Page 4 of Chasing Callie

I run.

My entire body is shaking as I shove what I can fit into my two small suitcases. The show is two hours long. I have time, but every second I’m here, the more terrified I am that he’ll come after me. I trip over my own feet as I toss in another handful of clothes, knees thudding against the hardwood floor.

I hiss in pain, pulling up the leg of the sweats I changed into to check the damage. Red and angry, but no blood. Good. Gathering up the clothes I dropped, I climb to my feet, set them inside the suitcase and blow out a hard breath.

There’s plenty of time before—the door snaps open, the knob cracking against the drywall. “What the fuck are you doing?” Theo’s voice booms around the apartment.

My throat tightens. If he left that show, he’s really pissed.

Heart jackhammering, I decide nothing else I have is worth staying a second longer and slam the suitcases closed. “I’m leaving.” I yank the handles up and stare at the man I gave so much of my adult life to. I should have left the first time he told me what to wear.

“No you’re not,” he counters, features contorting. “You belong with me.”

“You stole my art, Theo!” I shake my head, gripping the suitcases so hard my knuckles turn white. “How could you do that?”

“You don’t fucking understand,” he growls. His fingers clench, knuckles turning white, and he turns and slams his fist into the wall.

The oxygen trapped in my lungs burns. It’s not the first time he’s done this, but every time he explodes, I picture myself on the receiving end. It’s only a matter of time. And I’m done. He’s stolen years, my confidence, my fucking art. Made me a shell of who I used to be, and I’m desperate to find myself again.

“God! See what you do to me? I fucking love you but sometimes, Callie, I just⁠—”

“Just what?” I demand, hating how my entire body is shaking like a mouse cornered by a cat.

He steps toward me.

My stomach rolls. “We’re done, Theo.”

“No. We’re not.” He reaches for me, and for the first time in a long time, I let the old Callie, the one I’ve stifled for years, come out to play.

My palm slams into his nose before his fingers can close around my arms. A sickening crunch fills the air, and he shouts. I don’t stick around to see the damage. As he clutches his nose and screams at me, I grab my bags, the last of my dignity, and rush out to my SUV. I chuck everything inside and get in, locking the doors and peeling away from the curb.

One last stop and then I’m leaving this city because I’ll be damned if he profits off more of my work.

Chapter Two

CALLIE

Shit. Shit. Shit. I broke into an art studio and stole all the paintings. Is it stealing if they’re all mine, though? I can’t get in trouble for taking my own art, right? The working space I shared with Theo holds a lot of complicated memories. While I was terrified he’d show up, I had to go get the rest of my paintings—the ones that he didn’t have at the gallery show—before he tried to make more money off of my hard work.

My mind races as my Rav-4 tears down a curved road. I’m good at a lot of things. Painting. Singing off key. Making Mom’s peach cobbler. But running?

I’m great at running. It’s only fitting that this time instead of fleeing from Big Ridge, I’m rushing toward it, seeking safety from the life I created over the last ten years in the city.

The first few years were okay, but everything changed when I met fucking Theo. At first, he was everything I thought I wanted until his truth started to show. Turns out he’s controlling. Mean. And a rotten fucking liar and a fake.

Scoffing to myself, I notice my below empty tank as the Fill Ups 66 station comes into view as I round another curve. How Larry, the creepy owner, never got sued for that name is still beyond me. The S at the end of the worn sign is crooked and the orange and red paint that was once vibrant on each letter is barely visible now.

I park at the pump, stomach fluttering. Wonderful, I haven’t even made it all the way to town and I’m already nervous. It’s been a long time, and the last thing everyone remembers about me, well. I don’t want to think about it. Grabbing my purse, I climb out of my air-conditioned SUV and into the oppressive mid-morning summer heat, eyeing the familiar surrounding mountains.

It’s nearing my favorite time of year for living in the Smoky Mountains as far as scenery goes, but to get to fall, I have to suffer through summer tourist season. Normally I hate all the people, but I’m hoping the rush will make it easy to get a job. I start the gas pump, ignore the sign posted that says not to leave the pump running, and head inside.

The bell overhead jingles as I enter. Fill Ups 66 hasn’t changed one bit. The rack holding the chips is lopsided, and the worn gray and white linoleum is covered in a film from years of use that no industrial cleaner can erase.

“Hey there, sweet stuff. Can I help you find something?”

I glance behind the counter where Larry is grinning, his missing tooth front and center as he takes his time checking me out. I know I’ve been gone for a long time, but I can’t have changed that much? My hair is a lot longer, still the same rich shade of brunette that looks a little red in the sun. Other than that, I think I look pretty much the same. Older, but I’m twenty-eight, not 60. Maybe it’s the sunglasses.

Larry leans back and looks out of the dirty window. “Are you out here all by yourself?”