23Callum
“Callum?”
“Hi, Mum.”
“Well, isn’t this a surprise?”
Callum hunched his shoulders at the coldness in his mum’s voice. Dylan, who was still kneeling in front of him, squeezed him tighter. He doubted Dylan could hear what she’d said, let alone the tone of her voice, but he knew his boyfriend had picked up on the tension in his body. He was so glad Dylan was there.
“How are you?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice even.
“Coping. Barely. They’re moving your dad to a new prison on Monday.”
Callum sucked in a breath. “Why?”
“He was beaten up, so apparently it’s for his own safety. Why they can’t move the arseholes that hurt him, is beyond me.”
It wasn’t the first time his dad had been moved to a new prison for the same reason. Either he kept rubbing inmates the wrong way, or no one took kindly to a man who’d committed a hate crime. Callum didn’t know which it was, nor did he care. What hedidcare about, was the impact the move would have on his mum.
“Is it further away?”
“Much. We won’t be able to get there and back in a day anymore.”
“What will you do?”
“Moving might be cheaper than paying for a hotel room every time we visit.”
Callum’s chest clenched. “He can’t expect you to drop your entire life just so you can visit him.”
Dylan looked up at him, eyes wide and questioning.
“He deserves our support, Callum,” his mum hissed. “How will he cope if we don’t visit?”
Callum gritted his teeth, biting down the urge to ask how she thoughthe’dcoped when she’d chosen to visit his dad, instead of him, when he’d been detained.
“He keeps asking after you,” she told him. “He’s desperate to see you, Cal.”
He stiffened. “I’m not going to visit him, Mum.” He braced himself for the same barrage of hate he’d got from Molly a few weeks earlier, but it didn’t come.
“I wish you would,” she said softly. “He misses you. You wouldn’t even need to apologise.”
Callum gaped. He snapped his mouth shut, not wanting to argue with his mum.
“I need to know how big a house to rent,” she said matter-of-factly. “There’s no point in getting three bedrooms if you’re not coming home.”
Callum clenched his fist. Immediately, Dylan’s hand closed over his, comforting him. Tears stung Callum’s eyes. She could have at leastpretendedthat she wanted him to come home.
“I’m doing okay here.” He hated how strained his voice was. “I like living with Uncle Ezra. I’ve got a job—”
“So Molly said,” his mum cut in. “It would have been nice to hear it from you. What are you doing?”
“I’m working as a barman.”
His mum snorted derisively. “Couldn’t you do any better thanthat?”
“I like it.”
“Where? A restaurant? A pub?”
