I pull back slightly, meeting his eyes. “I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve been dealing with so much already. And I thought… I thought I could handle it.”
I watch as a flicker of hurt crosses his face. His gaze drops, and I see his shoulders sag. That’s when I realize I’ve unintentionally chipped away at the trust between us again.
“Bree…” He says my name softly, almost like a plea. “We’re in this together. The good, the bad, and everything in between. Let me be there for you like you’ve been here for me.”
I nod, my throat tight, the lump growing as I swallow the rush of emotions threatening to spill out. “I know. I just…didn’t want to be too much.”
His eyes widen, and for a moment, he’s still. He cups my face in his hands, his touch impossibly gentle, like I might break if he holds me any tighter. “Stop right there. You couldneverbe too much. Never.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my eyes sting with more unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again, this time not for the panic attack, but for the distance I’ve put between us.
“No more apologies,” he says softly, his thumb gently wiping away the tear that escapes down my cheek. The warmth of his touch sends a tremor through me, and I let out a shaky breath. “Let’s focus on how we can tackle this together, aye?”
I nod, a small but real wave of relief washing over me.
“Have you thought about talking to someone? A professional, I mean.”
I bite my lip, considering his question. “I’ve thought about it.”
He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me with that unwavering gaze of his, the one that makes me feel like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
“There’s no shame in needing help, love. And if anyone gives you grief about it, they’ll have me to answer to.”
A small laugh bubbles up, surprising me. Leave it to Callan to make me smile, even when everything feels so heavy.
It’s beena couple days since I let the walls fall down around me and he didn’t run.
The house smells like garlic and butter, and Callan’s half hobbling around the kitchen on his crutches, determined to make dinner like he’s not one wrong move away from toppling headfirst into the oven.
“You know,” I call out from the couch, eyeing him warily, “I could help.”
He shoots me a look over his shoulder. “You offering out of kindness or because you think I’m gonna burn the place down?”
“A little of both.”
He smirks, flipping what looks to be a crab cake in the pan one-handed. “Sit down. I’ve got it handled.”
I settle deeper into the cushions, letting the domestic soundscape wrap around me. It feels…ridiculously nice.
“I was looking at flights earlier,” I say after a beat. “I need to head back at some point. I’ve still got my job, and my plants are probably dead.”
Callan goes still for a second, like he’s deciding what to say. He doesn’t turn around, just stirs whatever’s in the pan a little more aggressively than necessary.
Finally, he spins to look at me. “What if you…don’t go back.”
I blink. “What?”
He limps over with a smirk, like he’s not about to ruin me with a single sentence. Dropping onto the couch beside me, he says, “Stay. Move in with me.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m serious. Stay.”
My heart stutters, then races ahead like it’s desperate to reach a finish line I can’t even see. The room suddenly feels too warm, too small, too everything.
“Callan…”
His impossibly warm eyes hold mine. I take in his messy hair and ridiculous grin. His heart’s wide open.
