by Len Webster
“Thank you. I appreciate this,” she said, placing the bundle on her lap and admiring them.
“Where’s Callum? I don’t normally see you without him these days.”
Just his name made Peyton tremble. For a moment, Graham had made her forget. Now, uncomfortable aches filled her body.
“Gone,” she choked out. She didn’t meet his eyes, instead staring and playing with the ribbon that held the lavender together.
Suddenly, she felt an arm around her. Graham pulled her closer to him, and she rested her head on his shoulder and sobbed.
“I’m sorry, Peyton,” Graham whispered.
That’s when she cried harder. They both knew that Callum Reid was never coming back. People who left had the tendency of never returning.
The memory of her first Monday on that bench with Graham left her unsettled. Peyton rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, listening to the sound of the whistling wind outside. She lay in the darkness, reliving the memory of the day she had become best friends with Graham Scott. As the years had passed, he’d become more than just another friend. He’d become someone who she needed in her life. He was the peace and her sense of direction.
“Peyton?”
Her name was said softly before she heard a faint knock. Peyton eyed the door and was just able to make out the knob turning and then opening. At the sight of Callum stepping into her room, she quickly sat up.
“Everything okay, Callum?” she asked.
“Your phone vibrated,” he said as he walked towards her bed carrying a lit candle and her phone. Then he sat on the edge of her mattress and handed over the phone.
Peyton took it and noticed that she had a missed call and a text from Graham. She drew her knees up from under the cover, unlocked her phone, and read his text message.
Graham: God, Peyton, please tell me that you’re okay. Dad says the weather’s gone to shit. Let me know you’re all right. I’ll call you first thing in the morning.
Peyton: I’m fine. It’s just windy. Stop worrying about me.
She locked her phone and placed it on the bedside table. Then she reached for the candle, took it off Callum, and put it next to her phone.
It had been years since he’d last sat on this bed with her. Years since he last held her in his arms until she fell asleep. The light seeping through the gap the curtains had made allowed her to see Callum in the dark. He turned his head and stared out the window. After a long moment, he blinked and looked back at her, meeting her gaze.
“How many times did we sneak you out of that window?” he asked softly.
Peyton crossed her legs and sighed. “Too many times. I’m surprised my parents didn’t catch us.”
Callum let out a low chuckle. “Actually, your dad caught me at the gate once.”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted. “He did not?”
He nodded before he brought his legs up on the bed and crossed them like hers. “He was standing there with his arms crossed, shaking his head at me. They had known for a long time before we told them we were together.”
“What did he say?” Peyton asked, curious.
“Give me your hand,” he instructed.
She huffed and then shook her head. “What did my dad say, Callum?”
“First, your hand,” he said as he held out his, waiting for her.
She knew what he was about to do and she’d rather he didn’t. It was something he had done back when they were together. He would lean against the cherry blossom tree outside her window while she sat in the space his legs made. He’d rest his chin on her shoulder as his finger traced up and down her palm, whispering promises in her ear. Those were the days that she hated to remember the most. The days when she had loved him the most.
Her heart throbbed with cherished memories only they knew about. While people they knew had had meaningless sex with each other, they had been building what Peyton had thought was forever. She could almost remember the feel of the cool air on her skin and every trace that had sent shivers down her spin.
The light from the candle touched his palm, flickering. Peyton took a deep breath and moved her hand over his. Every fear told her no, but she was struggling to keep him away. Just inches from contact, he pulled his hand back and left Peyton to stare at his lap.
“You’re a tease,” she whispered, pulling her arm back closer to her.
“I’m doing this right,” he said.
She looked up to see a hint of confusion in his eyes, like he wasn’t sure of his next move.
But before she could reply, Callum crawled across the bed and sat next to her, his back leant against the headboard. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment before he turned his head to her and held out his arms.
She stared at him and then breathed out.
“There’s only one way we do this, Peyton, and it’s the only way I want to do it,” he said.
She tilted her head, trying to understand why she wanted to be near someone who’d broken her heart. But first loves were the ones that couldn’t be let go. Every poet and writer was right. First loves defined the person you became. They became memorable.
Breathing in deeply, she removed the blanket and moved into his arms, shifting before pressing her back into his chest. The tilt of her head allowed his chin to perfectly rest on her shoulder. After a moment of being still, Callum wrapped his arms around her. Just the feel of him holding her caused an immediate pang in her heart.
He turned her left hand over. “Your dad said we were terrible liars and I was a bad influence. He always knew when I snuck you out. As long as I got you home, he was okay with us. He said you were happy being with me,” he murmured.
She closed her eyes to stop the tears from flowing at the memory of her father and savoured this moment. Her time with Callum had seemed limited and she’d wanted to keep it, never having admitted that to him. This was a form of closure. Sometime soon, she’d find the goodbye that he’d neglected to give her. One she hoped had an explanation.
Callum’s fingertips trailed along her index finger and over her promise ring before tracing circles along her palm. Over and over again, he continued. She was slipping from her stance, her heart heating and throbbing. Peyton kept her eyes closed tight, enjoying the sensation of being lost in him.
“I was happy being yours, Peyton. I really was. I promised your father that I’d never hurt you and I failed him… I failed you and I failed us.”
The tracing stopped, and Peyton opened her eyes.
Callum rested their hands on her stomach, and she didn’t take her eyes away from the dresser that leant against the wall. The way his breathing hit her skin caused her to shiver unwillingly. Her attempts to conceal her shiver had been a lost cause.
“Are you cold?” he asked, wrapping her tight in his arms.
She ignored his question, resting her head against the side of his face. She was getting too lost in this moment with him. But she couldn’t pry herself away. She wanted his body against hers, like old times. Seventeen-year-old Peyton was winning. And she was a naïve girl caught up in the illusion of forever.
“Why am I letting you in my bed…or my life, Callum?” she asked, studying his large hands against hers.
He sighed. “I don’t even know. I’m surprised that you haven’t fought me like you did in the forest. That bump must be more serious than I thought.”
She was surprised at the honest chuckle that escaped her. The aching thumps in her head didn’t deter her from smiling. It all felt too familiar, and for tonight, she’d enjoy this. She’d forget it like she’d forget the storm.
Closing her eyes, she turned and moulded herself to his body. With a deep inhale, she breathed in his familiar smell, but this time, it was mixed with the hint of rain and candle wax. The scent of him, combined with her exhaustion, and sleep was winning. No longer wanting to fight against her tiredness, Peyton placed her hand on his chest. Then he hugged her tighter. Relaxing the muscles of her body, Peyton lay listening t
o the sound of his fast heartbeat and breathing.
Nuzzling into Callum’s hard and warm body, Peyton sighed and gave sleep its inevitable victory. Her fingers grazed his chest as she breathed in deeply, finding a familiar comfort and security in his arms. “What is this between us, Callum?” she asked, slipping into unconsciousness.
Somewhere far away, she felt a squeeze of her hand and then heard a voice whispering, “A sometimes moment.”
Bang!
Peyton gasped as she sat up from her sleep. She looked around her room, disorientated. When a sudden pain hit her head, she quickly placed her hand over her forehead to relieve it, but it was pointless. It came in thumps, one after the other.
Another bang led her to find that her bedroom door was open.
“What happened last night?” she groaned.
After throwing the blanket off her body, she slipped out of bed and walked over to the door. When she noticed that the curtains had been pushed aside slightly, her feet automatically took her to the window. Peyton moved the curtains farther apart and saw cherry blossoms falling from the tree as branches swayed with the wind. She stared at the way the light broke through and touched the petals of the pink flower.
“Good morning, Peyton.”
Oh God, it wasn’t a horrible dream.
Closing her eyes, Peyton sighed before she turned around to see him by the bedroom door. His eyes were a bright grey, but they couldn’t mask the hint of regret she saw—one that deserved to be there. In the light, he was beautiful. Last night, the darkness had kept him in the shadows, allowing her some sort of shield from him. But now, visibility was clear. She officially hated last night’s storm…and Mrs West’s cat, Mr Lucky.
Peyton leant against the windowsill and looked at Callum. Her eyes travelled down to see him holding a plate.
“What do you have there?” she asked.
“French toast is still your favourite, right?” Callum glanced at the bread and then at her, appearing unsure of himself.
Peyton pushed off the sill and wandered towards him. The smile Callum had made seemed to seek her approval. She took in the two pieces of toast that had berries placed on top of them. And then she saw it—cream and chocolate chips. Two ingredients her mother had placed on Peyton’s Sunday French toast. When her parents had died, Peyton had decided that Sunday breakfast at the hotel was no longer a tradition. Instead, she ate a bowl of Froot Loops and the occasional English breakfast made by her aunt.
“It was. Is that where all that noise was coming from? You struggling to make French toast?” Peyton watched his blush turn from a subtle pink to a vibrant red.
“I’m not much of a cook. It’s no longer your favourite?” His smile quickly faded and the disappointment could be seen on his face.
Feeling guilty, Peyton took the plate from Callum and sat on the bed, inspecting the breakfast. It resembled her mother’s. For someone who wasn’t much of a cook, Callum had outdone himself. It was presented exactly how she used to like it. Cream and chocolate chips sandwiched between the two pieces of bread with berries on top.
Callum walked over and sat next to her, the mattress moving under the weight of him. Peyton took the cutlery in her hand and began to cut a piece. Once she had a strawberry on the fork with the toast, she stared at it, afraid of all the memories that would flood back.
She missed her mother’s smile and her father’s laughter. She missed their Sunday breakfasts and she missed them telling her to let go of her anger towards the man who was sitting next to her. That holding grudges would leave her unhappy with life… And they’d been right. It was a shame they weren’t alive to tell her so.
Peyton placed the fork down and put her hands on the mattress.
“It can’t be that bad. Can it?” he asked nervously.
The worry in his voice had her internally smiling.
Peyton shook her head. “I’m sure it tastes wonderful, Callum. But I haven’t had this in a long time. The last time was…was the day before my parents died. Please don’t be offended if I don’t eat it. I honestly appreciate the gesture.” She turned her head and offered him the sincerest smile she could.
Callum nodded and took the plate from her. “Do you think I could make this for you every Sunday while I’m in town? Maybe one Sunday you may want to try?”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” Peyton stated.
“Can I make you breakfast tomorrow, Peyton?” The way he asked in such a low voice was beautiful. She’d be lying if she said that her heart didn’t explode within her.
What’s happening to me?
“Why would you want to do that, Callum?” she asked, still wondering why that wall wasn’t blocking it all—the feelings, the curiosity, and the memories.
“Like I said last night. I want moments together,” he answered.
Peyton stilled.
Sometimes moments.
He’d said that last night. She was sure that he had. Just before she’d fallen asleep, she heard those two words. And she was also sure that, in her dream, she’d heard them being whispered again. Something along the lines of, “I want sometimes moments with you, Peyton. Ones I’ll remember…before I say goodbye.”
What in God’s name is a ‘sometimes moment’?
She’d never heard of that phrase. Never heard someone use it in a sentence or ever defined it. And it was definitely a phrase Peyton herself wouldn’t have used or made up. So it had to have been Callum. She should have asked him. But for some reason, she believed the worst in sometimes moments. She’d rather be oblivious to its meaning.
“Peyton?”
She caught it—the slight shakiness in his voice. She loved the sound of concern in his voice. Just like she had when they were teenagers.
“Did we sleep in the same bed?” she asked, turning her body to inspect her mattress.
“We didn’t have sex,” he quickly clarified.
Peyton rolled her eyes. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d know if she’d had sex last night. She’d feel it. She pushed his arm, Callum holding on to the plate so it wouldn’t fall.
“I know that. I was just asking if you left during the night. I think I heard you say something.”
He froze. “What did you hear?”
Caution. That’s what she’d heard in his voice.
“Was I supposed to hear something in particular?” she asked, cocking her brow at him.
“I heard something, too,” he stated.
The hell he did.
Peyton took the plate out of his hands and placed it on her bedside table, next to the remains of the half-melted candle.
She lifted her legs and crossed them on the bed. “What did you hear?”
Callum mirrored her sitting position on the bed. “What did you hear?”
“I asked you first.”
“Then you answer first,” he retorted.
She huffed out. “Fine. I heard nothing. I was bluffing.”
Lie. I heard you call us a sometimes moment.
Callum glared at her. Then he closed his eyes for a long moment and let out a hum. Rolling her eyes, Peyton leaned back against the headboard. Waiting.
The sunlight that passed through the window hit the side of his face, and she mentally noted just how beautiful he was in this moment. He looked peaceful and unworried. A version of the boy she had fallen in love with. Peyton clenched her fists. It was happening. And she hated herself for it. Somewhere within him was the person she loved—had loved.
He slowly opened his eyes. No smile or frown. He seemed restrained, not wanting to show his emotions to her.
“You mumbled that you still loved me,” he said.
Did I say that last night? Christ, Peyton!
Peyton let out a hard laugh. “Me? Still love you? That’s such a lie. I did not,” she downplayed.
Still was a very strong word. Though, in the back of her mind, she knew that word was a representation of her current status towards him… She just didn’t want to admit it.
Callum rubbed his arm, his long-sleeved top riding up. Peyton quickly sat up, staring. She was sure she’d seen something on his skin. So she grabbed his wrist, feeling him wince in her hold.
“What are you doing, Peyton?”
Ignoring his question, she stared at the black on his wrist. After a moment, Peyton looked up at him and raised her brow in disbelief. If it was what she thought she saw, then she was in the presence of the world’s greatest hypocrite.
Callum struggled to pull back and free himself, but had been met with Peyton clutching him tighter. She looked at him, hoping her face expressed her seriousness before she eyed the sleeve that covered up the questionable mark on his wrist. When she thought back, she realised that everything he’d worn since he’d had returned covered his arms and it only made her even more curious. Unable to help herself, Peyton loosened her hold and let her thumbs caress the mark.
“Peyton,” he warned and jerked back. “I got one, okay?”
Her hands fell in her lap. “You said you’d never.”
He got off the bed and shook his head. “Well, I did. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
Too curious to care about the harsh tone in his voice, Peyton rose to her feet. She placed her hands firmly on his hard chest and pushed him into the wall. He let out an, “Oomph,” and before she could take a step back, he held her arms, trapping her.
“Let go of me,” she said sternly.
“Not unless you say that you won’t look.”
She shook her head.
“Then I don’t want you to see,” he stated.
Peyton looked him dead in the eye. “You walked out on me.”
His hold on her loosened before his arms fell by her side. Then he turned away from her and said, “Fine.”
She took a deep breath and readied herself. When she was growing up, it had always been a pissing contest with the boys when it came to tattoos. Callum had straight up said that he’d never, promising her that he wouldn’t.
Peyton held his left wrist, traced his skin, and slowly pushed up his grey sleeve. When she was able to see his entire forearm, she stopped and stared. Reddish-pink colour against the black tattoos caught her eye. She held her breath as her fingers traced the inked cherry blossoms on Callum’s arm. As he turned his arm over and she looked at his wrist, she immediately stepped back.
