I do know that I owe him so much already. I can’t even bear to think what might have played out if he hadn’t arrived when he did. The whole event didn’t really leave me with much of a choice when Cal’s questioning began. I had to tell him the truth; I owed him that much, at least. So I bit down on my pride, and started at the beginning with Danny: the loans, the fact that he skipped out on me, and how it led to me being here now—working in his club—to pay back the debts. Cal doesn’t give much away when you talk to him; he was sitting stock still, absorbing everything I was telling him, and I couldn’t read a single emotion. I’ve no doubt he thinks hiring me was a massive mistake. He wanted a dancer; instead, he got lumbered with babysitting a twenty-four-year-old with more baggage than the luggage claim at JFK.
We argued about me returning to my place. Arguing with your boss less than a few weeks into your new job is a sure sign your work-life balance is way off kilter. But then again moving in with him isn’t exactly normal, and now my work and my home life are one and the same. I’m not a prude; I cuss like anyone else, but Cal’s swearing would have made a sailor blush when I’d told him that I was going home. It was the morning after Carter had visited, and Cal hit the roof, telling—no, shouting at me— it wasn’t safe, and he wouldn’t allow it. I’d countered that it wasn’t up to him to make my decisions, but really I was relieved that he had. The thought of being home alone scares me, and Carter doesn’t know where I am when I’m here. I feel safer.
The downside is that I’m holed up in Cal’s spare room. Sure, it’s handy for work, but it’s awkward as hell in every other way. He told me I could stay indefinitely until everything is sorted out with paying back the debts. He’s obviously more optimistic than I am about how quickly I can do that. It’ll take forever to clear them, and after everything that’s happened, I’m sure there will be interest to pay. Mr. Carter was an unforgiving man before, after what’s happened I can’t think of a single scenario where he won’t hold it against me. That thought alone is terrifying.
I called Mrs. Heckles this morning; I was worried that she’d be wondering where I am and if I’m okay. I’d gotten away with telling her as little as possible, lying and pretending I was staying with a friend for a while, unsure of when I’d be back. I attempted to warn her not to talk to anyone that may come asking for me. She agreed, but if she manages it I’ll be amazed. She just can’t help herself sometimes. Callum promised to take me back to my place today to collect some more of my things. I didn’t do a stellar job of packing the night I’d left.
Despite his constant reassurance that it’s not the case, I can’t help but feel that staying here is a burden on him. Cal stays out of my way as much as possible, to the point that he leaves a room when I enter. We don’t talk much; a strange tension seems to have settled around us, and I don’t know what to do to lift it. The night of our almost kiss is when things took a strange turn; at least, I think it was then. I’m calling it the almost kiss, I could have read the signals wrong, and he wasn’t about to kiss me, but I’m not convinced that’s the case. Kissing him would have been a huge mistake, but I can’t dislodge the thought of what it might have been like if Annie hadn’t interrupted us. Would I have stopped him? Walked away and ignored it? Or would I have leaned in and made it happen?
The sad truth is I feel so lonely right now—I crave physical contact. I want to feel anything other than this…fear, hurt, anger. It’s all aimed at Danny, right or wrong, and the fact that I still find myself missing him makes the rage intensify. I don’t want to miss him. I’m tired of wanting to curl into a ball and cry. Maybe that’s the reason I almost let my boss kiss me? Maybe it’s the reason that I’ve agreed to meet Cole this afternoon for drinks—I need to feel wanted right now.
My mom insists that I touch base with her regularly but I haven’t called in over two weeks, and I still haven’t told her that Danny is gone. I don’t want to worry her, but more than that, I’m embarrassed to tell her how badly things have turned in such a short space of time. I know what would happen…she’d tell me to come home. My pride won’t let me dial her number. I’m supposed to be the success story of our family, the one who’s living out her dreams and making it work in the Big Apple. My older sister, Erin, gave up her dreams to play house with a complete asshole straight out of high school. Not surprisingly the relationship didn’t last, although she gave it a go for a few years. She’s with a pretty great guy now, but she’s been left paying the price for not going to college.
I should tell Mom what’s happening, but it’s easier to tell myself that I’m doing her a favor by not burdening her with my problems. She has enough of her own; Dad had to give up work around a year ago because of his arthritis, so Mom is run off her feet. They downsized to a smaller house when I left for New York; there’s no room for me to go back even if I wanted to. I couldn’t even stay with Erin, she has a husband, twin two-year-olds, a dog, a rabbit and two cats to contend with. Adding me to her equation would be far too much. So I can’t tell them, any of them, it wouldn’t be fair.
The display on my cell reads 2:40 pm. Cal should be here soon; we made arrangements at breakfast. I’m not a morning person and have never professed to be anything other than a little bit of a cow before 10 am. I don’t function well without caffeine. Instead, I wander around in a state of sleep-induced semi-consciousness.
I was headed to the kitchen this morning to get my coffee fix when Callum stepped out of the bathroom and straight into my path. I probably would have noticed him if my eyes hadn’t been almost closed as I fumbled my way toward the kitchen, using the wall as my guide. My face planted straight into his damp, solid chest, making me stumble and stealing my annoyance as I realized his state of undress. His hair was dripping tiny beads of water down his face, his toothbrush still tucked neatly into the side of his mouth. I gawped at the fluffy gray towel wrapped low around his waist. I had no choice but to follow the deep v that pointed down to his crotch. He was talking on his phone and dropped it from his ear, smirking at me, when I ran into him. I can’t be sure what he’d said as he pressed the cell into his chest to shield the caller from his words, my embarrassment overshadowed all my other senses.
He walked away, but not before ruffling my hair, much in the same way an adult does to a small child before he resumed his phone conversation. It took me a few minutes to recover from the sight of Callum Speight, shower-damp and almost naked. It was a fine wake-up call, and infinitely better than any cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted.
By the time I’d washed and changed he was on his way out the door. He told me he’d be back to take me to my apartment, winked and told me to have a good day, pointing to the table as he left. He’d made me breakfast—coffee and croissants. It’s strange how the smallest gesture can feel so monumentally overwhelming. It was one small act of kindness, and I’m glad he’d walked away when he did—because I broke down and cried. Hot tears spilled over my cheeks and dripped into my coffee as I nursed it close to my chest. I remembered what my life used to be like not so long ago, and how quickly things can go from picture perfect to a horrible dream you can’t wake up from.
I suppose that’s the thing with pictures, they can capture one perfect moment in a day full of distinctly average ones, and immortalize it. Tricking you into thinking that all your moments were perfect, when in fact they were mediocre at best. Perhaps our pictures didn’t fool Daniel, the ones we’d hung around the apartment attempting to make it homey. Maybe they served as mementos for how unspectacular he thought our relationship was, and prompted him to make a change. Looking at images of us goofing around, seemingly carefree and content, I guess it would be easy to forget the daily struggles. Rejection letters from music execs, mounting bills, the little things that were almost insignificant on their own, but added up to big problems. Maybe he saw something different in those pictures than what I saw. Or possibly I’m just pissed that he bailed first.