by Coralee June
“What do you mean?”
“I've seen it a couple of times now. You go to this place of determination unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”
I became self-conscious of my expression, wondering if there was a look in my eyes or a frown on my face. “I don’t feel any different,” I replied honestly.
Ryker stopped, pulling me with him as the rest of the group continued. “Sometimes, I think there are two versions of you, each fighting for dominance. When you get determined like that, I get to see the woman you were when you went on the run.”
“Do you like her better, Ry?” I asked. My voice was soft and for some unknown reason, I feared his answer.
“I love all of you, Sunshine. It makes me feel less guilty, seeing you so strong. But then it makes me scared too. Like whenever you slip into that role, I lose the girl I knew. I also hate myself a bit for wanting you to be dependent on me. Gavriel wants to see you strong so he won’t worry about breaking you, but I wanna see you weak so you never have a reason to leave.”
I focused on a tree beside us, zeroing in on the bark and each groove in the rough trunk as I considered his words. “Well, I guess it's a good thing I have all of you then. Because there will be times I’ll want Gav to break me, as well as times I want you to build me up.” I looked ahead of us where the rest of the group, excluding Joe, had kept going. “Blaise is my safe place to land, my constant comfort.”
“What about Callum?” Ryker asked. There wasn’t jealousy in his tone, only curiosity. How did I get so lucky to have men that weren’t bleeding with dissatisfaction over who my heart loved? Would they ever stop being okay with this dynamic?
“He’s different. I’m still learning his place, if I’m being honest. I think, with how much I need the three of you, he’s the only one that truly needs me back. It’s kind of freeing.” I turned to look at Callum in the distance, slipping on a muddy patch as he marched forward.
Ryker nodded his head thoughtfully before looking off after them too. “I think you’re right, Sunshine. And something tells me he’s going to need you a lot here pretty soon.”
It wasn't until we saw a clearing in the woods that my breathing started to pick up, my coping mechanisms working overtime to wade through the familiar surroundings. Joe bent over, looking at the tire tracks in the mud and furrowing his brow when he saw that they turned off to the left and disappeared.
"Whoever was here isn’t anymore," he said, mostly to himself. I peeled my eyes looking around the empty lot with disdain. It was supposed to be here, but all I could see was the leveled ground and fresh dirt covering the plot where my father's cabin was supposed to be.
"Fuck," Gavriel said while inching forward. I leaned to the left to peer around Joe's bulky frame, Ryker keeping his hold steady on me as I looked. There, in the middle of the plot where I'm sure the basement would have been located, was a teal box with a white bow on top. It was small, only about the size of my fist, but it looked too clean, too perfect to be a coincidence.
"Gav, don't touch it," I called out. Ryker tucked me into his side, wincing when I touched his bruised ribs but keeping his face stern and ready to act. I recognized the color, it was one of Mom's favorite shades of teal.
Gavriel didn't care; he stormed forward through the open lot with anger rolling off of him in waves. I cringed as he bent down to pick up the box, and Blaise moved to my vacant side, entwining his fingers with mine before whispering in my ear, "You're so strong, Sunshine. I'm in awe of you."
Blaise, always so sweet.
I couldn't see if Gavriel had opened the box yet, and Callum made his way over to him, joining in on the curiosity of the situation. "It was real," I whispered to myself while viewing the empty lot. "I swear it was here."
I knew that the house had been torn down. The area where no trees grew and the gravel road were evidence enough of that. But it was like I had to vocalize the truth of its existence. Paul Bright was good at playing mind games, tricking you into questioning reality then molding it to fit his perfect and prim world. The cabin was here, once, even if I couldn't see it. I could sense the evil that had happened here. I could feel the ghosts of his victims traveling over my skin, dragging the knives of my survival over my chest. The ghosts were mad that I got away when they couldn't. This was my penance.
A low, guttural scream caught my attention, and I detached myself from Ryker and Blaise before pushing past Joe to get to Gavriel and Callum.
Callum, my sweet Callum, was kneeling in the mud, sobbing into his hands with the teal box discarded at his side. I ran to him, the muddy earth once again pulling me back, begging me not to learn what had broken him.
"He did it," Callum cried out, his body shaking from the sobs wrecking his chest. He laid down on his side in the mud, burying himself into the ground with each movement while trying to hide from me, hide from the world. Gavriel looked…shocked. He wore an expression of sincere regret. I sensed that from here on out, everything would change. Callum would never be the same, and by the look in Gavriel's eyes, he felt responsible for the turmoil.
"What happened?" I asked, placing a hand on Callum's shoulder. But instead of answering me, he shrugged me off, swatting me away as I shied away in confusion.
"He killed them," Callum sobbed. I made my way over to the box, squatting lower to look at the contents of it, immediately regretting my decision to explore once I recognized what was inside. There, tucked neatly in the box, was a keychain. Not just any keychain, it was woven out of bright green and black rope. To anyone else, it would have been anticlimactic to see, but I saw it for what it was. It was a threat, a warning to keep away.
It was the keychain Callum made for his mother in middle school. She’d always had it, I recognized the handmade gift immediately. It was the same keychain that was in their car the night his parents were in their freak accident. And looking back, I realized that it probably wasn’t an accident at all.
The realization of what this meant hit me like a kick to the gut. It suddenly clicked—my mother had confided in someone. She tried to get help when she'd first discovered my father's activities. She told me that they'd died. I had no idea that it was Callum's parents. My family was the reason Callum was so alone in this world.
"He knew we'd come here," I said in disbelief. "He wanted you to see..."
Callum let out another sob, not caring if he looked weak. Not caring where we were or what we were doing. He looked so small then. I didn't see the grown man he'd become, I saw the young boy I knew as a child. I saw the kid that would pull on my pigtails while our mothers gossiped. I saw the young man I had a crush on. I saw the college student huddling in the corner of my parents’ shed, grieving the parents he lost.
I saw loneliness. I saw pain.
Then I saw myself.
I knew right then that we'd never come back from this. All I had from Callum now was regret and a punishing fuck in a graveyard. He'd always look at me and see him.
I turned around to leave him grieving alone. I knew my being near was just going to cause him more pain. I saw the writing on the wall, my own coping skills dissolving into a gut wrenching sadness. Gavriel warned me that he would take Callum away from me if he wasn't good for me. Well, at this moment, I wasn't good for Callum, and I had to get away from him. I had to save him from me.
I turned and fast walked through the clearing, passing a shocked Blaise and angry Ryker. I passed trees and fallen leaves, I passed the muddy tracks where my father had driven through. I heard huffs of labored breathing and knew someone was following me. I wondered who stayed behind with Callum. Would they comfort him? Would they hold him while he cried? Curse my father alongside him?
I know I would have. I would have been everything for him.
But that's the thing about love. A deep soul connection wasn't selfish. And even though I wanted to be there for him, I wanted him to be okay more. So I kept walking until we were at the SUV. After getting in the back, I kept my eyes on the floorboard un
til the driver side door shut. Joe settled in and rubbed his cold hands together. I looked around, wondering where Blaise, Ryker, and Gavriel were. Joe, seeming to understand my questioning expression then said in a low voice, "Bullets stick together."
I exhaled in relief. Maybe I should have craved their comfort, wished that one had followed me, but I was too thankful that Callum had a support system to care. Bullets stuck together, and now, more than ever, Callum would need that. Even if he didn't want the Bullet family, he was a part of it. They'd pull him together.
"Mind telling me what just happened?" Joe asked. "My wife says I'm an insensitive fuck about things, but I just need to know if I should be on alert for something."
I looked out the window, watching the grey clouds roll back in. It was going to rain again, soon. Taking the knife Joe gave me, I grabbed it once more, running my thumb along each ridge in the handle until I could vocalize what had happened.
"My dad killed Callum's parents," I said in an emotionless tone. There were no tears. Just this all encompassing feeling of regret.
"Fuck," Joe said before looking around, taking in our surroundings on high alert. "You don't, like...need a hug or anything do you?" he asked, looking sheepish in the rearview mirror as he gazed at me.
"No, Joe. I don't."
Chapter Nine
Callum
Eight Years Ago
I’d never been to a funeral before. I thought they were like the movies, rain streaming down as men and women crowded you with looks of pity. But instead, it was sunny in Chesterbrook on the day my parents were put in their final resting place. Streams of sunshine beat down on our backs as we walked through the cemetery.
I thought everyone wore black suits and dresses. I thought it would be a somber affair. But to show solidarity with a dead man, all of the Chesterbrook Police Department wore their dress blues. So instead of black, there was nothing but a sea of navy at the church this afternoon, stoic faces in the pews. They were rigid, their stiff kevlar forcing them to sit up tall and proud as the preacher said nice things about my parents. We weren’t churchgoers, and every polite comment was a generalization.
“She was a good mother.”
“He was a selfless protector.”
And the expressions? Those were the most jarring. I’d thought people would be as solemn as I, struggling to comprehend their grief. I had expected to see the evidence of their sadness. I wanted to know I wasn’t alone, I wasn’t the only one missing the two most important people in my life. But the crowd mostly looked curious; they seemed giddy to be at the most exclusive funeral of the year. Everyone wanted to look like they cared the most, to send the biggest flowers, offer the best frozen dish because their prized funeral casserole was somehow worth losing your family.
The caskets we buried were empty, a few handfuls of ash on silk pillows. They had picked their plots at the local cemetery years ago, determined to be together even in death. Their wills requested that they be buried. They planned for everything, but they didn’t expect to burn in a car fire and leave nothing behind.
There were just two large portraits of them situated at the front of the church. I couldn’t look at their photos, a vibrant echo of who they were. All that was left of them were memories and photographs. By the end of the week, the house wouldn’t even be mine.
After the funeral, we went to the Bright’s home for a post-funeral get-together. Mrs. Bright loved to host. “Any excuse to throw a party,” she used to say to my mother. “You doing okay?” Mrs. Bright asked as she clasped her hand over mine with a frown. She was the only one that looked how I’d expect someone to look at a funeral. She loved my parents. It made me feel a hint of satisfaction to see her so miserable at their passing. “I’m tired of all this bullshit.” My voice was a slow growl as I crushed my napkin into my fist. I was ready to get the hell out of here to drink something hard and avoid the fact that I was now all alone in this world.
“Callum...I’m so…”
I knew Mrs. Bright was going to say sorry; it was like people weren’t creative enough to come up with different things to say in the face of death. They just recycled that little phrase of apology over and over until it lost its meaning. I wanted to ask, why are you sorry? You weren’t the forgotten gas cans in my father's trunk. Or the loose ground wire that made Dad lose control of his car and slam into a tree. You weren’t the random little spark that ignited. You weren’t the fire that burned my parents until there was nothing left of them.
They should all just stop saying sorry.
And Mrs. Bright was saying sorry the most.
“Please stop saying that,” I growled before she could finish her sentence. She turned her head, shock evident on her face as her brow shot up. There was red lipstick on her teeth, black circles under her eyes, and a frown on her face.
She then took a moment to look over the crowd of people in her living room, taking in the gossiping crowd at her post-funeral gathering. She then let out an exhale. “What do you want me to say, then?”
I took a second to look at Mrs. Bright, taking in her desperate stare. Everything about her seemed dull. “I want you to say I can leave—that I’ve fulfilled my obligation.”
“Go. I’ll make sure people leave you alone.” Her answer was immediate like she couldn’t wait to please me. I didn't stick around to give her a chance to change her mind.
I fled, traveling down the hallway and passing the crowds without a second glance. It wasn’t until a hand shot out and hit my chest, holding me back, that I stopped. I was just feet away from the back door. “Callum, where you going?”
I looked to my left, staring at Paul Bright with annoyance. He’d been trying to treat me like his kid these last few days. Telling me what to do, what to say. It was odd, the way he’d so easily assumed that role. “Out,” I said, barely containing the growl in my voice. I’d been raised to respect the Brights, and I wouldn’t disrespect my parents by yelling at him, but I’d had enough.
“Now, Callum. Take a deep breath,” Mr. Bright continued, keeping his voice low and authoritative. His hand was still on my chest, holding me in place as his eyes roamed over my styled blond hair, grieving eyes, and pursed lips. “I know you’re struggling, boy. Just remember to keep calm. We’re no worse than animals if we can’t control our impulses.”
Mr. Bright leaned closer, blowing his breath in my face and sliding his hand up to cup my shoulder, pressing down as he tilted his head to the side. I could feel the way he wanted me to bend to his will. I knew he had some twisted sense of responsibility where my parents were concerned. I’m sure he wanted to be a guiding hand now that they were dead. But he didn’t really want to help me, it was for his own ego.
“I got it, Paul,” I said, using his first name. For my entire life, they were Mr. and Mrs. Bright, but I was a man now, and men didn’t have to answer to anyone.
The six shots of Hennessy made the grief feel a bit more manageable. I couldn’t drive. I might have been grieving, but I wasn’t stupid enough to endanger others. So instead, I stormed into the Brights’ backyard and hid in their shed. Although shaded by their large oak tree, it was still hot, and sweat rolled down my face as I sat in the sawdust on the wooden floor, my suit jacket sticking to me.
I discarded my tie, and it felt like I could finally breathe again. Sobs broke free, my chest a tight ball of anger and loss. Each cry of grief had me feeling like a pussy, but I didn’t care enough to hold it back. These were ugly cries. I was sure that they’d stick with me. Years from now, I’d probably look back and remember how low it was possible to feel. Maybe I’d one day be better for this moment, but right now, I felt like shit.
“Why are you hiding?” a soft voice asked. I hadn’t heard the wooden shed door open and shut, but I didn’t have to end my intense staring contest with the ground to know who it was.
Summer Bright.
Always following me around, even when we were kids. Hell, who was I kidding? She’s still a kid. An annoyingly int
uitive and kind kid with a slight crush on me. She sat next to me and drug her finger through the dust.
“Why did you find me?” I replied while wiping my snot on the sleeve of my jacket. I finally looked over at her, grimacing when I saw the all black dress her mother had put her in; it looked like someone tried to put an infant in grandmother's clothing. The thick material went well past her knees.
She didn’t respond to me right away. She crossed her legs at the ankle before lacing her fingers in her lap. Couldn’t a man just fucking grieve alone? Why did everyone want a front row seat to my pain?
“I don’t know, guess I just don’t want you to be alone,” she shrugged.
“What if I want to be alone?” I asked in response.
She let out a slow breath, grabbing hold of her dress and considering her words. I’d always remembered her as living in her head. Summer had always been around, she knew my parents well. She was young and impressionable and way too naive. But if I could dump some of my anger and sadness onto her, I would. And she’d probably take it, she’d always idolized me.
“No one ever really wants to be alone, Callum.”
She was wrong. I was self-aware enough to know what I needed, and I needed to suffer in silence away from the curious stares of Chesterbrook.
“Is that so?” I asked. I’d never been able to tell Summer no. She was too innocent, too kind. So instead of correcting her, I focused on each groove in the plywood floor of the shed.
“I don’t like to be alone when I’m sad…” she whispered before brushing her fingers through her dark hair.
“I’m not you, Summer. People have different ways of coping.”
She went silent for a moment but didn’t leave. I wasn’t sure how that made me feel. “I think my mom is drunk,” Summer finally whispered with a confused frown. It was like the words were foreign on her lips.
“She could be,” I answered, not having the energy to censor my thoughts for her innocent mind. She’d have to grow up eventually, right? “Stuff like this makes people do stuff they normally wouldn’t.”