The Coincidence of Callie and Kayden

by Sorensen, Jessica

  The Coincidence of Callie and Kayden

  Jessica Sorensen

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2012 by Jessica Sorensen

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  For information: http://jessicasorensensblog.blogspot.com/

  Cover Design: Mae I Design

  http://www.maeidesign.com/

  Cover Models:

  Talia Haugdahl

  and

  Forres Rasmussen.

  The Coincindence of Callie and Kayden

  JESSICA SORENSEN

  Table of Contents:

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  For everyone who wasn't saved.

  Prologue

  Callie

  Life is full of luck, like getting dealt a good hand, or simply by being in the right place at the right time. Some people get luck handed to them, a second chance, a save. It can happen heroically, or by a simple coincidence, but there are those who don’t get luck on a shiny platter, who end up in the wrong place at the wrong time, who don’t get saved.

  “Callie, are you listening to me?” My mom asks as she parks the car in the driveway.

  I don’t answer, watching the leaves twirl in the wind across the yard, the hood of the car, wherever the breeze forces them to go. They have no control over their path in life. I have a desire to jump out, grab them all, and clutch them in my hand, but that would mean getting out of the car.

  “What is wrong with you tonight?” my mom snaps as she checks her phone messages. “Just go in and get your brother.”

  I tear my gaze off the leaves and focus on her. “Please don’t make me do this, Mom.” My sweaty hand grips the metal door handle and a massive lump lodges in my throat. “Can’t you just go in and get him?”

  “I have no desire to go into a party with a bunch of high school kids and I’m really not in the mood to chat it up with Maci right now, so she can brag about Kayden getting a scholarship,” my mother replies, motioning her manicured hand at me to get a move on. “Now go get your brother and tell him he needs to come home.”

  My shoulders hunch as I push the door open and hike up the gravel driveway toward the two-story mansion with green shutters and a steep roof. “Two more days, two more days,” I chant under my breath with my hands clenched into fists as I squeeze between the vehicles. “Only two more days and I’ll be in college and none of this will matter.”

  The lights through the windows illuminate against the grey sky and a “Congratulations” banner hangs above the entrance to the porch, decorated with balloons. The Owens always like to put on a show, for any reason they can think of; birthdays, holidays, graduations. They seem like the perfect family but I don’t believe in perfection.

  This party is to celebrate their youngest son Kayden’s graduation and his football scholarship to the University of Wyoming. I have nothing against the Owens. My family has dinner over at their house occasionally and they attend barbeques at our place. I just don’t like parties, nor have I been welcomed at one, at least since sixth grade.

  When I approach the wrap-around porch, Daisy Miller waltzes out with a glass in her hand. Her curly blond hair shines in the porch light as her eyes aim at me and a malicious grin curls at her lips.

  I dodge to the right of the stairs and swerve around the side of the house before she can insult me. The sun is lowering below the lines of the mountains that encase the town and stars sparkle across the sky like dragonflies. It’s hard to see once the lights of the front porch fade away and my shoe catches something sharp. I fall down and my palms split open against the gravel. Injuries on the outside are easy to endure and I get up without hesitation.

  I dust the pebbles from my hands, wincing from the burn of the scratches as I round the corner into the backyard.

  “I don’t give a shit what the hell you were trying to do,” a male voice cuts through the darkness. “You’re such a fuck up. A fucking disappointment.”

  I halt by the edge of the grass. Near the back fence is a brick pool house where two figures stand below a dim light. One is taller, with their head hanging low and their broad shoulders are stooped over. The shorter one has a beer gut, a bald spot on the back of his head, and is standing in the other’s face with their fists out in front of them. Squinting through the dark, I make out that the shorter one is Mr. Owens and the taller one is Kayden Owens. The situation is surprising since Kayden is very confident at school and has never been much of a target for violence.

  “I’m sorry,” Kayden mutters with a tremor in his voice as he hugs his hand against his chest. “It was an accident, sir. I won’t do it again.”

  I glance at the open back door where the lights are on, the music is loud, and people are dancing, shouting, laughing. Glasses clink together and I can feel the sexual tension bottled in the room from all the way out here. These are the kinds of places I avoid at all cost, because I can’t breathe very well in them. I move up to the bottom step tentatively, hoping to disappear into the crowd unnoticed, find my brother, and get the hell out of here.

  “Don’t fucking tell me it was an accident!” The voice rises, blazing with incomprehensible rage. There’s a loud bang and then a crack, like bones splitting into pieces. Instinctively I whirl around just in time to see Mr. Owens smash his fist into Kayden’s face. The crack makes my gut churn. He hits him again and again, not stopping even when Kayden crumples to the ground. “Liars get punished Kayden.”

  I wait for Kayden to get back up, but he stays unmoving not even bothering to cover his face with his arms. His father kicks him in the stomach, in the face, his movements harder, showing no sign of an approaching end.

  I react without thinking, a desire to save him burning so fiercely it washes all doubts from my mind. I run across the grass and through the leaves blowing in the air without a plan other than to interrupt. When I reach them, I’m shaking and verging toward shock as it becomes clear the situation is larger than my mind originally grasped.

  Mr. Owens’ knuckles are gashed and blood drips onto the cement in front of the pool house. Kayden is on the ground, his cheekbone cut open like a crack in the bark of a tree. His eye is swollen shut, his lip is ruptured, and there is blood all over his face.

  Their eyes move to me and I quickly point over my shoulder with a very unsteady finger. “There was someone looking for you in the kitchen,” I say to Mr. Owens, thankful that for once my voice maintains steadiness. “They needed help with something… I can’t remember what though.”

  His sharp gaze pierces into me and I cower back at the anger and powerlessness in his eyes, like his rage controls him. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Callie Lawrence,” I say quietly, noting the smell of liquor on his breath.

  His gaze travels from my worn shoes to the heavy black jacket with
buckles, and finally lands on my hair that barely brushes my chin. I look like a homeless person, but that’s the point. I want to be unnoticed. “Oh, yeah, you're Coach Lawrence’s daughter. I didn’t recognize you in the dark.” He glances down at the blood on his knuckles and then looks back at me. “Listen Callie, I didn’t mean for this to happen. It was an accident.”

  I don't do well under pressure so I stand motionless, listening to my heart knock inside my chest. “Okay.”

  “I need to go clean up,” he mutters. His gaze bores into me for a brief moment before he stomps across the grass toward the back door with his injured hand clasped beside him.

  I focus back on Kayden, releasing a breath trapped in my chest. “Are you okay?”

  He cups his hand over his eye, stares at his shoes, and keeps his other hand against his chest, seeming vulnerable, weak, and perplexed. For a second, I picture myself on the ground with bruises and cuts that can only be seen from the inside.

  “I’m fine.” His voice is harsh, so I turn toward the house, ready to bolt.

  “Why did you do that?” he calls out through the darkness.

  I stop on the line of the grass and turn to meet his eyes. “I did what anyone else would have done.”

  The eyebrow above his good eye dips down. “No, you didn’t.”

  Kayden and I have gone to school together since we were in kindergarten. Sadly this is the longest conversation we’ve had since about sixth grade when I was deemed the class weirdo. In the middle of the year, I showed up to school with my hair chopped off and wearing clothes that nearly swallowed me. After that, I lost all my friends. Even when our families have dinner together, Kayden pretends like he doesn’t know me.

  "You did what almost no one would have done." Lowering his hand from his eye, he staggers to his feet and towers over me as he straightens his legs. He is the kind of guy girls have an infatuation for, including me back when I saw guys as something else other than a threat. His brown hair flips at his ears and neck, his usually perfect smile is a bloody mess, and only one of his emerald eyes is visible. “I don’t understand why you did it.”

  I scratch at my forehead, my nervous habit when someone is really seeing me. “Well, I couldn’t just walk away. I’d never be able to forgive myself if I did.”

  The light from the house emphasizes the severity of his wounds and there is blood splattered all over his shirt. “You can’t tell anyone about this, okay? He’s been drinking… and going through some stuff. He’s not himself tonight.”

  I bite at my lip, unsure if I believe him. “Maybe you should tell someone… like your mom.”

  He stares at me like I’m a small, incompetent child. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  I eye his puffy face, his normally perfect features now distorted. “Alright, if that’s what you want.”

  “It’s what I want,” he says dismissively and I start to walk away. “Hey Callie, it’s Callie, right? Will you do me a favor?”

  I peer over my shoulder. “Sure. What?”

  “In the downstairs bathroom there’s a first aid kit, and in the freezer there’s an icepack. Would you go grab them for me? I don’t want to go in until I’ve cleaned up.”

  I’m desperate to leave, but the pleading in his tone overpowers me. “Yes, I can do that.” I leave him near the pool house to go inside where the very crowded atmosphere makes it hard to breathe. Tucking in my elbows and hoping no one will touch me, I weave through the people.

  Maci Owens, Kayden’s mother, is chatting with some of the other moms at the table and waves her hand at me, her gold and silver bangle bracelets jingling together. “Oh Callie, is your mom here, hun?” Her speech is slurred and there is an empty bottle of wine in front of her.

  “She’s out in the car,” I call out over the music as someone bumps into my shoulder and my muscles stiffen. “She was on the phone with my dad and sent me in to find my brother. Have you seen him?”

  “Sorry hun, I haven’t.” She motions her hand around with flourish. “There are just so many people here.”

  I give her a small wave. “Okay, well, I’m going to go look for him.” As I walk away, I wonder if she’s seen her husband and if she’ll question the cut on his hand.

  In the living room, my brother Jackson is sitting on the sofa, talking to his best friend, Caleb Miller. I freeze near the threshold, just out of their sight. They keep laughing and talking, drinking their beers, like nothing matters. I despise my brother for laughing, for being here, for making it so I have to go tell him mom is waiting out in the car.

  I start toward him, but I can’t get my feet to move. I know I need to get it over with, but there are people making out in the corners and dancing in the middle of the room and it’s making me uncomfortable. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Move feet, move.

  Someone runs into me and it nearly knocks me to the floor.

  “Sorry,” a deep voice apologizes.

  I catch myself on the doorframe and it breaks my trance. I hurry down the hall without bothering to see who ran into me. I need to get out of this place and breathe again.

  After I collect the first aid kit from the bottom cupboard and the icepack from the freezer, I take the long way out of the house, going through the side door unnoticed. Kayden’s not outside anymore, but the interior light of the pool house filters from the windows.

  Hesitantly, I push open the door and poke my head into the dimly lit room. “Hello.”

  Kayden walks out from the back room without a shirt on and a towel pressed up to his face, which is bright red and lumpy. “Hey, did you get the stuff?”

  I slip into the room and shut the door behind me. I hold out the first aid kit and the icepack, with my head turned toward the door to avoid looking at him. His bare chest, and the way his jeans ride low on his hips smothers me with uneasiness.

  “I don’t bite, Callie.” His tone is neutral as he takes the kit and the pack. “You don’t have to stare at the wall.”

  I compel my eyes to look at him and it’s hard not to stare at the scars that crisscross along his stomach and chest. The vertical lines that run down his forearms are the most disturbing, thick and jagged as if someone took a razor to his skin. I wish I could run my fingers along them and remove the pain and memories that are attached to them.

  He quickly lowers the towel to cover himself up and confusion gleams from his good eye as we stare at one another. My heart throbs inside my chest as a moment passes, like a snap of a finger, yet it seems to go on forever.

  He blinks and presses the pack to his inflamed eye while balancing the kit on the edge of the pool table. His fingers quiver as he pulls his hand back and each knuckle is scraped raw. “Can you get the gauze out of that for me? My hand’s a little sore.”

  As my fingers fumble to lift the latch, my fingernail catches in the crack, and it peels back. Blood pools out as I open the lid to retrieve the gauze. “You might need stitches on that cut below the eye. It looks bad.”

  He dabs the cut with the towel, wincing from the pain. “It’ll be fine. I just need to clean it up and get it covered.”

  The steaming hot water runs down my body, scorching my skin with red marks and blisters. I just want to feel clean again. I take the damp towel from him, careful not to let our fingers touch, and lean forward to examine the lesion, which is so deep the muscle and tissue is showing.

  “You really need stitches.” I suck the blood off my thumb. “Or you’re going to have a scar.”

  The corners of his lips tug up into a sad smile. “I can handle scars, especially ones that are on the outside.”

  I understand his meaning from the depths of my heart. “I really think you should have your mom take you to the doctor and then you can tell her what happened.”

  He starts to unwind a small section of gauze, but he accidentally drops it onto the floor. “That’ll never happen and even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. None of this does.”

  With unsteady fingers, I gather up the ga
uze and unravel it around my hand. Tearing the end, I grab the tape out of the kit. Then squeezing every last terrified thought from my mind, I reach toward his cheek. He remains very still, hugging his sore hand against his chest as I place the gauze over the wound. His eyes stay on me, his brows knit, and he barely breathes as I tape it in place.

  I pull back and an exhale eases out of my lips. He’s the first person I’ve intentionally touched outside my family for the last six years. “I would still consider getting stitches.”

  He closes the kit and wipes a droplet of blood off the lid. “Did you see my father inside?”

  “No.” My phone beeps from my pocket and I read over the text message. “I have to go. My mom’s waiting out in the car. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine.” He doesn’t glance up at me as he picks up the towel and heads toward the back room. “Alright, I’ll see you later, I guess.”