17. Rhys

17

RHYS

I woke to gritty, swollen eyes and a raw throat after a spectacular sob fest last night. After I had cried more than half my bodily fluids out over my non-relationship with Cal ending, I gave myself a weak pep talk to get the heck over it. It wasn't like he was coming back, so I needed to suck it up and push forward.

I didn't know what I had expected to come of befriending him. Obviously, I had hoped that with the way he played my body better than Liberace on a piano and the tension that constantly simmered between us that it meant his feelings had grown into more. Like mine had.

It was a beautiful fantasy while it lasted, but freaks like me didn't land guys like him. I wasn't enough for him to try.

You weren't even enough for Connor and he was your best friend. What ever made you think you'd be enough for UT Lacrosse god Callum Hawkins?

That bitter thought sent me off into a restless sleep that ended when I heard Micah moving around in the living room. A few minutes later, the front door closed and a text popped up on my phone.

Micah

I'm running some errands, but I'll bring back lunch. Text if you need anything .

I wasn't sure if Micah had heard my meltdown through the night, and part of me prayed he hadn't. It wasn't something I wanted to hide from him, but I wasn't in any shape to discuss the mess that was my life right then. I needed to give it a few days…or months. Months sounded good.

The morning was spent curled up on the couch in my pajamas watching Call Me By Your Name because, let's be real, I was deep in the wallowing stage. Might as well give into it. Plus it was easier to focus on Elio's heartache rather than my own.

Just as I got to the grotesquely erotic peach scene, a knock came from the front door. I frowned and whined inwardly at the disruption in my pity party, and I briefly considered ignoring whoever it was. It was probably a delivery anyway. When the knock sounded again, I grumbled to myself and shuffled to the door.

There are few things in this world as underrated as the peep hole. I discovered that rather quickly when I swung open the door without checking, only to be met with an utterly miserable Callum Hawkins.

Lesson for life: Always check the dang peephole.

Neither of us spoke or made a sound, simply staring at each other while pain and regret swirled heavily in the air around us. I must have imagined a hundred things I would say to him as I wept into my pillow last night, but all of them hovered uselessly in my head since it felt impossible to speak. I was having difficulty believing he was really there and was partially convinced he was an apparition conjured by my broken psyche to torture me.

I had a good imagination, yet even I didn't think I was able to imagine him in such vivid detail with his eyes bloodshot, hair unkempt, dark circles visible, and anguish etched into every line of his lovely face. Even in sadness, he was beautiful. My dark prince.

No. Not a prince. A villain. And no longer mine.

“Hey, violet eyes,” he croaked, and I swear my heart pounded faster in response. I was disgusted with my body for still reacting to him like that. What right did he have to make my pulse race or my heart beat unsteadily? Of course, it didn't change the fact that he did. With my luck, he probably always would.

“You shouldn't have come here. I got the message last night. We don't have anything to say to each other,” I muttered. I tried to close the door, but Cal's hand smacked against the wood, holding it open.

“I have a lot to say,” Cal said pleadingly. “I know that I fucked up and you don't owe me anything, but please… please give me five minutes.”

Resentment burned hot in my chest. “I'm shocked you're out of bed this early. Wasn't he able to keep your interest up?” I scowled, unable to stop the jealousy lacing my tone. Cal's forehead crumpled in a bemused look.

“What the hell are you talking about? Who's he?” he asked. His fabricated confusion ignited my anger.

“Don't tell me you've already forgotten his name. Or did you even bother to ask before you rushed him upstairs? In too big of a hurry, I guess,” I spit out, already way over this conversation.

“What do you mean? I didn't take anyone upstairs,” Cal argued, looking genuinely bewildered at my accusation.

“Oh my god, how drunk were you last night? Right after you told me that you were going to find someone else to finish with, I saw you go upstairs myself. Contrary to what you always insinuate, I am smart enough to know what goes on on the second floor of a party. Ugh, I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's making me sick. You make me sick. Why are you even here? Do you just want to drive the knife in further? I mean, what is the point?—”

“Rhys!” Cal interrupted my irritated rambling. “I didn't take anyone upstairs. I went up alone and crashed in one of the guest rooms until this morning. I didn't hook-up with anyone.” The sincerity in his voice and those clear eyes took me aback. I couldn't allow that tiny, flickering hope to take hold that maybe he was telling the truth.

“Why should I believe that after all the heinous things you said to me?” I ground out.

A distraught look crossed his features. “Fuck, I am so sorry! I was such a drunken prick, but I didn't mean anything I said last night. I swear to you with everything I am, Rhys, I didn't sleep with anyone. I haven't been with anyone since I met you! I wouldn't lie to you about this,” Cal exclaimed, and I could barely hold eye contact. That piercing gaze of his was too much, weakening my resolve with each second.

“So I'm supposed to say all's forgiven just because you managed to keep it in your pants? Honestly, why bother? We're not together, so you don't owe me anything. According to you, we're nothing to each other,” I replied bitterly.

“That's not true, damn it. I owe you everything,” he said firmly. “You have been the only person who's cared enough to really know me, that hasn't shied away from all the shit I carry. And you were right. I feel safe with you. Besides being on a Lacrosse field, I'm never happier than when I'm hanging out with you. Jesus, I check my phone every morning hoping to see a text from you and hate when there's not one. That is not shit I do with anyone else, Rhys! I was the biggest fucking asshole to you for ever saying that you didn't matter to me. You…” Cal choked on the last word, breaking eye contact as he gathered himself. I fought like heck to breathe normally and not let my eyes mist in front of him. I couldn't let his sweet words now make me forget all that happened between us in that boat house.

Cal let out a deep breath, swinging his face back up to meet mine. “You have no idea how sorry I am for how much I hurt you last night.”

“There's no need to repeat your apology. I ignored it just fine the first time,” I replied icily, bargaining with myself to just stay strong a little longer. He'd be gone soon and I could get on with my life.

“Fuck Rhys, please don't give up on me,” he said, his gaze pleading. “Nothing excuses what I did to you at the party, but you have to understand I didn't mean any of it. I was fucking lost when I heard my scholarship was revoked, thinking I'd have to leave school and my life would be ruined. I was pissed and scared, and I stupidly blamed you for it because I let my temper get the best of me again. I was so goddamn wrong because not only was it not your fault, but if you hadn't made that complaint in the first place, we never would have met. And I could never regret meeting you, Rhys.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” I whispered. Cal's face fell and his eyes dimmed, a glassy sheen washing over them.

“Don't do that. Don't act like you don't care because I know you do!” he retorted, his voice rough.

“You can't blame me for not caring anymore because when I actually did, you're the one who didn't. Like you said, I care far too much. Congratulations, you've officially beaten it out of me. Now kindly go and leave me alone for once,” I bit out, attempting to once again close the door on him, but he held it steady.

“Well, I'm smart enough not to give up on a friend when he's hurting. Isn't that what you said?” Cal reasoned.

I stared blankly at him, having nothing left to offer him. I was just…empty. His chest went motionless, as if he were holding his breath waiting for my reply to save him.

“Funny. I thought you said we weren't friends.” I gave the door a hard shove and it slammed close, shutting out the haunting image of Cal's face when he realized I wouldn't save him this time.

The rest of the day I moped around in my room, avoiding Micah so I didn't have to explain what was wrong with me. He caught me in the kitchen at dinner time, and I put on a brave face to throw him off. He didn't need to know about all the crap I had going on when he had his own issues to deal with. I didn't want to put that on my friend, which is also why I hadn't called Fin to give him the play by play either. I just wanted to be alone and forget Cal ever existed.

That quickly proved impossible when I couldn't go more than two minutes without thinking about him. He was stuck in my head like a bad song, that single verse you know playing on repeat until you're driven crazy. You hate it at first, and can't stand the fact that you can't stop hearing it, only to finally listen to the whole thing and realize it somehow became one of your favorites. That's what Callum was. He had become my favorite bad song to play.

As I was beating myself up for thinking about Cal for the eighty-second time on Monday afternoon, the doorbell rang for a food delivery being left in the hall. It was a coffee carrier with two cups and a blueberry scone from the same place Cal always brought me coffee. A tightness twisted my chest and I got the sudden urge to toss it all out. But when I noticed a note taped to the back of one of the cups, I paused.

Rhys,

I didn't sleep much last night and I figured you'd be in the same boat, so I thought coffee would be helpful. I also remember your unfortunate caffeine addiction, so I got you a second order. I know you don't want to see me, but I have so much I want to say to you. You were only half right when you said you know the real me, but there are things you don't know that you deserve to.

I told you the night we met was a really bad day for me, but I didn't tell you why. It was the anniversary of my mom's death. I always lose it every year on that day, usually getting piss drunk and making shitty decisions to block out how badly it still hurts. I sometimes feel like I'll never really heal from losing her because it hurts so damn much to this day. Then you came along and made that one comment about me having mommy issues and I snapped. You couldn't have known, so I don't blame you one bit, but it hit me hard that night. That's why I got in your face and was so horrible to you. You had every right to turn me into Coach and I'm so sorry for being a coward and coming after you. It's so messed up that I regret every time I purposefully tried to hurt or scare you, but I'm also glad I was deranged enough to try it because it brought me closer to you. I'm grateful that you were brave enough to put up with my sorry ass and give me a chance at being your friend. I only hope I haven't lost you for good and I can earn another chance at keeping you in my life. I'll never stop trying.

What hurts more than anything right now is knowing my mom would be so ashamed of me for hurting you like I did. I really wish she could have met you, Rhys. She'd like you as much as I do.

I miss you and I'm sorry,

Cal

My eyes stung and it felt as though I were suffocating from the pressure behind my ribcage. I had no idea that night had been so traumatic for him, and I had to go and make everything worse by running my snarky mouth. I remembered exactly what I said to him and how it was like a switch flipped inside him before he charged me. I was a total, heartless weasel for saying anything that nasty to him. This is why Gran always warned me about turning the other cheek because you never know what hurt someone's carrying with them. When I looked at him that night and heard his snide comments, all I saw was an amalgam of every cruel boy that had ever come after me when I was younger. I thought I was being so brave fighting back and not letting him push me around, but all I had done was trigger his pain and he lashed out.

If he had said something about my parents, I would have done the same thing. And yet I turned him in thinking it was the right thing to do to punish him. That certainly worked out for you, Evans. Why don't you go polish that halo of yours for being such a good boy?

Those two words had my gut clenching and sadness bled into my veins remembering when Cal had called me a good boy, how it had lit me up from the inside. Whether he had said it to taunt me or not, the effect had been instantaneous and I had melted at his touch. I shook my head to clear it of the unwanted recollection, instead taking the coffee carrier and hobbling back into my room.

Tuesday afternoon, a Torchy's Taco bag was left out in the hall with the same order I had when I ate there with Cal last week. A second note was taped to it and I braced myself for whatever new revelation he'd hit me with.

Rhys,

I haven't had much of an appetite since Saturday night, but I wanted to make sure you were eating. I remembered how much you loved Torchy's when I took you there, so I considered it a safe bet. Even if you never forgive me or I never talk to you again outside of a letter, I still want you to know the real me. No one has ever known me as well as you do besides my mom, and although it scared me at first, I wouldn't change it for anything.

I found out my mom had Ovarian cancer one week before my tenth birthday. I remember thinking it wasn't a big deal because she didn't look sick. She seemed normal and I thought the doctors would give her medicine and she'd get better. She sat me down on our couch and said she had something important to tell me. She said “Cal baby, mommy is really sick. I have cancer and I'm going to fight so hard to get healthy for you, but I need you to know what this means.” She told me that the treatments would make things worse for a while and she wouldn't be able to do a lot of things like she used to. She told me that there might come a day where she could no longer fight it and I needed to remember how hard she fought to stay with me. I didn't cry that day on the couch. I remember not feeling sad or angry or anything really for a while, until one day it hit me.

One morning, I asked her to make me pancakes like she did every weekend, but mom said she couldn't do it. She said it made her really tired and apologized for not being able to make them for me. I don't know why, but I lost it. I started screaming and crying, asking her why she couldn't just be the same mom who always cooked me pancakes every Saturday morning. I begged her to get better because I was scared that she'd never be able to make me pancakes again. I think that was the day I really understood that things were never going to be the same, that there was a chance I'd lose her. I haven't eaten a pancake since.

I've never told anyone about that before, but I wanted to tell you. I want you to know me, Rhys. Every dark and broken part of me is yours to see.

I miss you and I'm sorry,

Cal

I cried so hard reading his note that I gave myself a headache. I saw it all so clearly in my head that it was as though I had lived it alongside him. Images of a sobbing, screaming ten-year-old Cal assailed me and my heart crumbled for that sad little boy who had to come to terms with losing his mother.

I struggled against the insane compulsion to call him and comfort him for sharing something so personal with me, but I didn't allow myself to fold. Instead, I blocked his number and gave the Torchy's to Micah, claiming it was the wrong order that was delivered. Eating it felt wrong when I was still so angry with him and had no intention of reaching out. Yet a small piece of me was flailing around, yelling that I was throwing him away like I accused him of doing to me Saturday night. However, I shoved that irrational piece of me in a box with an industrial strength padlock because it wasn't the same thing. Cal threw me away, and some shared secrets and delicious takeout wasn't enough to fix what he broke.

When the doorbell rang again on Wednesday evening, I legitimately worried I was headed for a psychotic break. I craved another note that would give me a shard of the real Cal, a glimpse of the man I fell so hard for, but that was utter insanity. I knew better than to let this man back into my head and heart after all the hurt he caused me.

That didn't stop me from unwrapping the package that held a special edition DVD of Ever After and a third letter taped to the back. Confused about the latest white flag from Cal, I opened the note telling myself it was just to satisfy my curiosity. What a load of crap.

Rhys,

I don't know if I told you thank you enough for helping me the night of my mom's birthday. It meant so much when you shared yours and your dad's favorite movie with me, so I wanted to return the favor.

My mom was obsessed with Ever After and we must have watched it a million times when I was a kid. It wasn't exactly my bag, but mom loved it so much I couldn't say no to her. Somewhere along the way, it became one of my favorites too. We'd pop it in and quote almost the whole damn movie together like idiots. Sometimes I still watch it when I'm not doing too great and I'm thinking of her. I used my allowance to buy her this special edition for Christmas the year before she passed and we watched it maybe five times that week. I'm pretty sure that was the last time we saw it together. The months leading up to her death are a blur, but I don't recall us getting around to watching it again after that week in December. But that's okay. It was one of the happiest times I remember us having while she was sick .

I don't know if you've ever seen it, but I wanted to pass it on to you anyway. I hope that if you watch it, it will make you even a fraction as happy as it used to make my mom and me. Selfishly, I also like to think that if Prince Henry was able to earn Danielle's forgiveness after being a massive tool to her, there's hope for me too. So if you're ever taken hostage by a creepy ass old dude in his dingy castle, I'll gladly come to your rescue. Also I wouldn't blame you for judging me that one of my favorite films is a chick flick. I have no dignity left when it comes to you, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

I still miss you and I'm sorry,

Cal

His letter ripped through me like a tornado, leaving devastation in its path as I cradled the movie to my chest as though it were a precious gift; to me, it was. I couldn't fathom why Cal had given me his mother's copy, why he'd part with it for someone who had essentially written him off and told him to get lost.

Like a weirdo, I brought the DVD up to my nose, sniffing it like I could somehow breathe in Cal's essence and feel him with me. I pressed my lips to it, thinking about how much it meant to not only his mom, but to him. He hadn't just given me a movie, he'd given me a piece of his soul in a way. I'd seen the movie once, but I rushed to my room, fumbling with it as I shoved it in my Playstation.

I watched it with rapt attention, taking in every line and nuance from a new perspective, trying to see it through Cal's eyes. I was enamored by it all. I could see Cal as Prince Henry, climbing down the castle to escape his father's plans. He's a stubborn buttcake, so it would track. Each time Danielle sassed Henry, it made me laugh and tear up as I recalled each time I did the same to Cal. But as the two of them lounged in the gypsy camp, flirting and getting lost in each other's gazes, the dam inside me burst. It hurt so much to know that would never be us. I still wasn't able to forgive Cal for everything, but there was something I had to do. I felt it in my bones that it was the right thing to do.

I picked up my phone, scrolling through until I found the number I needed in my call history. I waited and waited for the call to go through, the endless ringing picking away at my patience. At last, the caller picked up.

“This is Coach Langley,” the deep voice rumbled.

“Hi Coach Langley, this is Rhys Evans,” I started, clearing my throat of the nerves rattling my voice. “I'm the one who called in the complaint against Callum Hawkins.”

“Ah, hell. What did he do now?” he asked, disappointment cutting through the line.

“No, no! He didn't do anything!” I hurried to say. “I actually wanted to retract my statement. I've had a lot of time to think and reflect on it, and I think I made the complaint in haste. I got to know Callum really well the last couple of months, and sir, I can promise you he is deserving of his scholarship. I can't stand the thought of it being taken away from him when the mistake was really mine. If there's anything you can do, please don't punish him for a huge misunderstanding!”

Coach Langley huffed out a fast breath and I was met with tense silence. “Mr. Evans, Callum already called me to claim responsibility for the original complaint. He admitted to putting hands on you that night and for coming after you with the goal of making you withdraw your report.”

My blood turned to ice, my brain overloading from the information. “W-wait, he said all that? When did he call you?” I stuttered out, waiting anxiously for his response.

“He called me Sunday morning. Told me his side of the story and then asked to be removed as captain of the team, saying he'd take any suspension or punishment I deemed fit,” the coach said matter-of-factly, but I thought I could hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“He isn't captain anymore??” I squawked. “No wait, you can't do that! It's not his fault, sir! He doesn't know what he's doing!”

“Mr. Evans,” Coach Langley cut me off, “Callum knew exactly what he was doing when he called me. While I'm madder than hell at him for what he did, I'm also proud of him for being man enough to come forward and own up to his actions. I appreciate what you're trying to do for him, but it's done. He's accepting his punishment with grace and he's lucky to still be on the team. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be. Are you good, son?” he asked softly .

My brain was still hazy and now throbbing from everything I just learned. “Yes sir, I'm good. I'm sorry to bother you, but thank you for telling me,” I said half-dazedly. Coach Langley thanked me for the call and hung up.

I sat there going over everything a dozen times, trying to make it make sense. Cal turned himself in? He asked to no longer be captain and he was willingly being punished? And if I heard his coach right, Cal had called him the morning he came to see me, maybe even before he got here. Why hadn't he told me?

The storm in my head was making me feel crazy and I couldn't separate it all to process it. I turned off my TV and crashed on my pillow, hoping that in sleep I would find the answers I desperately needed.

A shrill ringing pulled me from a troubled sleep, and I blindly felt around for my phone on the bedside table before answering.

“Hello?” I garbled, throat growly and rough.

“Happy Thanksgiving, sweetpea! Are you still in bed at this hour?” Gran's chipper voice reached me through the fog of sleep.

“N'ma'am. M'up,” I slurred, sitting up in bed and rubbing at my scratchy eyes.

“Uh huh. Well, rise and shine, honey! You can sleep when you're old and crotchety like me. Youth shouldn't be wasted in bed,” Gran lectured me. It was a song and dance I'd heard throughout my childhood, and a pang of nostalgia hit me.

“Yeah, yeah. I remember,” I rumbled, smiling to myself. “What are your plans for today? I can't wait to see you for Christmas.”

“Oh, you know me. I'mma head down to the shelter and help Joann serve Thanksgiving supper. It never gets easier, I'll tell ya. Every year, the sight of those sweet folks down on their luck just breaks my heart. I wish there was more I could do,” she lamented, her southern twang bringing me comfort as it always did. My Gran had the biggest heart of anyone I knew, and she was constantly involved in activities with her church to give back to the community. She helped serve the homeless shelter, coordinated services for victims of domestic violence, and ran the LGBTQ+ youth outreach program in our town. That one held special meaning for me since she created the program after I came out to her when I was twelve.

“I'm glad they have you helping out, Gran. They're blessed to have you,” I told her truthfully. Gran worked harder now after retirement doing whatever she could to help those she thought were less fortunate. She was my hero.

“Ah, horse poop. I'm just an old woman trying to help out where I can. Now, enough of that. What's goin' on with my favorite grandson? I can't remember the last time you called me and gave me an update. I should tan your hide for not fillin' in your poor, old granny,” she chortled. I swear, the woman had just turned sixty and she acted as though she could rival Methusaleh's age. What a drama queen.

“Good grief, you're starting in on the guilt early,” I griped. “I'm sorry I haven't called. It's been a little crazy lately.”

“Hmm, well we all have our excuses, don't we?” she teased, eliciting an eye-roll from me. “Why don't you tell me exactly what's been keeping you so crazy busy? Have you found yourself a nice young man for me to grill and send runnin' yet?”

I let out a snort at the thought of Gran probing Cal with questions trying to rattle him, and to be fair, it'd probably be pretty effective. Gran was sweet, but intimidating when she wanted to be, like Betty White with claws. Just like every day that week, the thought of Cal made me want to curl into myself and cry out my remaining tears.

I missed him. More than I ever thought was possible.

“Not really,” I mumbled. “No one worth mentioning.”

“Horse hockey,” Gran scoffed, always able to tell when I was holding something back or lying. “Rhys Evans, don't you lie to me. I can tell when something's up with you. Now who is he?”

I groaned out loud, knowing that she wouldn't let up unless I came clean. She was like a dog with a bone when she wanted something. I launched into all the details of meeting Cal, the bullying, the texting, the attempt we made at a friendship, the showdown at the boathouse, and the letters this week, all culminating in the phone call I made to his coach yesterday that still had me spiraling. I even gave her the PG version of the more…sordid events of our time together. The woman took me to get put on PrEP when I was with Connor, so there was no shame between us.

“Wow…alright then. That is a heckuva Thanksgiving tale you got there,” Gran said sardonically. “I suppose now you're wonderin' if yo u're doing the right thing cuttin' him out of your life and givin' up on him.”

A disbelieving laugh bubbled out of me. “What do you mean, if I'm doing the right thing? He hurt me, Gran. He was no better than those bullies who used to make me feel worthless and went out of their way to tear me down. What does that say about me if I just roll over and forgive him for all the terrible stuff he said and did to me?” I asked, my exasperation evident.

“Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't remember those horrid little monsters in school workin' to earn your forgiveness. To my knowledge, they never tried to get to know you, or bring you coffee, or opened up to you about the most tragic parts of their lives hopin' that you'd understand them better. And they certainly didn't take responsibility for their actions and offer themselves up for punishment. So tell me how it'd make you weak to show him mercy and forgiveness when he clearly is tryin' to prove to you he was wrong and wants to do better,” Gran said earnestly.

“But…” I started, tears cutting me off fast. “But how am I supposed to trust him after all that? What if I forgive him and he breaks me all over again?”

Gran made a contemplative noise over the line, not saying anything for a few moments. “I don't want to sugarcoat it, honey, but that's a possibility. That's a risk any of us takes when lettin' someone into our lives, especially someone we trust to love us. We're all human and we make mistakes every single day, but very few people actually feel remorse enough to right their wrongs. I only know what you've told me, but this Callum boy sounds like he's doing what he can to make it all right for you. Seems to me like he thinks you're worth the effort, and I have to agree.”

I choked back the sob that worked its way up my throat, not able to accept the chance that she was right about him. I was so dang scared that I'd be wrong about him again and I wasn't sure I'd survive it another time.

“Look, sweetpea,” Gran continued, “everyone will always have opinions and advice on what you should do. They'll tell you what you should say, what your limits should be, and more. But at the end of the day, you are the one who has to live with the consequences of your choices. Not them. Don't be afraid to do what you feel is right because ultimately only you will be affected by your decision. It doesn't matter what me or other people tell you to do or feel about this boy. All that matters is what you want to do and what you can live with. You understand what I'm sayin'?”

I nodded before realizing that she couldn't see me on the phone. “Yes ma'am, I get it,” I muttered gruffly.

“Good. Now, I've gotta go put on my face and get dressed before Joann picks me up. Whatever you decide to do, I'll support you, Rhys. I love you, sweetpea,” Gran replied warmly.

“I love you too, Gran,” I sniffled. “I'll call you later.”

We hung up and I contemplated all the advice she had given me about Cal. I worked hard to build myself back up after years of being torn down, stomped on, and victimized. It was a point of pride with me to never again let someone get under my skin enough to break me. When Cal began his subversive torture, I thought I was prepared for anything he threw at me. I was going to show him that he couldn't get to me.

I still wasn't sure if I was strong enough to move past what he did and trust him to be better, but it didn't feel right to cut him out. If nothing else, his coach's disclosure had earned him a chance for me to hear him out. I pulled up his contact and unblocked it before I could change my mind.

Me

Can we talk tomorrow?

Two seconds later, his reply lit up my screen. It made my heart sputter to think he'd had his phone on him all week, just waiting for me to reach out. That was ridiculous of course, but an idiot could dream, right?

Miscreant

Of course. Want me to call?

Me

Can I come over instead?

Miscreant

Absolutely. Whatever time works for you.

Me

Ok. See you around 10am.

Cal sent me his address and I sent him a thumbs up in response. I didn't know what would come of tomorrow, but the most I was prepared to give him was a shot at my friendship. No matter how hard he might try, I'd never feel safe again giving my heart over to him.

Even if every fiber of my being begged me to hand it over, every bruised and battered piece of it.