My heart stutters. We’ve been dancing around this for weeks, maybe months. Every late-night call, every text that lingers just a little too long on “goodnight,” every time I find myself smiling at my phone like an idiot.
I miss him, too. And not in the “we’re just friends” kind of way.
His eyes hold mine through the screen, and I wish more than anything he was here. That I could reach out and touch him, figure out if what I’m feeling is real.
“I miss you, too,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can overthink them. “More than I probably should.”
His expression softens, and he leans closer to the camera. “There’s no ‘should’ about it, Sunshine. It is what it is.”
I bite my lip and glance down, fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “And what exactly is it, Callan?”
When I glance back up, he’s running a hand through his hair, hesitation in his eyes. “It’s me, sitting in this office at midnight, calling you instead of going home because hearing your voice has become the best part of my day.”
My breath catches. “Callan?—”
“I know the timing is shit,” he continues. “I know you’re still sorting things out.”
The walls I’ve built around my heart since Dillon tremble. “We live on different continents.”
“I’m aware,” he says with a soft huff of a laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His thumb brushes along the edge of the screen, like he wishes he could reach through it. “And I’m not trying to make anything harder for you, Bree. I’m not asking you for anything. Truly.”
I blink, heart thudding. “Then why tell me?”
His gaze holds mine. “Because I’m not a fan of bullshit,” hesays with a sudden grin, that familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “Speaking of which, are those Power Rangers on your shirt?”
I glance down at my ratty sleep shirt, mortified to realize he’s right. It’s my ancient, faded Power Rangers tee from college that I only wear when no one’s around to judge me.
“Hey! Don’t change the subject,” I protest, but I’m already laughing, grateful for the shift in energy. “And yes, they are. Pink Ranger was a feminist icon, thank you very much.”
“Oh, absolutely,” he agrees, nodding with mock seriousness. “Though I was always partial to the Green Ranger myself. Bad boy with a heart of gold and all that.”
“Of course you were.” I roll my eyes. “Let me guess, you had the action figure?”
“Had? I still have it somewhere,” he admits, not even slightly embarrassed. “Might be worth something someday.”
I’m still laughing, but my heart hasn’t quite caught up. That moment before the Power Rangers talk, before the teasing, was real. Too real.
And then, just like that, he gave me an out. Let me breathe.
I hug a throw pillow against my chest and watch him talk about his ancient Green Ranger action figure like it’s some kind of sacred relic. He’s animated, the magnitude of the earlier moment tucked behind his smile.
We’ve crossed an invisible line neither of us drew on purpose. We didn’t plan this. But here we are, and the truth is… I didn’t feel lonely tonight. Not once.
It’s beena few more months. Somehow.
Callan and I still talk every day—little check ins, voice notes, the occasional call when time zones align and one of uscan’t sleep. But after that night—theI miss younight—things eased back into something lighter. No more confessions. No more lines toeing dangerously close to the edge.
Just him, being…Callan. Reliable. Funny. A little too charming for his own good.
And me, pretending the ache I feel when we hang up isn’t anything worth naming.
Callan’s the one who finally convinced me to tell Juliette everything, though.
It took weeks. I kept telling myself there was no need. That what happened with Dillon was behind me and I could move on without cracking open the whole messy truth.
Except one night, after too many quiet moments and one too-sweet message from Callan that made my throat go tight, I broke. I needed my best friend.
I can still picture Juliette on our weekly video call. She tilted her head and gave me that look of concern that cut right through me.
