by Katy Evans
“Go on!” I hiss, and Wynn starts walking cautiously forward, and I turn away when I see him grab her by the front of her dress and pull her in for a kiss.
Well then!
Grinning ear to ear, I pull up my Uber application and call a car, then head back to my apartment.
I don’t sleep.
I’m counting the seconds until tomorrow when I see him at Carma.
I’ve only got a few more days of my internship. Staying in Texas sort of took up my last week—it’s killing me to know our seconds are counted.
I’m planning to be at the terrace at 6 p.m. sharp today.
I really wish I had time to look up Callan sooner, but I can’t.
I’m trying to get as much done for Mr. Lincoln before I leave. My fingers are flying over the keyboard when there’s a dramatic shift of energy in the air around me.
I glance up from my computer and he’s leaning on my desk.
Hot.
Unattainable.
And so sexy he sends me out of my goddamn mind.
Callan.
My Callan.
Our gazes hold each other silent.
My mouth starts running dry.
“I’ve been told I’m a selfish bastard.” His lips hike up mockingly. “Never really realized that I was, until I caught myself wanting to call you a dozen times, asking you to come back home.”
“I was home,” I croak.
“Yeah, that’s right.” He laughs. His warm eyes are full of expectation. He looks almost perfect, but the slightly disheveled imperfections—including the tousled hair and dark circles under his eyes—I find adorable. Adorable enough that I could reach out and grab it, anchor myself to him.
“How are you?”
I fiddle with my sleeve, looking at the keyboard in front of me. “Good. There’s so much to do though to get ready to leave.”
His gaze swirls with some raw, dark emotion, and he says, “I’ll leave you to it, then. Come home with me tonight.”
I nod eagerly. “After that thing at the Saints’,” I say.
He grabs my face and kisses my cheek and I close my eyes and groan and drop it to the desk.
That night, my brother’s gang throws a farewell party for me.
Wynn picks me up and tells me she and Emmett are working on things.
“He thinks we’re moving too fast. He’s not ready for kids,” she says, sighing. “I’m willing to give him time, you know? I believe in us.”
I’m envious of Wynn, of how sure she is that they can work out. When right now I just don’t even know what I want anymore. My plan had been so crystal clear when I came to Chicago, and now . . .
My breath catches when we stride into the Saints’ penthouse apartment. Because he is the first thing I see.
He’s wearing this puzzled expression as he stares down at a gorgeous, chubby, black-haired baby, as if he can’t believe he’s holding one. Then he flashes a smile at it and tells Saint something that makes Saint nod proudly.
Seeing him hold the baby does something to me.
He’s still smiling as he shoots a glance in my direction.
It seems like a casual glance, as if he doesn’t know I’m standing here. But he finds me staring and when our eyes lock, his gaze shines a little brighter, his smile fading. He crooks his finger at me and points daringly at the baby.
I shake my head, just to be contrary.
“Come here, Olivia,” he dares, nodding at the baby. “Don’t be a coward,” he croons.
“I’m not a coward. Having one of my own is in my plan, but I bet it’s not in yours.”
I sigh and relent.
Callan waits for me to come over—fuck, but he looks so hot with a baby in his arms—and when he hands Baby Saint over, he smells of my favorite Callan cologne, and the baby smells like baby, and our hands brush as he passes him over to me.
I sense a shift in him when he gazes down at me as I hold the baby.
Is he thinking of getting me pregnant?
Of having his baby girl or boy in my arms?
“Stop looking at me like that, Callan.” I shoot him the direst warning look that I can.
“Like what?” he asks, his expression still intense and unchanging.
“You know what! It only makes me want it, want you to—” I catch myself and give him a telling look that clearly states I don’t want to want these things, then I finish off the look with a haughty lift of my chin as I turn around to take the baby over to the girls.
“Hand him over!” Wynn says, and she sits him on her lap and kisses his cheek.
I steal a look at Callan for only a tiny moment, seeing the familiar twist of amusement dancing at the corner of his mouth.
Ask me to come tonight, I think as our gazes hold.
But really what for?
If you touch me tonight, it’ll only make it harder to leave.
Already seeing him with a baby in his arms makes me want it to be my baby that he’s holding—his and mine.
I wish it were that simple.
I had my whole life planned out, and maybe Callan won’t change his spots for a girl—there’s a reason he’s the last man standing.
Wynn offered to drive me back, and being at the Saints with Callan so close and yet so far away was eating up my nerves. I could sense Tahoe watching us when Callan and I stepped outside to smoke.
He brushed his fingers over mine every time we passed the cigarette, and I wanted to hold his hand, kiss his lips.
We didn’t talk. That’s so unlike us. Callan seemed frustrated by the attention we were getting, and he spent the evening nursing a whiskey and smoking more than usual. He noticed me leaving with Wynn, and he caught up with me at the elevators.
“Olivia?” His voice stopped me before boarding. “You’re coming home with me.”
I flushed when I noticed Wynn’s eyes widen. I glanced nervously at the group where my brother was, grateful he wasn’t looking in our direction. “I’ll stop by later,” I quickly said, to appease him.
Callan looked at Wynn then as he dug out his car keys from his jeans, as if planning to leave now himself. “Give her a ride to my place?” he asked her.
Wynn looked at him as if seeing him with new eyes. She had eyes only for him as she nodded. “She’ll be there.”
“Good.” Callan glanced meaningfully in my direction, then told Wynn, “Give me a head start,” and so Wynn and I lingered for a few minutes before we finally took off.
“You love him?” Wynn asked as she drove me to his place.
“Yes,” was all I said.
She smiled privately, as if she knew something I didn’t.
Now, I’m walking into Callan’s home.
I close my eyes and tell myself to breathe. I almost walk back and leave, but I swear to god something keeps me where I am. And yet I can’t move forward.
I marvel at the fierce tug of emotions that brought me here to him in the first place. I want so bad to reach out to him and let him hold me but I’m scared that if I do, everything will change.
I’m scared that if I take this step, and walk toward him, and let him hold me tonight, I won’t be the same in the morning.
I won’t be the same ever again.
I walk forward, my shoes soundless on the modern rug, and the hair on the back of my neck tingles with anticipation. I can hear my heart beating so fast and so strong I’m scared he’ll hear it, that he’ll know.
The door of his office is open. I part it wider and spot him at the far end. A bottle of whiskey and an empty glass sit on the desk before him. He looks incredibly warm, his huge body taking up most of the space.
He stands. “I knew you’d come.” Callan meets me halfway across the room and cups my neck, and the slow stroke of his thumb there sends shivers down my spine.
“You asked me to.”
“Sit here.”
He guides me to sit on the desk and as I climb on, he draws my hair clip off my hair, pushing the loose tendrils aside as
he leans his head forward, and my breathing hitches with the feel of his lips touching mine.
“I’m desperate for you.” His fingers trail up my thigh, under the fall of my skirt.
I moan. “Callan.”
“God, I come unglued when you make that sound.”
“Callan . . . We really have to stop at some point.”
His hunger blazes in his eyes. “I haven’t slept since Texas. Not seeing you every day . . . I feel crazed over you. Unhinged. I’m insane for you.” He tugs me to the edge of the desk. “Come here. I can’t wait.” He spreads my hair aside and kisses the curve between my neck and shoulder. Tingles race down the line of my spine, down every vertebra and nerve ending.
I moan again.
“I’m a reasonable man. So why, when it comes to you, do I have no reason?” He rubs my lips with the pad of his thumb. “I have no control when it comes to you. God, look at you.” He tugs my shirt open with a flick of his fingers over my buttons. He pries it over my shoulders and swoops down to cradle my lace-cupped breasts and kiss the tips over my bra.
My body is wound up with desire and yearning. “Callan, this will only make leaving more difficult . . .”
I’m trembling, yet even as I watch Callan strip with fast jerks of his wrist on the drawstring pants and T-shirt he’s wearing, I can’t bring myself to stop him.
I know I can break. I know this can break me. But I could never feel as broken as I will when I’m alone, staring up at the ceiling, remembering his touch and wondering if I will ever feel it again.
I reach out as he reaches for me, and I kiss him.
I have the first good night’s sleep I’ve had for days.
God. Loving this man has been both the easiest and the most challenging thing I’ve ever done.
I want to be that girl who finds love and just takes it.
But what about my career?
I want to be his equal. I eventually want to know as much as him, do as much as him.
I can’t help thinking that if this were happening like I’d planned, at twenty-freaking-fucking-eight, I wouldn’t have to choose.
I want to stay.
But it’ll kill me not to pursue my career dreams too.
I stay with him for longer than I should, prolonging the time in his arms.
When I’m sure he’s asleep, I kiss his jaw and inhale him, wrapping my arms around him as tight as they will go. I tingle when he reciprocates, loving the way his arm clenches me even as he sleeps, then force myself to let go.
“I love you,” I whisper in his ear and steal away, without looking back.
And every step away from him feels painful.
I spend all day organizing everything for my departure.
Callan spends all day in board meetings.
His assistant has returned from maternity leave and Janine has been boasting how eager she is to apply for a permanent position at Carma, now that her internship is over. Like her, I’m officially done with my summer internship. When the clock strikes 6 p.m., I have my stuff in boxes.
And when I head upstairs at six and Callan opens his office door and leans on it, simply looking at me, I feel a stirring of longing so deep, I almost whimper. I feel like one last cigarette with him.
I NEED one last cigarette with him. Fuck the seven minutes of life it takes from me, life is that terrace and him and me.
He seems to read my mind, because he shuts the door behind him and motions to the elevators.
Once we go upstairs, we’re silent for a while. Not even smoking. Just sitting there in silence—and for a while, it’s enough. Breathing close to him, listening to his breath. Occasionally stealing looks and soaking up the sensuality of his physique. I’m so attuned to him, I’m painfully aware of every breath he takes, of how deeply he inhales, exhales, how warm his body temp is, where his eyes are focused.
And they are on me.
He studies my lips briefly, and I can’t help but drop my gaze to his mouth, which looks full and firm. And I want to kiss it again. I want to feel it all over me again, full and firm but also soft and warm and hungry times a thousand.
I don’t know how I’m going to do it.
How I can say goodbye.
I think of Texas and my hope for a future business, trying to make this moment less painful. It’ll be exciting, but it won’t be as exciting doing it alone. I then decide I’ll take a job until I’m ready to go it alone, and someday I will ask my brother to invite me over for a weekend in Chicago, and I will look Callan up and hopefully I won’t feel this squeezing in my heart. And at twenty-eight, I’ll be ready to meet the one who wants the same things I do and . . . well, wants to be together. Officially.
I tell myself all this, and yet my heart doesn’t buy it.
It feels as if I’m leaving my red bandana knotted around the railing, flapping aimlessly in the wind because I’m too afraid to reach out for it, and nobody is helping me. And I never asked him to help me.
Callan lights up and hands me the cigarette, looking at my mouth with acute intensity as I take a hit.
“We should stop smoking,” I say, exhaling.
His lips quirk. “Okay.” His eyes are crowded with something beyond lust, beyond anything I’ve ever seen in them before.
“Really?” I ask, passing him the cigarette.
“Yeah. I’ve been keeping it to one a day, two. When I’m not talking to you.” He grins, his eyes pools of warmth and swirling heat.
“Really, wow. Then we should definitely stop smoking,” I say more firmly. Maybe my reasons are also the fact that every cigarette will remind me of him, and I’m not sure I can deal with the pain of missing him that having one will bring.
“We should,” he concurs.
“I’ll do it for my nana.”
“I’ll do it for you.”
My skin tingles, and a sudden warmth engulfs my core. Is this one of his antics? He looks so somber now.
“Let’s do it then,” I say with forced cheer. “Report back at the one-month mark.”
“Sounds good.”
I smile and let go of a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. It seemed to be trapped in my chest. But now I breathe a little easier, after this deal we made. It’s better this way. I get an excuse to talk to him. It doesn’t feel like such a final goodbye. I can’t take it otherwise.
“Wynn and Emmett seem to have gotten back together.”
“Did they?”
“Yes. I mean, I don’t know the details. I’m sure she’ll share soon. But I’m happy they could work it out. All this time, I’ve been thinking about relationships. How sometimes chemistry and attraction and compatibility are not the only important things. Goals are, too. If you’re here, and he’s there, well . . . he’s not where you are.”
“People can move. From here to there. I can move, Livvy.” He looks at me quietly and smirks. “I can move faster than anyone.”
“Call me when I’m twenty-eight,” I plead.
He laughs, and then he falls somber again.
“So we’re talking of you being unable to be the one to come from there . . . to here?” he asks me.
“I don’t know. I suppose . . . we can figure it out. It’s not like we can’t talk sometimes.”
“Agreed.”
“It’s complicated. I mean . . .” Can we simplify? How about we simplify? “Maybe when I’m twenty-eight, you’ll be ready, and I’ll be ready too—”
I’m waffling. I know I’m waffling.
“I’m just going to kiss you for the hundredth time, if that’s all right with you?”
His finger slides up my cheek as he cups my face in his palm and presses his lips to mine, and my toes curl a thousand and one times. My heart beats a thousand and one times in one second.
I’m panting when he pulls back to look at me with hot hazel eyes.
“I’m going to miss kissing you.”
He looks at me. Just that.
Just looks at me.
My thro
at is tight and I cannot, cannot, breathe. I want to tell him to tell me to stay. I want to tell him I love him. I want him to tell me he loves me back. But I’m afraid. Afraid that this is just a moment, that it’ll pass.
That he’ll leave me. That I’ll leave him.
That it just won’t work.
Stop being afraid. Just trust in this, Livvy.
I lift my head and kiss him and he groans softly, licking my lips. He pulls my face closer and licks me again, a deep, tender flick of his tongue.
Then his lips are gone and I’m silenced by his dark, thoughtful expression.
“I was always going to go. That’s the plan, right? Own a business at twenty-six, etcetera etcetera,” I say.
He looks at me. “Letting you go right now is the most unselfish thing I’ve ever done.”
“You’re the one who gave me the courage to really believe I can follow my dreams and do it.”
He just looks at me, his eyes really dark.
My eyes sting.
“Goodbye, Callan. I . . . I learned a lot.”
And I did. I learned you can’t always count on your life plans to go your way. Sometimes some higher power somewhere has a bigger picture. Puts you where you didn’t expect to be. To learn what you need to learn. Life sometimes doesn’t run in the cycles it’s expected to. We are all here for a blink. Life changes in a blink. We fall in love, sometimes, in a blink.
He stands and clenches his jaw, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s a stupid rule, Livvy. So are some of mine. We like to control our environments, but the more I try to control this, the more it slips out of my hands. Time doesn’t matter, really. I understand you have your rules, but I’m breaking yours when you’ve done nothing to break mine.”
“What?” I ask, laughing.
“Just saying,” he says. There’s a warning in his eyes.
“Goodbye, Drake.”
“Goodbye, Fanny.”
I take my promise ring and put it in his palm. “Can I give you this? Not like a promise or anything, just . . . I don’t know,” I ramble. I kiss his jaw and force his palm closed around my ring. “Goodbye, Callan.”
