Page 80 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

“They’re playing in Seattle this summer. Wanna go?”

Jory’s smile fell, and she froze. Callum watched every single muscle ticking in her face, every twitch of her eyes.

“I won’t be here then.”

Robbie took another sip, rubbing his cheek against Walter’s little body. “But you could fly back for it. Come visit everyone and see the show.”

Jory closed her eyes, and Callum waited, frozen, for her answer.

“I won’t be able to, Robbie. I won’t be… I just won’t be able to.”

“You won’t be somewhere with an airport?”

“No.”

“Where are you going? The moon? The middle of the ocean?”

She flinched. A tiny, imperceptible flinch, but Callum saw it. He stood slowly. He could feel his throat tightening, the grief nearly strangling because what was the fucking point of any of this. Two dates. Three dates. A hundred dates. It didn’t matter because she’d already made up her mind to leave.

“If you’ll excuse me. I—I’m feeling tired. I think I’ll go downstairs for a bit.”

“You okay, boss?”

Callum cleared his throat. He was most definitely not okay. He would never be okay again. But that wasn’t Robbie’s burden. It was his. Hispenance. “Aye. Thank you for doing the dishes, Robbie.”

“No problem, Cal,” Robbie said quietly. He looked at Jory and then back at Callum. “I, uh, I think Walter and I are gonna get some ice cream and go watch a movie.”

Callum nodded and left the table. He walked to the closet and down the stairs to the vault. He sat on the edge of the bed and listened to Robbie opening the freezer, the clatter of bowl and spoon against the countertop, Jory’s quiet voice thanking Robbie for doing the dishes, asking him more about the show he was watching. Callum squeezed his eyes shut as he heard a door open and close.

He’d allowed himself the fantasy of not being alone anymore, of having a home again. Best he get used to the truth now: Jory was leaving, and nothing would change her mind.

He heard soft footsteps on the floor above, the soft creak of the closet door, and then the careful padding of socked feet on the stairs.

“Callum,” she asked, her voice warm and husky, like hot whiskey mixed with tea. “Are you okay?”

That question again and, again, the same answer. No. He was decidedly not okay. He was… angry. That feeling surfaced above all the others, and he could feel it clearly now. It had been hidden beneath all the sadness and relief and goddamn hope, and now he could feel it. Righteous, scalding anger.

“Nay,” he said, dragging a palm over his face and yanking at the neck of his T-shirt, which suddenly felt like it might strangle him. “I am nae okay.”

“Okay,” she said, and there was that fucking word again. “Can we talk about it?”

“Why?” Callum said, sharper than he intended to.

“Because we’re dating? And people in relationships talk about their feelings.”

“We’re dating?”

Jory looked at him, confused. “Aren’t we? Wasn’t that the whole thing? You be my boyfriend? For real? We give it a real go?”

“That’s what I thought, Jory. I thought we were to give it an honest go. But you’re already halfway out of here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve already made up your mind, Jory!” he shouted hoarsely. “You have nae intention of staying, and you never did!”

“I told you what I wanted! I told you I wanted to go home. I have never lied about that!”

“Fine. You didnae lie. But you made me believe that I had a hope of changing yer mind, of making you want to stay. To at least staywith me. Did I ever really even have a chance?”