Santa Monica glass.
Her voice in the ICU.
“Since the fire,” I said.
Callum nodded slowly.
“Then when you can stand without ripping yourself open,” he said, “you’re going to fix what can be fixed.”
“I don’t know if she’ll let me.”
“She shouldn’t make it easy.”
“No.”
“You made her pay for your fear.”
“I know.”
“And Georgia.”
“I know.”
“And yourself.”
I laughed once, bitter and weak. “Running list.”
“Long one.”
I looked toward the door Destiny had walked through.
“She said she’d never forgive me.”
“For what?”
“If I fucked this up and we both ended up heartbroken for the rest of our lives.”
Callum leaned back.
“Then don’t.”
I looked at him.
He stood, moving the chair back into place.
Like Georgia might still come in and sit there.
She wouldn’t.
That was mine to live with.
Callum paused at the door.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“You go after Edge’s daughter, you go honest. No secret touching. No almost. No using hospital corners and longing as excuses. You clean up your mess before you put a hand on that girl again.”
