The Redemption of Callie and Kayden (12 page)

seem more like a vacation, though, than a business trip.

As I put the broom away, I get lost in that night, the

uncontrollable anger in my father’s eyes, and the feeling of not

knowing surfaces in my chest. What is going to happen to me?

How do I make myself fit back into life when I thought I’d fallen

into death? And will I even ever have a life to fit back into again?

My mom can pretend all she wants that this is going to go

perfectly—that they’ll pay off Caleb and he’ll keep his mouth

shut—but I have my doubts and I won’t be the least bit surprised if

he takes the money and still presses charges.

I continue to analyze my plans as I go down to the room in

the basement and sit in the quiet. I take my phone out of my

pocket and stare at the screen with my finger hovering over the

TALK button. I want to call Callie so fucking bad. Because it feels

like she could help me, let me know some of the answers, give me

a reason to revive again.

“Hey, man.” Tyler stumbles into the room and slams the door

shut with his elbow. He’s got a brown paper bag in his hand and

he tips his head back and takes a swig from whatever is inside and

then wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt and directs the bag

at me.

I shake my head and put my phone away, taking Tyler’s

interruption as a sign not to call Callie. “No thanks, man.”

He shrugs and takes another gulp before flopping down in

the leather sofa across from mine. He looks more like he’s in his

late thirties than his twenties and his clothes are ragged and worn.

He’s missing one of his teeth, which he says is from a fight, but I

wonder if he’s a crack addict or something by all the sores on his

face. His brown hair is cropped and it’s thinning out and he reeks

of smoke and booze.

“How long are you staying here?” He kicks his feet up on the

table and there’s a hole in the bottom of his shoe.

“I have no idea.” I pick up the remote from the coffee table

and aim it at the television screen. “I guess it depends on what

happens with this Caleb thing.”

He removes the paper bag from the bottle of vodka and puts

the tip of the bottle up to his mouth. “Yeah, what was that about?”

He knocks a shot back and then slams the bottle down on the

table. There’s a red ring around his mouth from pressing the bottle

against it and I wonder if it hurt or if he even felt it.

I turn on the TV and begin flipping through the channels. I

don’t want to talk to him when he’s so trashed that he won’t

remember a word. Even though it’s probably wrong, I still have

bitter feelings toward him for bailing on me when I was a kid so he

could turn into this. “It’s called life.”

He laughs incredulously. “Life’s called beating the shit out of

someone?”

“It was our life for a while,” I say and he fidgets

uncomfortably. I crack my knuckles and my neck, resisting the urge

to ram my fist into the table in front of me. “I didn’t beat the shit out of him. I broke his nose, knocked out a few teeth, and bruised

the shit out of his face. That’s it.”

“Yeah, but what did Caleb Miller do to you?” he presses. “The

last time I was here, he seemed like an okay guy.”

I pop my knuckles again, pushing on them as hard as I can,

until the skin feels like it’s going to split open. “He’s a fucking prick who got away with something he should be in jail for. What I did

to him was minor compared to what should be done to him.” I get

up because I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

He turns around in the chair, following me with his

bloodshot eyes. “Didn’t you beat him unconscious?”

I shake my head as I jerk open the door. “Nope.” I thought I

did, but it turned out he was just playing it up. Yeah, his face

looked like a fucking lumpy blueberry, but by the time the police

put me in the back of the car, he was up and milking it for all it was worth.

I walk outside, done with the conversation. I don’t have a

coat on, just a hoodie, but I welcome the cold as I hike across the

icy front yard, tromping through the snow, with my arms at my

sides. Both cars are gone from the driveway, but the motorcycle is

in the garage with the key in it. I run my hand along the leather

seat, thinking about the last time I rode it and how I wrecked it

trying to jump it over a hill. It’s black, sleek, and not made for

jumping, but I was showing off for a bunch of girls and ended up

skidding into the dirt and giving myself killer road rash. It was

minor compared to some of the things my father’s done to me and

even some of the things I’ve done to myself.

Rolling my wrist and feeling a slight pain inside the muscle

from my cuts, I swing my leg over the seat, turn the key, and floor

the throttle while I hold down the brake. The engine and exhaust

huffs to life and for a split second I feel alive. I pick up my feet, release the brake, and fly out of the garage onto the road. It’s

colder than hell, but it could be worse. It’s actually a warm day for Afton and the roads are clear. I can deal with it as long as I drive

slowly. I just need to go somewhere.

Anywhere, but here.

Callie

It’s been a little less than a week since I saw Kayden at the

café. I’ve texted and called him a couple of times and always end

up crying because he won’t answer. I can’t stop thinking about the

emptiness in his eyes and the anger in them when he pulled away.

Seth’s texted him a few times, but it always goes unanswered. It

kills me that there’s been no contact with him and that he’s up in

that house, alone with his terrible family, keeping silent about his

life. Silence. Silence. Why is it always about silence? I wish both of us could tell the world and be free from the chains we drag

around.

Seth and I have been spending a lot of time away from my

house, hanging out at the café, eating too many pancakes, and

driving the roads aimlessly, anything that will keep me away from

my mother. It’s not like she’s been terrible, but she keeps

reminding me about my obligation to my brother and Caleb, since

they’re a “package deal.” But yesterday was Christmas, and she

forced us to hang out at the house all day. It didn’t go very well

and we ended up getting into an argument when she pulled me

away and told me she thinks I shouldn’t hang out with Seth

anymore.

“He has quite a mouth on him,” she’d said. “And I don’t like

his attitude.”

“You don’t have to like it, mom,” I’d replied. “But he’s my

friend and he’s going to stay my friend.”

That didn’t go over very well and she started lecturing me

about the little girl she lost, the one who didn’t sass off.

“What are you thinking about?” Seth asks. We’re up in the

room above the garage. It’s a fairly nice day, the sunlight spilling

all over the snow and ice and melting it. I’ve been analyzing it for a while, watching it reflect against the ice, looking so perfect, yet I know if I step outside, the cold and slipperiness won’t hold up the

perfection. “You have this strange look on your face… like you’re

thinking about killing someone.”

I’m standing next to the windowsill kicking a punching bag

with my bare foot. My dad hauled it up into the room a few days

ago, after my mom gave it to him for Christmas as a way to “get

into shape.”

“I’m just thinking about stuff.”

He flips a page of the magazine he’s looking through as he

lays on his stomach on the bed. “Like what?”

I shake my head and ram my fist into the bag, barely

budging it. Sweat beads down the back of my neck and my

ponytail is slipping loose from the elastic. “Nothing. It’s nothing…

just the weather.”

He cocks an eyebrow as he peers up from the magazine. He’s

got on a pair of jeans and a striped shirt and this leather string

necklace around his neck. “The weather?”

I shrug, pivot my hip to the side, and then spring my knee

up, flattening my foot against the bag one more time. Breathless, I

pad over to the bed, the concrete floor cold against my bare feet,

and I hurry and hop onto the mattress. “Yeah, sometimes I like to

analyze it and what it all might mean in relation to life.”

He turns a page as he gapes at me. “You’re a very strange

girl. You know that?”

I nod as I tuck my feet underneath the blanket. “I’ve been

told that a few times.”

He sighs and then eyes my outfit. I still have my pajamas on,

no makeup, and I smell like sweat. “Are you planning on staying

dressed like that all day? I was hoping we’d go out.”

I lean back against the wall, fanning my hand in front of my

face to try and cool off. “To where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“This place is already wearing on you, huh.”

He shakes his head and starts reading the page in front of

him. “No, but this room is and the fact that you keep dazing off

into Callie la-la land. You’re bumming me out… You’ve been

bumming be out since that day you ran into Kayden at the café.”

He peeks up at me through his long black eyelashes. A strand of

his hair falls into his eyes, but he doesn’t bother brushing it back.

He looks like he’s waiting for me to tell him something.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, draping my arm across my stomach.

He scowls at me as he roughly flips another page and he

accidentally rips the corner. “You’re keeping something from me

that happened at the café… when you ran outside.”

“No, I’m not,” I lie because I’m afraid to talk about it, afraid of

what Seth will tell me it means.

He points a finger at me with his eyes narrowed. “Don’t you

lie to me, Callie. Just tell me you don’t want to tell me. Don’t lie.”

My face sinks as I frown. “I’m sorry. I just really don’t want to

talk about it. It’ll be too hard… to find out what it means… to find

out how I feel.”

He pauses as he assesses me and then his gaze glides to the

window where my notebook lays. “Have you written about it?”

I shake my head and wipe some of the sweat off my face

with the back of my hand. “And I don’t want to.”

“Have you ever written about how you felt that night… about

Kayden?”

“I haven’t,” I tell him. “And like I said, I really don’t want to.”

He straightens his arms and pushes up from the bed. He

kneels and scoots closer to me until he’s by my side. “Maybe you

should. Maybe you should write Kayden a letter, telling him how

you feel, not just about what happened, but how you feel about

him.”

“Seth, I don’t think I can.” I roll onto my back and stare up at

the patches on the ceiling. “I’m afraid of what I’ll end up writing…

I’m afraid of what I really feel and how he’ll react it.” I’m afraid that what I’m forcing to stay locked away inside my heart will break free

and I’ll have to deal with it.

He takes my hand in his and one side of his mouth quirks

upward. “Callie, honey, I think if both of us have learned anything

in our lives it’s that being afraid is not the way to live.”

“I know,” I say softly, realizing just how much I’ve been

holding in. Ever since it happened, my chest and feelings and heart

have been vined into this warped knot. “But what if I find out

something that I don’t want to?”

“It’s better than hiding it and repressing it, isn’t it?”

I smash my lips together and listen to the space heater hum

as I consider his words carefully. Then I compel myself to sit up.

“You’re a very wise man, Seth.”

“Well, duh.” He rolls his eyes and smiles. “That’s clear to

everyone who meets me.”

My smile grows because despite whatever ends up coming

out on that paper when I jot down my thoughts, I’ll have Seth and I

know that unlike in the past, I won’t be alone.

I retrieve the notebook from the windowsill and curl up in a

ball on the bed holding the tip of the pen to the paper, ready to

admit what really lies inside the darkest spots of my heart, the

things I’m afraid of but want more badly then anything in my life.

* * *

An hour later, I walk out of the garage, feeling lighter, almost

like I’m flying. Seth was right. Writing down everything I’m feeling

was a good idea. I feel much better. It’s strange because I write

about Kayden all the time, but it was different actually writing to

him because I know that one day, if I ever get the courage, he

might read it.

I’m headed out to the driveway where Luke is waiting for me

in his truck, ready to take Seth and me away for a little bit. Seth

beat me out already and as I head down the steps he’s laughing

about something and it makes me smile. It’s a breezy day, the

clouds heavy. It isn’t snowing yet, but it probably will be by the

end of the day.

I’m halfway down the driveway, eager to get away from the

house for a while, when the door to the house swings open and

Jackson walks out.

His brown hair is damp and he has on a heavy green coat,

jeans, and a pair of boots with the laces undone and dragging in

the snow. “Hey, I need to talk to you.” He trots down the steps,

trailing his hand down the railing.

I slow down and wait for him near the stairway, drawing the