I let out a breath. “Remind me to thank her when she’s back from California.”
I take note of the gratitude that reflects in her eyes, and it cuts through some of the heaviness.
“Why didn’t you tell the Silvers what happened to your dad?” I ask her.
“I was scared—for a lot of reasons. Every time I tried, I ended up chickening out. Just before I turned eighteen, I decided it was time, but then the Silvers died. Their deaths were hard. I didn’t want to be selfish and add more to Bella’s plate,” she explains, and I can’t say that doesn’t make sense. “I think about telling Bella now and then, but I don’t want her to question if my silence was her fault.”
“How’d you come up with your name?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
“I wanted a fresh start with the Silvers, but I also wanted to hold on to my dad. I didn’t have anything to remember him by,” she says with a tenderness in her eyes. “Erin Callahan is the name of my favorite character out of all the books my dad had ever given me—The Detective and Me.”
I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm and allowing myself a few extra seconds as I hold her close.
“You’re a fighter, Erin Callahan. Thank you for telling me your story. I promise I’ll keep your secrets, and you, safe. You willalwaysbe safe with me.”
Her eyes clear, and I know she believes me. For the first time in my life, I want that responsibility more than anything. Of protecting someone and making sure nothing else hurts them again.
She answerson the second ring.
“Hey, Bookworm. What are you up to?”
“Just doing some laundry.”
“Oh, yeah? Anything I’d like?” I tease.
“Sure, if a beige, oversized hoodie with cat ears is your thing.”
“Don’t talk dirty to me, baby. It turns me on.”
She snorts. The sound is music to my ears. It makes me grin. Things seem to have shifted between us since she told me about her parents. She trusted me enough to know a big part of her past.
She let me in.
Her truth is not something she gives easily, but she gave it to me.
A real piece of herself.
And I feel closer to her than ever.
“You’re ridiculous,” she says, laughing.
“You love it.” I shift the phone to my other ear. “So, what are your plans tomorrow night?”
“Getting ready to face the reality of going back to work next week. Ink and Print hasn’t called yet, but I’m hopeful they will. Other than a book club meeting tomorrow, I’m not doing anything. Why?”
“They’ll call. I know it,” I say. “So listen, tomorrow happens to be my birthday. A bunch of us are hitting Ruby’s Roulette—bar, dance floor, great music. A closed event that will be contained. Say you’ll come?”
“Oh.”
She hesitates as if she’s about to break it to me that she can’t, but then she takes a deep breath, and my lungs constrict, hope blossoming as I wait for her reply.
“Yeah, okay. I guess.” She stops and takes another controlled breath. “I mean, yes,” she says with more confidence behind her tone this time. “I’ll be there. And happy birthday.”
I chuckle. “It’s not my birthday yet, sweetheart. See you tomorrow night. Wear that oversized hoodie for me, will ya?”
She snorts again. “Bye, Chase.”
“Night, Bookworm.”
