by Coralee June
Blaise looked at me then up to the ceiling. He knew. Five years wasn’t enough time to sever his uncanny ability to read my mind, and I guess old habits die hard. I was going to run again. I was going to leave someone I loved behind again.
“I’ll walk you out,” I offered, leading Blaise to the door. My hand hovered above the knob for a brief moment, and Blaise stood so close that I felt his breath on my neck.
"I’ll be down at two a.m.," I whispered. He didn’t respond, he simply nodded and walked out.
When the door shut behind him, I turned to stare pointedly at Phoenix. After taking a moment to compose myself, I asked, "What the hell was that?"
"What do you mean?" Phoenix moved around the room, finding extra things to stuff into the small duffel bag.
I knew I should be trying to pack, but I didn't own anything of value. I always left with nothing more than a backpack, and I made sure to never own anything I wasn't willing to part with. I looked down at the bullet ring on my finger and smiled. It was the only belonging that had been with me through every move.
"I mean, how did you go from being ready to kill him to…this?" I pointed at the duffle and scowled.
Nix was impulsive and made decisions more on feeling than anything else. Sometimes it got him into trouble, but most of the time, he had a good sense of things. He was intuitive. Which was why I had to protect him. If Gavriel was willing to send bounty hunters after me, that was one crossfire I wasn’t willing to subject Nix to.
"I agreed to go because, first, that is one very attractive man. I'm surprised you managed to drag yourself away.” He winked, and I forced myself to smile. “Second, I get the sense that he cares for you. But I don’t know who this Gavriel guy is, and even if he’s our best bet, I’m not going unprepared.” Nix reached inside his nightstand and pulled out a pistol. He locked the loaded magazine in place then put a bullet in the chamber before continuing. “It's not like we had any other escape plans figured out, and this one seems decent enough."
After securing the gun in a holster, Nix pulled a laptop from behind his nightstand out of the secret compartment. How many of those things did he have stashed around here? Nix was stalling.
“I never pressured you to tell me what you’re running from,” he said, finally turning to face me. “And I won’t pressure you to even now. But at least tell me—is it one of them? Have any of the ‘Bullets’ ever hurt you?”
“No,” I immediately replied.
Phoenix seemed content with my answer. He continued finding little bits and pieces to take with us before speaking again. “You know, this is the most…alive…I've seen you in ages. It's like he walked through the door, and you lit up from the inside out. I don't know much about your history, but I'll follow that man anywhere if it means I get to see more of you like that. I actually kind of understand why they called you Sunshine, now."
My eyes watered as I walked towards Phoenix and wrapped my arms around his waist. I was going to miss him. I’d never imagined that I would have to endure this again. I’d never imagined that I’d have to lie through my teeth then escape through the night. Blaise’s appearance started a chain of events that was forcing me to relive my deepest regrets. I threaded my fingers together, locking us tightly in a hug while inhaling Nix’s scent. I couldn’t linger because he’d know something was up. But for a moment, I didn't think about everything my demons had stolen from me. I didn’t think about yet another relationship I was losing. I didn’t think about how I was going to break the heart of the friend who saved me.
He fell asleep easily. Convinced we were in this together, Nix was content with the idea that we were going on an adventure. And why shouldn’t he? I’d never given Phoenix a reason to doubt me. We’d been honest with one another since we dove headfirst into our friendship.
After an hour of hearing his light snores, I left a note on his nightstand with five simple words. It was all I could bring myself to say:
* * *
I love you. I’m sorry.
* * *
It was surreal, walking downstairs. A part of me knew this was the last time I would be in Baltimore. At least, for a while. For the past year, it had been my home. But in some ways, it was also my prison. I’d spent a year hiding away with Nix in our loft or working a job I hated. Now that the Bullets were back, I didn't know what I felt.
I couldn’t help but smile when I saw Blaise under the soft glow of a streetlight, leaning against his Mustang. He looked like a model in his tight jeans and boots. And when I was finally able to tear my eyes from his tall, cut body, I took in the clean black paint and bright chrome wheels. He'd restored it. He used the bottom of his shirt to buff out a spot only he could see, and I took a moment to observe his toned abs.
"I guess some things never change," I said with a timid smile while walking closer to the muscle car.
"She's my baby!" he said with a laugh. "It took me a while, but I finally restored her. I just couldn't see giving her up, you know? Too many good memories." My eyes flashed to his, and I wondered if he was thinking about the night I snuck out to see the Bullet fight five years ago. I didn't know it then, but it was the night that set everything in motion—the beginning of the end.
"It looks good," I choked out with a fake smile. This reunion was way more intense than anything I'd ever imagined.
Blaise opened the door for me, and I shimmied into the front seat. He slammed the door shut once I was safely inside. It was somewhat serendipitous that I wound up back in the passenger seat of Blaise Bennett’s Mustang. We were riding off towards a new adventure while reminiscing about the past.
He walked around the car to the driver side, and I forced my pulse to calm down. I felt like a flustered, starstruck teen again. Once he was seated, I asked the question that had been nagging me since I made the decision to go. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”
Blaise started the car, and we sat there for a moment longer. Blaise knew better than anyone what it felt like to be left behind—he’d lived it.
“Honestly?” he asked before putting the car in drive and heading down the street. “No.”
Chapter Five
Five years ago
* * *
The smell of Mom's lasagna filled the room as I applied pink lipstick to my lips. Callum was coming over, and for reasons I wasn't completely willing to admit to myself, I wanted to look nice.
Since he’d started working at the police station a year ago, he'd been coming over for weekly dinners. He also showed up to my ballet recitals, family events, and some holidays. At first, I enjoyed having him around. It forced Mom and Dad to pretend to at least like each other for the duration of his visit. But lately, they’d stopped caring what Callum thought. It didn't make a difference who was there, they fought with or without an audience.
Callum Mercer was Chesterbrook’s golden boy. He grew up here. Captain of the football team, he went to Penn State on a scholarship. He then returned home to follow in his dad’s footsteps and work at the local police department. He was wildly loved, but he was also lonely. His freshman year of college, his parents died in a car accident. I was in middle school then, and I'll never forget the funeral.
Dad seemed obnoxiously emotionless, frowning and checking his watch as the military band played. Callum disappeared for a couple hours during the wake. I remember finding him in the garden shed behind our house, hiding while drinking beer.
"Why are you hiding?" I sat next to him, tracing my finger through the dust along the wooden platform floor.
"Why did you find me?"
Since then, there’d been this unavoidable bond between us that only seemed to intensify over time. I’d noticed in the past couple months that he was around more. Weekly dinners were becoming an almost daily thing. It was getting harder and harder to keep him from the Bullets.
Mom enjoyed the attention she got for doting on Chesterbrook’s favorite orphan. And because Dad liked that it distracted Mom, he was more than happy to play happ
y host for an hour. As for me? I liked Callum—probably more than I should have. But he was a good five years older than me, which meant I had to keep my little crush to myself.
When I daydreamed about a world where age and profession weren’t a factor, I wondered what the Bullets would think. We were only friends, but they were protective of me. How would they respond if I started dating?
"Summer! Callum's almost here!" Mom's voice rang from downstairs.
I slipped on a white summer dress and pranced downstairs. I felt eager to see Callum after our unexpected meeting at the fight last night. We’d known each other since we were little kids, attending BBQs and banquets with our parents. But last night was the first time he'd seen me—the real me—or at least, the girl I wanted to be.
I walked into the kitchen and found Mom bent over, inspecting her lasagna in the oven. Her dress was a bit tight, the heels she was wearing too high for a casual dinner, but she wore them effortlessly. Chestnut brown ringlets fell down her back, and as she stood, she adjusted the top of her dress. After pushing her breasts up so that they were on full display, she turned around and blushed when she saw me.
"Why are you just standing there?" she asked in her usual, overly-critical manner.
"Just admiring your dress, Mom," I shot back in a sickly-sweet tone. Mom had a bit of a crush on Callum, and he was too polite to notice or comment on it. And she was too desperate to realize how foolish she was to chase after someone young enough to be her son.
"Your dad's in the living room, go greet him or something," she replied with a huff. She then scrounged around the kitchen for her discarded pink cardigan and put it on.
I made my way to the living room and paused when I saw Dad. He sat straight as a rod in his recliner and leaned forward on his knees, intently listening to the news anchor.
"Another teen went missing last night," the news anchor said. "Police reports say he was out partying with friends and didn't return home. If you have any information regarding his disappearance, please call this hotline..." Dad curled his fingers in his lap, and when I let out a cough, he snapped his attention to me.
"Hey, Dad," I said, wiggling my fingers in greeting. His combed black hair was wet like he'd just showered, and his wrinkled button-down shirt had a stain on the pocket.
"Is dinner ready?" he asked before slipping his gray eyes from me and back to the television. I wondered if he was on the missing teen case. Although he used to tell me about his job when I was a kid, it was rare that he spoke about work now. It was rare that we spoke about much of anything. My father and I were strangers at best.
"Yeah, it’s ready. You on that case?" I asked in a light tone. He was a bit too serious tonight, and I needed him to lighten up a bit if I wanted Mom to stay sober through dinner.
"It’s two towns over, but we're keeping a lookout for him here," he answered in what seemed like a scripted response. I was sure I wasn't the first to ask him that question today.
"Do you want me to share his photo with my friends?" I asked.
Last night's boldness still rung through my mind. If I was going to step out of my comfort zone, then maybe I should start seeking a relationship with my father.
"Sure," he replied, his tone distant and absentminded.
The doorbell rang, and I excused myself before making my way to the front door. I went to open it but was intercepted by my all too eager mother. She clung to what little excitement she had in her life, and Callum was excitement wrapped in a sexy package. I swallowed as the door opened and in walked Callum in his patrol uniform...followed by the ugliest dog I'd ever seen.
Mom shrieked as it tracked mud through the house, heading straight toward me. He had shaggy hair, black eyes and a round body on short, stubby legs. He waddled more than walked. I crouched down to scratch behind his ears, but my fingers got caught in the tangles of his hair.
"Oh my goodness, aren't you the cutest, ugliest thing I've ever seen!" His tongue stuck out as he gave me a goofy grin.
"I found him wandering outside on my way here. The shelter's closed for the night. Can he stay here until tomorrow?" Callum practically batted his eyes at my mom as she scowled at the dog making a muddy mess on her clean tile.
"Sure, Callum. I think we can make room for him—for the night." Her face slipped back into a composed expression, and Callum smiled as I continued to pet the dog. "Summer, why don't you go give him a bath, and I'll let Callum help me finish dinner," she cooed.
Mom sashayed towards the kitchen. Her too-tight dress was stretched thin over her hips, and Callum adjusted his collar in discomfort. I bit back a smile as I stood.
"Actually, Mrs. Bright, I'll go help Summer. We don't know if the dog is aggressive or not, and I'd hate for her to get bitten.”
Mom paused at the threshold between the arched entryway and the kitchen. "Very well," she grumbled before disappearing.
Callum and I raced each other upstairs while our new friend waddled behind us. The dog was wheezing by the time we hit the top step, so Callum picked him up and followed me. We went through my room to my attached bathroom, and I couldn't help but memorize the image of Callum's tall, built frame against the pink walls and frilly bedding. I forced myself not to stare.
We squeezed into my small bathroom, and I turned on the water. Callum placed the dog in the bath then leaned against the sink while I began lathering soap in his fur. The dog practically purred as I scrubbed behind his ears.
"He sounds like a cat," I said with a laugh.
"We should call him that."
"Okay, Cat. You like the bath, boy?" I asked while running more water through his hair.
Mud and dirt covered the floor of the bathtub. I felt Callum's eyes on my back as I worked, and goosebumps puckered up along my neck as his gaze caressed me. I wasn’t sure when I’d gained such an acute awareness of him, but it seemed amplified in the small space. I stood, eager to get out of there and back to a safe distance where he wasn't as much of a temptation.
This was dangerous. I couldn't be attracted to him. None of the outcomes would be positive, no matter how much I wished for them to be. According to the law, I was underaged—by two months—which meant I couldn’t act upon my feelings. Not to mention, I wasn’t sure my father would approve. At the end of the summer, just after my eighteenth birthday, I’d be off to Boston College. Long distance relationships were possible, but not ideal. We’d have a couple of weeks to explore a budding relationship, but then I’d leave. Like all the other men in my life, I would just have to be content with friendship.
I stepped aside so Callum could pick Cat up out of the bathtub. And when he set him down, dog hair and muddy paw prints covered his uniform. I laughed.
"Here—" I stepped toward him. Friends were helpful, right? "If we get this in the wash now, it'll be clean by the time you leave." I prayed he didn't notice my shaking fingers as they traveled up the seam of his shirt and began unbuttoning. I heard his breath hitch but didn't make eye contact for fear that he would tell me to stop. Slowly working down the line of buttons, I then helped him slide the shirt off. I cradled his clothes in my arm while removing his shiny metal badge which read “Chesterbrook Police Department.” In all the years my father was a police officer, not once had I seen my mother care for his uniform. It was a strange yet intimate act.
The sound of velcro filled the room as he removed his Kevlar vest. I allowed myself a brief moment to stare at his muscular arms. His black undershirt was tight and left little to the imagination.
"I'll just, uh, get this in the wash for you," I stuttered while turning for the door, but Callum stopped me.
"You've got mud on your cheek. And your dress.” He chuckled, grabbing a washcloth, wetting it, and using it to wipe at my skin. I buzzed at his attentive care, too afraid to breathe and risk breaking the spell.
"Guess we should go downstairs." My voice sounded breathy and soft. "I need to uphold my end of our bargain and feed you some lasagna. Thanks for that, by the way," I adde
d.
Callum smiled. "Yeah, you definitely owe me. I didn't realize you hung out with the Bullets."
I smiled mischievously. "I didn't think you were cool enough to know who the Bullets are."
"Everyone knows who the Bullets are," Callum replied while rubbing the back of his neck. “They’ve been in the back of my cruiser a time or two.” My eyes flashed to his arm muscles as I licked my lips. I noticed him watching my reaction with an all too pleased smirk. Cat barked, saving me any further embarrassment.
He went back downstairs, and I quickly changed into a new dress. I went to go put his clothes in the wash, and passed the living room but paused when I saw Mom and Dad arguing in hushed tones.
"Where do you disappear to every night?" Mom hissed as she stepped toward him, and her feet wobbled a bit on the plush carpet.
"I told you, Clarice, I'm working. There's a missing kid." He placed a hand on her shoulder and looked deeply into her eyes.
"I called your secretary. She said you didn't come in this morning."
I crept closer to hear their frantic whispers. I had wondered if they'd pretend to be happy while Callum was here. But it seemed that they'd abandoned their image completely.
"My secretary is an ignorant little bitch. And are you even sure you heard her right? I saw the two empty bottles of wine in the trash this morning," Dad replied. “I’m trying to run a campaign, and you’re not helping things by buying alcohol in bulk.”
"How dare you!" Mom's voice grew progressively louder and more shrill. I flinched at the sound, wondering if Callum could hear them.
When Callum first started as a rookie patrol officer, he had something akin to hero worship where my father was concerned. But the more time he spent at our house, the less he seemed to idolize him.
Dad opened his mouth to reply, but Cat came bounding through the door, interrupting him. Both turned to stare at me as my mouth gaped open in embarrassment. Dad's eyes then zeroed in on the floor to look at Cat, who was purring and nuzzling Mom's leg.
