Page 52 of The Other Side

Callie

I can’t tonight.

That’s it? That’s all I get?

I toss my phone by my feet on the couch, refusing to entertain her text. My palms scrub down my face, and the tear in my heart opens gradually.

Inch by inch, from the center of the organ.

We lived nothing but a dream last Saturday. Our younger selves greeted us that night, only to say goodbye too soon.

What does Jesse have? What the fuck does he have over this girl?

Money.

The realization tightens my jaw, and my insides crawl with hot fury. His security is the blanket Callie thinks she needs to escape the life she grew up in. She knows if she stays with Jesse, she’ll never have to worry about another world like that again.

She’s protecting herself.

Her and her children.

With him, her entire past is eliminated permanently. Never to be dug up.

But maybe my assumptions are off base. Maybe ten years is enough time for someone to change. To alter everything they once believed in and were once attracted to.

No.

Her spirit resides within me. Our souls have always been tethered together.

But I fear that Callie is intentionally breaking her wing away from mine. With every second guess and abrupt interaction, she drifts further and further away.

Until I have no choice but to fly alone.

Chapter 17

Brant

After Callie’s curt response to my invitation last night, I refuse to stew in thoughts of her and Jesse. As appalling as it is to admit, Julia’s presence is a diversion. A band-aid over a harsh wound, destined to saturate and fall off quickly.

I sip some water as Julia bends over the billiard table. “Watch out, Beckett. You may be the loser tonight,” she says, aligning her pool stick over the green felt.

Upbeat music and hummed conversations mix with the tapping of billiard balls.

“I think we should raise the stakes here,” I offer.

She misses the shot, then stands with the pool stick upright at her side. “To?”

I peel the bottom of my sneaker off the metal leg of the stool. “If I win, we jet out of here and go back to my place.”

Her gaze hoods as she purses her lips. “And if I win?”

“That depends on what you want,” I say, inching up to the billiard table.

She inserts herself beside me, the vintage pendant light popping the sparkle in her amber hues. “So, you want sex?”

“That’s actually not what I meant,” I answer. “Why? Do you?”

My question isn’t weaved with cockiness, dominance, or arousal. Just honesty. She asked me a question, and I answered it. It doesn’t matter if she likes what she hears because I owe her the truth.