Surprisingly, my mother isn’t drinking when I drop my sister off on Friday afternoon. Once I park in front of her one-story house, I barely have time to react before Maddie unbuckles herself from the backseat and sprints to the front door, yelling for my mother in a happy voice.
My selfish ass can’t help but think it would be much, much easier if my sister didn’t like it here. It wouldn’t hurt this damn bad to think about the possibility of taking her with me for the long run. But she loves our mother—which I’m grateful for, don’t get me wrong—, and she enjoys playing with the neighbor’s kids, and all her favorite toys are in her room here.
She has a life in this place; a life she enjoys, and a life I don’t want to strip away from her.
Sadly, there’s not much I can do but hope that my mother behaves so I won’t have to burst my sister’s happy bubble any time soon.
“Mommy! Mommy!” I follow Maddie’s excited chants to the kitchen, where my mother is making dinner. A cheese omelet, by the smell of it. “Sammy took me for ice cream!”
“Did he, now?” My mother throws her a loving smile before she plants an affectionate kiss on top of her head. She might not know how to show it in the healthiest way, but our mother loves us. And that’s all I could ask for, really. Other folks have it way worse than we do. “What flavor did you choose?”
“Strawberry,” she answers, beaming, “because it’s pink.”
“Duh,” I say with a knowing smirk. My sister loves everything pink, therefore princess. It’s not the most original in the broad history of nicknames, but she loves it because it makes her feel like her favorite one, Rapunzel. She’s even trying to grow out her hair to look more like her, even if I always insist that she’s a lot prettier than any princess.
My mother glances at me over her shoulder before going back to her omelet. “Are you staying for dinner, Samuel?”
“Can’t. I’ve got an appointment in,” I check the time on my phone, “thirty minutes.”
“Nooooo, Sammy,” my sister whines as she hugs my legs with an impressively strong grip. “Don’t go. I’ll miss you.”
My heart swells with all sorts of emotions when her big brown eyes look up at me, and she pouts. She can’t do this to me, damn.
“Tell you what.” I kneel until we’re at eye level. “I don’t work tomorrow afternoon, so how about I pick you up and we go on a picnic by the lake?”
Her eyes widen with excitement. “The lake with the sand playground?”
“The one and only.” I hug her tiny frame to my chest and plant a loud kiss on her forehead. “No more ice cream, though. You’ve already had two this week.”
She nods and tucks her head under my chin. “Okay.”
I kiss her again. “See you tomorrow then, princess.”
Maddie takes off towards her room, her dark hair flying everywhere. Before I’ve even stood straight again, my mother’s voice startles me. “You’re good with her.”
A sharp pang of annoyance hits me right in the chest. “Didn’t you expect me to be?”
I eye her carefully as I wait for a response. My mother is a tall woman, and so is my dad, hence my six-foot-three frame. She used to be on the slim side once, athletic, but now her stomach is bloated due to all the alcohol she chugs like there’s no tomorrow. Her long brown hair looks damp, oily, her face tired.
Now that I think about it, I can’t recall the last time my mother walked into a room and just… shone with happiness.
“I already told you, Sam. I didn’t know how you were going to take the news about having a little sister.” She finishes up the omelet and sets it on a plate. “Maddie! Dinner’s ready!”
Learning that my mother was pregnant when I was twenty-six had been a shock, all right, but mainly because I didn’t expect her and fucking rat-ass Pete Stevens to last longer than a week. The fucker still refuses to remember he has a daughter.
I run a quick scan of the living room, where Maddie’s father tends to spend the entirety of his days since he lost his job at the car shop two months ago. Every time I come by, the slug is perched on the couch as if he got paid for it.
“It was an adjustment,” I tell her honestly as I hear my sister’s little footsteps running down the narrow hall. “But I love her more than anything. You know this.”
“Who do you love more than anything, Sammy?” Maddie asks with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “You have a girlfriend? Can I meet her?”
I chuckle softly. “I was talking about you, peanut.”
“Oh.” She only looks mildly disappointed. “No girlfriend?”
“No girlfriend.” And I doubt there will be one for a long, long time.
I’m still trying to process the hell I went through the last time I attempted to have a serious relationship, not to mention that distractions aren’t welcomed right now. Not when my family life could go to hell in an instant.
A heavy, dark cloud of uncertainty has been looming over my head for years—a warning of sorts. About what, I’m too scared to know.
But my four-year-old sister and my gossiping mother don’t need to know that.
“A girlfriend would be good for you,” my mother chimes in, because of course she does. “You work too much. It’s practically all you do.”
“That’s not true.” I shift uncomfortably on my feet while my sister sits down to eat her omelet. Talking about my feelings has never been my forte, let alone with my parents. Well, with my mom—it’s not like my poor excuse of a father has ever been around to talk to him at all. “I’m going out tonight, actually.”
“With the guys at the tattoo shop?” She arches a skeptical eyebrow, and I know what she’s thinking.
“No. I’m dropping by at Paulson’s. I have other friends, you know.”
“Sure you do,” she teases.
“Sure you do,” Maddie repeats with her mouth full.
Hey, it’s not my fault I’m barely a social person as it is, and on top of that everyone in this damn town is either getting laid or getting hammered at random parties. I don’t mind the occasional gathering, although staying at home has always been more appealing to me.
“Whatever. I didn’t come here for a roasting.” I smirk as I make my way towards Maddie to give her another kiss. “Be ready tomorrow at three, all right? I’ll pick you up.”
My mom comes up behind me and rubs my back with affection that is so rare between us these days. “Thanks, honey. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Taking one last look at the kitchen before I close the front door behind me, I catch a glimpse of my mother opening the fridge and reaching for a cold beer.
And so, it begins.
***
House parties aren’t my thing, but somewhere in the back of my head my mother’s words ring true—I work too much. When was the last time I met my friends outside the parlor or at Danny’s? Guilt is, perhaps, what leads me to Paulson’s off-campus brickhouse two hours after I finish my last appointment of the day.
Except that I don’t even make it inside.
“Come on, doll. Just one drink. I promise to keep it PG.”
I have no clue who this dipshit is, but something in my chest tightens when I recognize who he’s talking to.
Grace. Aaron’s cousin.
And she looks fucking terrified.
Her shoulders are tight with tension, she’s walking backwards towards the house and her expression mirrors that of a deer caught in headlights. I know uneasiness when I see it, and right now there’s not another emotion on her face.
“Sorry, but no,” she tells the guy in a small voice.
But Dipshit can’t take a hint. “All right. Let me at least walk you inside and—”
“She said no.”
I surprise myself with the deep, authoritative voice that leaves my mouth. See, I’m usually a chill guy. I don’t care enough about anyone else’s business to get involved in any kind of drama.
But this? This boils my fucking blood, and I don’t even give myself enough time to understand why before I make my way towards the guy.
“Didn’t you hear?” I stand so close to him that the pungent smell of his wannabe-playboy cologne invades my poor nostrils. “Get back inside and stop bothering her.”
The dude has the audacity to give me a smug smile. “Or what?”
Pointless, really, given how I tower over him, and he looks like a stick figure next to my muscled frame. I’m not one to brag, but years of hitting the gym, playing all kinds of sports and great genetics will do this to you. This, meaning looking ‘fucking terrifying.’ In Trey’s words, not mine.
From the corner of my eye, I see Grace gaping at us, unmoving. I don’t look her way as I lower my head to Dipshit’s ear and whisper, “Or I’ll break your fucking legs and shove them into your idiotic mouth, since you refuse to shut it.”
Color drains from his face, and he swallows thickly. “Hey, dude, I was just—”
“About to go inside? Leave Grace alone? Learn to take a fucking hint?” I snarl. “For your own sake, I hope it’s all three.”
He gulps, and without saying another word, he keeps his head down as he passes by Grace before disappearing inside Paulson’s house. I’ll have a word or two with him later about the kind of assholes he invites to his parties, but right now that’s not my focus.
My priority is Grace, who has yet to move from her spot in the middle of the driveway and is shaking like a leaf in the wind.
I take a tentative step forward and speak in the softest voice I can manage, the one I use with my sister when she’s just woken up from a bad dream and every noise startles her. “Hey. Are you all right?”
Her eyes snap towards me. They’re of a beautiful light hazel color, and they look scared as fuck. When she speaks, even her voice trembles. “How do you know my name?”
“I’m friends with your cousin Aaron,” I answer, taking another slow step towards her but giving her enough time to retreat. When she doesn’t, I add, “I’m Callaghan.”
That’s what my friends call me, anyway—well, more like ‘Cal’ since it’s not so much of a mouthful. My mom is the only one who refuses to give up ‘Samuel’, my first name, and Maddie calls me ‘Sammy’ because she thinks it’s funny.
Grace nods, although I don’t think she knew my name. “From the tattoo parlor?”
I can’t help a small smile. “You remember me.”
She averts her gaze and wraps her arms around her petite frame as she keeps shaking, even if less violently now. I’m still too far away to tell, but I don’t think the top of her head would even reach my neck. She’s hilariously small, like one of those fairies Maddie loves so much. Her blonde hair falls loosely over her shoulders and her smooth, pale skin is peppered with goosebumps despite being warm outside.
But I know she’s not shaking from the cold.
“I… I want to go home,” she mutters, more to herself than to me.
“All right,” I say carefully. “Do you want me to call a cab? Aaron?”
“Don’t call him.” Her eyes widen with even more panic, making me regret the suggestion and wonder why that would freak her out so much. “I’ll just walk.”
I frown. “You’re not doing that. It’s late and you’re all shaken up.”
She glares at me. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“I know.” I really don’t, but the determination in her eyes takes me aback. I take a deep breath and hope this doesn’t come out creepy, “Listen, I didn’t even want to come here anyway. Parties aren’t my thing. Let me walk you home, or at least call a cab for you. You can keep your finger on the SOS button of your phone if it’ll make you feel safer, but I refuse to let you leave alone.”
Her breath hitches, and for a moment I think she’s going to call me out on my toxic alpha tendencies or something, but she simply says, “I’ll take an Uber.”
With shaky fingers, she takes her phone out and starts typing. A couple of minutes later, she looks up and takes a hesitant step towards me. “They’ll be here in five. You don’t have to wait with me.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I keep my distance as she approaches the edge of the curb and pretend all my focus isn’t on her.
I know a panic attack when I see one, and I also happen to know how to proceed—keep your distance, don’t say a word, don’t freak her out even more. All those steps vary from person to person, but Grace and I don’t know each other, and something tells me she wouldn’t appreciate any more male attention tonight, so I stay away.
Five minutes roll by, and her ride isn’t here yet. Grace keeps glancing at the time on her phone, as if doing so would summon the car, but another five minutes pass and there’s still no sign of her Uber. I’m about to break the silence and offer to walk her home again, but she beats me to it.
“Thank you for earlier,” she half-whispers without even looking at me.
“It was nothing.” Stealing a glance in her direction, I notice that at least she’s not shaking anymore. “You knew that guy?”
Grace shakes her head. “He said we take a class together, but I haven’t seen him in my life.”
He probably made the whole thing up, anyway. Dudes these days would do anything to get a woman’s attention—and into their pants, if they’re lucky enough. It only makes me want to punch Dipshit harder.
“So, you’re a student at Warlington?” I subtly change topics, hoping it eases her nerves a bit.
“English major.” I already knew this, but I nod in acknowledgment anyway. To my surprise, she doesn’t end the conversation there. “It’s my last year.”
“That’s exciting. Any plans after graduation?”
She shifts on her feet. It’s only then that I notice she’s wearing sneakers, which is probably why she looks so short.
“Still unclear.” She checks the time on her phone again. A beat of silence passes between us, and then, “Callaghan, right? So, you work at the tattoo parlor?”
I’m half-shocked that she hasn’t ended our conversation yet, given how shaken up she still looks, but I don’t comment on it. Instead, I say, “I own it, actually.” Because for some stupid reason I want her to know this.
“Really?” Her eyes widen in surprise. “That’s… That’s great.”
I snort. “Why do you sound so surprised?”
“You just look… young, I guess.” She gives a brief, almost discreet look that I catch anyway. There’s no lust in her gaze, only muted curiosity, and yet my stomach still somersaults.
“How old do you think I am?” I smirk.
She gives me a quick once-over and I don’t think I’m imagining the way her lips curve upwards—only slightly, but it’s there. It’s something, and I’ll take it. I’ll take anything over a panic attack.
“I’m not answering that,” she says.
“Why not?”
“What if I say like, forty, and you’re nineteen or something?”
I choke. “You think I’m forty?”
“Obviously not.” She rolls her eyes with the faintest hint of amusement. “It was just a figure of speech.”
“Well, take a guess. I promise you won’t hurt my ego.”
Was that a laugh? I think she laughed.
“Mm-hmm… Twenty-eight?”
“I’m thirty.” Close enough. “Impressive.”
A shy smile touches her plump lips. “You don’t look that old.”
Right on cue, a white car slides on the side of the road. Grace looks at me one last time and says, “Thank you.”
I don’t have enough time to tell her that it’s nothing, or that she should text me when she gets home safe even though I don’t have her number, because she gets in the backseat and the car drives away.
But the funny feeling in my chest stays right there.
