Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

P ain punched through Callie’s belly, tugging her from dead asleep to wide awake. She groaned as she rolled to her side and grabbed her stomach, eyes scrunching as she panted through the ache.

What was happening? It felt like cramping but worse. So much worse.

Something between her thighs had her body freezing. A wetness.

Oh God.

Fear crawled up her throat, shaking her limbs and making it hard to breathe.

With trembling hands, she reached over and switched on the bedside lamp. A part of her didn’t want to pull back the covers, because she knew what she’d see, and she knew exactly what it would mean.

But she had to. She had to see.

She tugged the sheets back.

Crimson blood. It soaked her thighs and bled into the bed, so stark against the crisp white of the sheets. She touched it, as if needing confirmation that it was there and real.

Red colored her fingertips, sticking to her skin like glue.

Real…this was real.

Another cramp hit her belly, this time more painful, making her groan and lean forward.

She gulped air and blindly reached for her cell on the bedside table. Her fingers shook so violently that she knocked it to the floor.

Shit.

She leaned down and picked it up, barely able to see the screen through the tears. Everything hurt, not just her belly. A deep, emotional pain that made the world around her a blur.

The screen smudged with red prints from her fingers as she unlocked the cell, making nausea rattle in her belly.

Lock. She needed Lock. She needed to hear his voice. For him to tell her that she’d be okay. She needed his touch and his comfort. For almost three weeks, she’d been calling and he hadn’t answered. This time he had to answer.

She hit his name. The phone rang. Then it rang again. Every ring sounded louder, cutting through the silence of the room.

His voice sounded, and for a single second, hope bloomed in her chest…but it wasn’t him. It was his voicemail.

He hadn’t answered. Just like he hadn’t answered any of her other calls.

She choked back a sob, hanging up and calling again.

She wasn’t sure how many times she called him, but at some point, she stopped.

He wasn’t coming.

She was alone in this.

The desolation felt like a rock on her chest, pushing and squeezing, making the room around her sway and the color shift to a grayscale.

Almost blindly, she scrolled up until she found the name she was looking for, then she clicked on it. He answered on the second ring.

“Callie, baby, what’s wrong?”

“Daddy…I need you.”

Callie shot into a sitting position, eyes whipping open, heart pounding in her chest. Immediately she tugged the covers back, needing to see the crisp white of her sheets.

No blood. It was just a dream. A nightmare. A memory.

She dropped her head into her hands, sweat coating her palms. She hadn’t woken like this in a long time. Had it been naive of her to think the nightmares were behind her?

Of course it had. Lock was back, and with him came all the memories.

Closing her eyes, she focused on her breathing. On letting her pulse return to normal and the panic slip away. That memory, that day, would forever be ingrained inside her. Like a permanent fracture to the person she once was.

Scrubbing a hand over her face, she was about to get up when the ringing of her phone had her flinching.

Jesus Christ. Calm down, Callie. It’s just a call.

She reached over, smiling when she saw who it was.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, baby. Just checking in because I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

Her grin widened. “We spoke yesterday when you did one of my classes.”

“Exactly.”

Man, she loved him. She climbed out of bed. “Well, lucky for you, I’m coming over for dinner tonight.” She tried to get to her dad’s as often as possible. It had only been a few days since she’d made him the prime rib, and tonight she was making him meatloaf.

“Okay, but I’m cooking.”

She stepped into the bathroom. “No, Dad, I’m already—”

“You’ve made me dinner the last three visits.”

“Because I want to take care of you.”

“I’m your father. I take care of you .”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve taken care of me my entire life. It’s my turn.” Although, she could use some looking after. She checked her reflection, noting the deep circles under her eyes. Gah. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week. “Are you doing okay?”

“I’m doing great because I get to see my daughter as often as I like and that makes me happy.”

But was he really happy, or was he just saying that for her sake? The man had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. There was no cure, and it broke Callie’s heart.

“How are you doing with Lock being back, baby?”

She straightened, the question catching her off guard. “I-I’m fine.”

Jeez, really believable with the stutter, Callie.

There was a brief pause, and in that hesitation, she cringed. Because of course her father would hear right through her lie.

“You don’t need to pretend with me. If you need me to go and kick that boy’s ass, you let me know.”

She bit back a laugh. Lock was a million feet tall, with the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen. He was also a highly trained soldier and probably knew a million ways to kill a person, while her father was a former accountant who didn’t even hit six feet.

“I don’t need you to do that, but I appreciate the offer.”

“Offer stands if you change your mind.”

“Thank you, Dad. Now, tonight—”

“Come hungry because I’m making tuna casserole.”

Guess her meatloaf would have to wait, because there was no saying no to tuna casserole. “My favorite. I’ll bring the chocolate chip cookies.”

“I’m looking forward to it. I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

The second she hung up, there was a yearning in her chest to have him back on the phone. He’d always been her greatest source of comfort. Her mother had died when she was a kid after a skiing trip accident, so he was all she’d had. And while some fathers became consumed by their own grief after losing a wife, hers hadn’t. He’d put her first, always.

She set the phone onto the bathroom counter before stripping and stepping into the shower. As the warm water beat down on her skin, her dream trickled back into her mind. The blood. The panic.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push it away, only to have another image take its place. An image of beautiful blue eyes. Of broad shoulders and a strong jaw.

How she’d survived losing so much in such a short period of time, she’d never know. One thing was certain—she hadn’t come out of it unscathed.

She stayed in the shower for so long her skin wrinkled and the air fogged with steam, but even when she got out, she didn’t feel better. But then, after a nightmare, it always took a while to feel okay again.

On her way out of the bathroom, she checked the time. Crap. Seven thirty. Her first class was at eight. Quickly, she threw on her yoga pants and a sports crop. Before going to the kitchen, she opened the second door off the hall.

“Wake up. You have a book to write.”

Aspen groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. “I choose sleep.”

Callie turned on the light and threw a fallen pillow at her head. “Get up, or I’m taking all the coffee pods to work with me.”

The sheet lowered. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would. Get up.” She turned and headed down the hall toward the kitchen. She’d give Aspen ten minutes. If she didn’t hear the shower running, she was going back in there to jump on the bed.

The house was actually owned by her father. He had a couple of rentals, and it just so happened that his tenants had moved out right when she’d moved back to town. Aspen’s lease had also been up, so they’d moved in together.

Callie had been surprised Aspen had asked. She’d thought her friend would have moved in with Dylan. Aspen had said it was more about money, because her dad gave them a super-cheap rate, and even though the books she self-published usually brought in a steady income, she hadn’t released one in a while.

But there was a part of Callie that wondered if Aspen had other reasons to not want to move in with her boyfriend.

Callie put a pod into the coffee machine.

Once upon a time, she’d talked about buying a house with Lock. She’d even found a place. It was old and run-down, but Lock had always been good with his hands, so she’d known he’d be able to fix it up.

Argh. Stop thinking about him.

She’d just switched on the pod machine when a breeze ran over the back of her neck. Frowning, she turned to see the back door slightly ajar.

Shit . That freaking door. She’d known it would only be a matter of time before that happened. They’d had trouble latching it since moving in, and Aspen often went out there to work and forgot to lock it when she came back in.

Callie crossed the room and shoved it closed, making sure it latched before flicking the lock.

She needed to fix it, but there was no way she wanted to dump this on her dad. He had enough to deal with. Surely it wouldn’t be too hard to do herself.