“That’s Asher. He would have been twelve. And this is Tiff. She was only six at the time, and had never played Mom’s Whipped Cream Trivia.”
“You have a sister who’s…” I quickly do the math in my head. “Fourteen?”
“I do. I think my parents thought they were finished having kids when Tiff came along. Someone of a higher power thought otherwise.”
There are more family pictures, team pictures, and then I find the photo of Callum’s grandmother, who is the epitome of adorable. She is a regular Betty White. I also find a single posed photo—theonlyposed photo on these shelves. Callum, with his arm wrapped around a woman with long blonde hair, big hazel eyes, and the longest lashes I’ve ever seen on a human. They may be fake, but that doesn’t make them any less impressive.
Simone.
I’ve never met the woman—but I don’t doubt it. And her picture up here with Callum’s family and friends is only more proof that he’s still hung up on her.
“This is the girlfriend?” I ask, though I don’t need to. A tiny beetle festers in my gut. It’s a jealous beetle. It gnaws and irritates beneath my skin, and I hate it. I don’t like jealous feelings. But this woman could have kept Callum, and yet she let him go.
His brows knit. “Yeah. My ex.” He shakes his head and takes the photo from my hand. “I need to take that one down.Simone added this picture to my shelf a couple months ago. I forgot about it.”
“You were together how long again?”
“Five and a half months.” He shrugs.
“And she’s the one who broke things off?” I bite my inner cheek. I have assumed a lot about Simone. I’m not sure having all her truths confirmed is helpful. That beetle still festers, making my stomach hurt.
Callum runs a hand over the back of his neck. “Yes, that’s right.”
“And her picture is on your shelf?”
He stares at the photo, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow. “I forgot about it.”
I nod. It’s none of my business. I don’t need him to spell out to me that he still likes her. So I bite my lips and shut up about it. Or at least, I tell myself to shut up about it, but self does not listen. “It’s okay if you still like her.”
He blinks. “Only that I don’t.”
“Only that you do.” I cringe, my face contorting in a way that I am certain little Miss Blonde Simone has never ever cringed before.
Callum’s head jerks, and he scoffs at me. “Fran.”
I shrug. “I just happen to believe,” I say, each word coming out slower than the next as I speak and plan what I’m saying all at once, “that you do.”
He laughs a humorless laugh once more. “Well, you are wrong.”
I bite my lip. I heard what he said to Zev. I’m not crazy. I’m quirky and odd and nothing like Simone.
“The best thing Simone ever did for me was end things.”
Wait. My brows may be permanently furrowed. “Excuseme? I don’t follow.” I’m confused. He sounded awfully sincere with that statement.
“Simone. The kindest thing that woman ever did for me was cut me loose.”
I blink. I can’t seem to stop. “So… you don’t like her?”
“No.” He blows a puff of air through his lips. “For some reason, you have not heard me, but I do not like her. She was beautiful and sophisticated?—”
“I can see how that’s unattractive,” I mutter.
“And completely selfish. She hated my job.”
“But you’re a pro athlete.”
“I’m also in the minors. Not nearly as impressive as the majors. But my parents always taught me to be grateful, and that gratitude would make me happy. After my injury, no major team wanted me.”
