Page 62
“Callie?” Jessica sounds worried.
“I-I,” I wheeze, body trembling with fury and frustration and fear. I’m shaking so hard I lose my grip. The basket I’m holding hits the floor with a metallic clang that cuts through me. Paint tubes scatter across the linoleum, rolling under displays. Her card crumples in my grip.
The weight of the staff’s attention is too much. Everyone is watching. Witnessing this total fucking shit show. My legs are already moving before my brain catches up, carrying me toward the door like my ass is on fire. I can’t be here. Behind me, I hear Jessica calling my name, but it sounds distant and distorted, like she’s shouting through thick glass.
The bell above the door chimes as I burst through it, and the humid afternoon air coils around my throat like a noose. I don’t stop walking until I reach my car. My hands are trembling so badly it takes three tries to get the key in the lock.
How the hell did Jessica know to find me here? I slam the door shut behind me and tossing the crumpled card to the floor of the passenger seat before dropping my head onto the steering wheel. I suck in ragged breaths. This is getting out of control.
I thought if I ran, let him have his moment of glory at the show, that it would be done. That I could move on from the nightmare that was our relationship. Why won’t he leave me alone? Hasn’t he taken enough?
My phone buzzes, rattling against the passenger seat. I take a breath and straighten. It’s okay. I haven’t received a summons. Maybe that lady was making shit up. Maybe she wanted to get a rise out of me. She did a good fucking job rattling me.
“Go home. Breathe. It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”
The engine turns over with a reassuring rumble, and I peel out of the parking space faster than strictly necessary. In my rearview mirror, I can see Jessica standing in the doorway of the art store, watching me go.
I don’t know if this is something I can outrun. Fear rattles around inside my brain. I know without a doubt Theo is planning to hunt me down and ruin me. That man hates when people defy him, and me breaking things off was the worst offense. My stomach churns, knuckles turning white on the wheel.
What am I going to do?
Chapter Twenty-Three
CALLIE
The front door slams behind me, rattling the picture frames in the hallway and the glass in the china cabinet. My hands won’t stop shaking, and all I want is to disappear into the void until no one can find me. No reporters. No Theo. No one.
“Callie?”
Shit. Dad’s voice carries from the kitchen, warm and concerned. Of course he’s here. He probably knew trouble was coming from a mile away. He always had a good sixth sense, even when I was sixteen and sneaking in through my bedroom window at two in the morning. Dad was always there.
But I don’t want him to see this. My throat tightens. “I’m fine.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I’m already halfway to the basement door, desperate to escape before he can read everything written across my face.
“Alley cat, hold up.”
“What, Dad?” I snap, too harsh for the man who taught me how to play ball. My chest aches, tears stinging. I will not fucking cry. I will. Not. Cry. I blink hard, willing the tears back.
“What happened?” His voice is closer now, and when I turn around, he’s studying me in a way that makes me uncomfortable. There’s genuine worry creasing the corners of his eyes, and I hate that I’m the reason.
The sight of it makes me want to collapse to the floor. I can’t deal with this right now. Not his concern, his questions, the way he’s looking at me like I’m that scared teenager who used to come home with bruised knuckles and a chip on her shoulder.
“Nothing happened.” I yank open the basement door. I race down the wooden steps, my heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape my chest. The familiar scent of paint and old canvas wraps around me, but instead of comfort, it brings rage.
No, not like that, Callie. God, what would you do without me?
Theo’s voice hisses through my mind as I stare at my art.
Try fucking harder, Callie! This might have impressed your parents, but this is fucking New York City! Act like you fucking care.
All those fucking canvases from before Theo, when I actually believed in goodness. When I thought I could make something of myself.
No one would even know your name if it wasn’t for me. I fucking made you a someone and this is how you repay me?
I truly believe that people would love my art. Love me.
You’re fucking pathetic.
But he stole it. Took it all for himself. The canvases are stacked against the far wall, mocking me, reminding me of everything I’ve lost. This is my fault. All of it. I let him in. I thought I loved him. I should have known better but turns out Theo was right about one thing: I am fucking pathetic.
