn foal.
Cal gets up and washes his hands like a doctor prepping for surgery before returning to clean the tweezers and needle with rubbing alcohol. I shut my eyes as I place my hands palms-up on the counter.
The first prick of the tweezers picking at my skin makes me wince.
“You still like sitting out on the dock at night?” Cal asks.
I appreciate the distraction. “Yeah.”
“What about Cami?”
“I have—had—a baby monitor before I tripped.”
His lips turn down into a frown. “That thing is a death trap.”
Another pinch against my skin has me grinding my teeth together. “Then why were you out there?”
“Because one of us was blessed with a gift called balance.”
I pop one eye open to give him the stink-eye. “You scared me, and I ended up tripping over a nail that was sticking out.”
“This place is a lawsuit waiting to happen.” He shakes his head with a sigh before returning to prodding and poking at my hands.
“It’s not that bad.”
“You have about twenty splinters embedded in your skin that say differently.”
I can’t tell if his annoyed tone is due to the splinters in my hand or the fact that he is the only one available to take them all out.
“One down. Nineteen more to go.”
Motherfucker.
“There. All done.” Cal solidifies his place in hell as he wipes my hands with rubbing alcohol.
“It feels wrong saying thank you after you tortured me for an hour, but thank you.”
“It was twenty minutes tops, you big baby.” He doesn’t make an effort to let go of my hands yet.
“You smiled when I screamed, you psychopath.”
“It brought back good memories.”
I smack him in the chest, only to wince when my sore skin makes contact. “Ouch.”
“Let that be a lesson that physical violence is never the answer.” He flicks my nose.
“Says the man who tried to choke a police officer.”
His nostrils widen. “We’re back to this again?”
“I’m not sure I’ll ever let that go so long as I live.” I pull out my phone and show him the photo Isabelle sent me.
His mouth drops open. “She sent it to you?”
“Yup. Right before she promised to delete it off her phone.”
“So, you’re the only one with a copy?” He takes a step forward.
“No.” I’m concentrating so much on him encroaching in my space that I don’t notice my nose twitching until after it happens.
Goddammit.
He holds out his hand. “Let me see your phone.”
“Not happening.” I press the lock button on the side as I take another step back.
“Alana.”
“Callahan.”
“Give me the phone.”
“No.” My ass hits the counter.
Cal’s smile widens. “Gotcha.”
I fake left, but he anticipates the move and easily swipes the phone out of my hand.
“Cal!” I jump for the phone.
He raises it high above my head. “Just one moment.”
I’m no match for his height, so I pathetically bounce up and down. He gets distracted by my boobs at one point, staring at them like he hasn’t seen a pair in forever.
“Seriously?” I cross my arms.
He winks before unlocking my phone within three tries.
My mouth falls open. “Are you kidding me?”
“It’s cute your passcode is my birthday.”
Oh, shit. I totally did.
“I haven’t changed it since I was sixteen.” I offer a logical explanation.
“Sure, you haven’t.”
“It’s easy to remember.” At this point, I’m grasping for straws.
He opens the photo and deletes it before handing my phone back with a smile. “Here you go.”
“I knew I should have submitted it to a gossip magazine like Violet suggested,” I mutter under my breath.
“A pity indeed.” He walks away with the biggest smile on his face.
