“Some things never change.”
“I guess not.” His fingers twitch at his side—with anxiety, I’m guessing. “And yes, I created this house with you in mind, shamelessly stealing a lot of your ideas. I hope you like it?”
Shock renders me speechless for a few seconds. Did he do all this for me? Because that’s what it seems like he’s implying. “It’s a stunning home, Callan. Thanks for showing me around, but I think we should get to the talking part. Delaying it isn’t doing either of our nerves any favors.”
He nods slowly. “Do you want to go back outside or stay here?”
“Let’s stay here.”
I sit on one end of the sectional while Callan sets a fresh glass of wine and a bottle of water down on the end table beside me. He sits in the middle, kicks off his sneakers, and stretches his legs out. Tension brackets his mouth as he looks at me. “I’ve practiced telling you this for such a long time, but now the moment is here, I don’t know where to begin.”
“You said you didn’t cheat on me.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then tell me how Gwen got pregnant.”
“Do you remember that time you were out with Paige and Tonya, and I called to say I wanted Gwen out, that I’d had enough and she needed to leave?”
“I remember.”
“What I hadn’t told you, because I didn’t want to say it over the phone, was how I’d gotten up for work that morning and found Gwen drunk in the kitchen wearing only a thong.”
I take a big gulp of wine, needing some Dutch courage. “Go on.”
“She didn’t quite make a pass at me, but she told me I could touch her tits and she wouldn’t tell you.”
“That fucking whore!”
“She hadn’t done anything like that before, but I’d been getting weird vibes off her. She kept going into my room and doing my laundry when I told her I didn’t want her touching my things, so I’d resorted to locking it to keep her out. Anyway,I left, called you, and then later that night, when I got back to my apartment, Gwen had gotten takeaway from an Italian restaurant, and she had the table set all romantic with candles and flowers. I let rip, and she got upset, cried, and said she’d found a place and she just wanted to cook me a going-away meal. I felt a teeny bit bad, so I lied and said it was a nice gesture.”
“She was a master at manipulating emotions. I analyzed every interaction with her after we broke up, and she’d been playing me for years. Turning on the tears was a favorite of hers.”
“Among other things. I truly believe she’s a sociopath. No one will convince me otherwise. She has no empathy, no compassion, no remorse. It’s all about her, and she’ll stop at nothing to get what she wants.”
“Which was you.”
He nods and gets up, and I notice his hand is quivering. “I need something stronger than beer. Want a whisky?”
“Why the fuck not?” I’m not a big whisky drinker, but I have a feeling I’ll need it too.
After we both have our whisky and the bottle is resting on the coffee table, Callan resumes explaining. “She drugged me.”
“That was one of my theories back in the day and again more recently.”
He knocks back a mouthful of his drink, and my heart hurts when I see the pain on his face. “I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have, Astrid, but I can’t sugarcoat things.”
“I don’t want you to. Just tell me.”
“I woke in my bed, and she was riding me.”
I close my eyes for a second as pain lashes through me. When I open them, Callan is staring at me with tears in his eyes.
I nod, silently telling him to go on. Putting my glass down, I wrap my arms around myself and try to brace for it.
“I thought it was you. My head was a mess, my vision was blurry, and all I could see was long blonde hair. She leaned down, and it was your perfume. Of course, she’d worn it on purpose.” He barks out a bitter laugh. “I was confused, and I passed out countless times, barely conscious. When I woke the next morning, she was curled up against me, and I was horrified. I threw up all over her.”
I hug myself harder, questioning whether I am strong enough to hear the rest.
