But was he really happy, or was he just saying that for her sake? The man had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. There was no cure, and it broke Callie’s heart.
“How are you doing with Lock being back, baby?”
She straightened, the question catching her off guard. “I-I’m fine.”
Jeez, really believable with the stutter, Callie.
There was a brief pause, and in that hesitation, she cringed. Because of course her father would hear right through her lie.
“You don’t need to pretend with me. If you need me to go and kick that boy’s ass, you let me know.”
She bit back a laugh. Lock was a million feet tall, with the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen. He was also a highly trained soldier and probably knew a million ways to kill a person, while her father was a former accountant who didn’t even hit six feet.
“I don’t need you to do that, but I appreciate the offer.”
“Offer stands if you change your mind.”
“Thank you, Dad. Now, tonight—”
“Come hungry because I’m making tuna casserole.”
Guess her meatloaf would have to wait, because there was no saying no to tuna casserole. “My favorite. I’ll bring the chocolate chip cookies.”
“I’m looking forward to it. I love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
The second she hung up, there was a yearning in her chest to have him back on the phone. He’d always been her greatest source of comfort. Her mother had died when she was a kid after a skiing trip accident, so he was all she’d had. And while some fathers became consumed by their own grief after losing a wife, hers hadn’t. He’d put her first, always.
She set the phone onto the bathroom counter before stripping and stepping into the shower. As the warm water beat down on her skin, her dream trickled back into her mind. The blood. The panic.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push it away, only to have another image take its place. An image of beautiful blue eyes. Of broad shoulders and a strong jaw.
How she’d survived losing so much in such a short period of time, she’d never know. One thing was certain—she hadn’t come out of it unscathed.
She stayed in the shower for so long her skin wrinkled and the air fogged with steam, but even when she got out, she didn’t feel better. But then, after a nightmare, it always took a while to feel okay again.
On her way out of the bathroom, she checked the time. Crap. Seven thirty. Her first class was at eight. Quickly, she threw on her yoga pants and a sports crop. Before going to the kitchen, she opened the second door off the hall.
“Wake up. You have a book to write.”
Aspen groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. “I choose sleep.”
Callie turned on the light and threw a fallen pillow at her head. “Get up, or I’m taking all the coffee pods to work with me.”
The sheet lowered. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would. Get up.” She turned and headed down the hall toward the kitchen. She’d give Aspen ten minutes. If she didn’t hear the shower running, she was going back in there to jump on the bed.
The house was actually owned by her father. He had a couple of rentals, and it just so happened that his tenants had moved out right when she’d moved back to town. Aspen’s lease had also been up, so they’d moved in together.
Callie had been surprised Aspen had asked. She’d thought her friend would have moved in with Dylan. Aspen had said it was more about money, because her dad gave them a super-cheap rate, and even though the books she self-published usually brought in a steady income, she hadn’t released one in a while.
But there was a part of Callie that wondered if Aspen had other reasons to not want to move in with her boyfriend.
Callie put a pod into the coffee machine.
Once upon a time, she’d talked about buying a house with Lock. She’d even found a place. It was old and run-down, but Lock had always been good with his hands, so she’d known he’d be able to fix it up.
