It was everything he remembered—and more. Fireworks exploded behind his eyes at the touch of their lips. Her hand tunneled into the hair at his nape. She met his kiss with a fiery passion that had been banked when he'd known her at eighteen. Banked, then snuffed because of what he'd done.
He couldn't hurt her again.
He broke away, breath harsh in the evening stillness. With his awkward leg and only one crutch to support him, he couldn't escape like he wanted to, couldn't run out into the night.
She'd gone perfectly still, one hand still resting on his chest, her other arm around his neck.
She didn't look up at him, which was a good thing, because he couldn't bear to see the hope and sweetness in her face, not when there was still so much between them.
He shouldn't have kissed her.
It was just going to muddy the waters between them. This was supposed to be one friend helping another get back on his feet. Nothing more.
He couldn't afford to get involved with her again, not when both their hearts would get ripped to shreds when things fell apart. And they were bound to fall apart. Hadn't he learned he was just like his pops? Everything he touched, he broke.
He couldn't allow that to happen. He couldn't spiral into the self-defeating behaviors he'd fought too hard to climb out of. He had the boys to think about now.
And he couldn't bear to hurt Iris again, not when he'd loved her so much back then...
And remnants of those feelings remained.
He didn't know what to say, how to keep from hurting her. How to extricate himself.
He only knew that he had to.
"You should get back inside," he said, unsteadily. He couldn't find his feet here.
She nodded, silent, her hair brushing the end-of-day bristle at his chin. He thought he saw the silver of tears on her cheeks.
But then she rose up on her tiptoes again and brushed his lips with the sweetest kiss before she quickly turned and went back into the house.
He clutched the porch railing for a long time, staring out into the darkness. Battling with himself.
He knew her dad was itching for a chance to reveal everything. Callum's role in Champ's death. Wouldn't it hurt worse coming from her dad, who Callum knew she still didn't have a good relationship with?
If Callum told her, he'd watch that light in her eyes fade. He'd kill every positive feeling she had for him—and probably ruin her friendship with the boys in the deal.
He didn't know what the right thing was. And when he went to bed later that night, he still didn't know. He only knew that he'd gotten too close.
He wasn't immune to Iris. He could fall in love with her again so easily.
And that was more dangerous than getting on the back of a two-ton bull.
12
Iris woke from a sound sleep to sunlight streaming in the living room window and two boys bouncing on the couch at her feet. The other was bouncing on her stomach. Rowdy put his paws on the side of her mattress and barked, following the boys' noisy examples. The wall clock showed it was still early, but the boys seemed full of boundless energy.
"Oof!" she cried out.
"Iris, Iris!" they chanted.
She felt out of touch with reality as she stumbled upstairs and through a few ablutions that would hold her until she could enlist help. It had been a long time after she'd climbed into bed last night before she'd been able to fall asleep.
She'd kissed Callum.
The minty smell of her toothpaste filled her nose and brought her further awake, but she could barely look at herself in the mirror as she threw her hair into a ponytail. What she saw there wasn't the self-recrimination she should feel.
But a hope that she couldn't deny.
She still loved him.
Oh, she knew how imperfect he was. Knew he was still keeping secrets from her.
But he was still the same person who had shied away from her at seventeen because he'd thought her too good for him.
He was still Callum.
And her heart was still vulnerable to the broken man behind his independent facade.
She hustled the boys downstairs, attempting to get them to be quieter than a herd of elephants so that Jilly might sleep. Callum was already up, casted leg stuck out to one side.
The table had been set with sippy cups full of milk and plates of cut apples, and the boys rushed to their seats, shouting good mornings to Callum. Rowdy sat expectantly beneath the table, knowing there was a good chance someone would drop him a scrap.
"Morning," she greeted.
He nodded, his focus on the toast he was slathering jam onto, and all she got was his profile. Judging from the creases around his mouth and eyes, he'd gotten just as little sleep as she had.
She'd expected him to be reserved this morning. Hadn't he done the same the day after their very first kiss, when she'd been seventeen?
"I like this strategy of getting them eating before they have time to get antsy," she said.
He'd started a pot of coffee, and she poured herself a cup and one for him, too. When she sat it at his elbow, the corner of his mouth tilted up. "That was one I figured out early. If I locked them in their highchairs with some cheerios to keep them quiet, I could get their breakfast made. Didn't always have time for breakfast myself."
"I can imagine."
This time when her mind painted the picture of the boys as toddlers and Callum being domestic in the kitchen, she didn't experience a pang of remorse, imagining herself in the picture.
Okay, the pang was still there, but smaller.
Their course had changed. Things hadn't worked out like she'd expected back when she'd been a naive eighteen-year-old.
But maybe God had brought Callum and the boys back to Redbud Trails now for a reason. If she could forgive his desertion, maybe they could be together.
Even as she toted the boys' toast to the table, she recognized the fault in her logic. There were still secrets between them, like the reason Callum had left in the first place. Add to that the issues with the boys' grandparents and the fact that her dad hated him. And she wasn't free of issues herself. Jilly needed her. There were so many problems, and she had no idea how they'd sort themselves out.
But the one emotion she felt over all others this morning was...hope.
"I'm starting back with my dance classes this afternoon. I thought I might take the boys with me," she said. He used one crutch to help him propel himself to his chair at the table, and even knowing that he'd give her a look, she dragged the extra chair over so he could prop his leg on it.
"Thanks," he said.
She patted his shoulder before she sat in her own chair, earning her a sideways glance, to which she responded with a sunny smile.
"You still take classes?" he asked over a bite of his own toast.
"Oh, I teach. It's a class for little kids, more exercise than technique."
He choked. "You want my boys to take ballet?"
At his discomfited look, she was forced to smother the laugh that wanted to erupt by clearing her throat. "It's more of a movement class than ballet," she said when she could speak without pealing in laughter.
She saw from his glare that he recognized she was barely holding it together.
"We wanna go with Iris," Brandt said through a mouthful of food.
"Don't talk with your—"
"—Mouth full." Her voice overlapped with Callum's.
"We wanna dance," Tyler echoed.
Callum looked as if he'd swallowed a mouthful of sawdust instead of the coffee. "Fine. I need a meeting with my...with someone. I'll ride with you."
The boys cheered until two forks flew out of their hands and onto the floor. Callum quieted them quickly with his admonishment.
They were going to dance class.
* * *
That afternoon Callum stood in a side hallway and watched through a window as Iris guided a dozen kids, including his sons, through a series of steps and twirls. It was organized chao
s, with several of the kids falling down and laughing and distracting the entire class.
At least the boys were wearing sweatpants, not tights.
And she loved it. He could see her enjoyment on her face as she directed them back in line and showed them the correct movements.
Apparently she taught several times a week here at the YMCA, on top of her gig as a volunteer first responder. She'd put her life on hold to take care of him and the boys while he was down. The familiar building still looked the same, smelled like dirty gym socks, just like it had five years ago. A basketball game was going on in the adjacent gym, and the slap of the ball at regular intervals was something he remembered from high school.
Her reaction this morning had been unexpected. He'd thought she would be tense, regretting what had happened the night before.
But the tension had been all on his side. He'd felt awareness zing through him the moment she'd walked into the kitchen. And she'd smiled at him, a real smile.
It had cut him to the quick.
And now he was here, watching her interact with his kids, having fun, joy shining from her entire being.
"She's amazing with them," said a feminine voice from beside him. He turned to see a woman he faintly recognized from his life in Redbud Trails before. Chrissy...it used to be Hannamen.
"Jarren is mine," she said, nodding to a little boy who was talking to his neighbor instead of paying attention to Iris.
"I'm glad mine aren't the only boys in there," he said.
Chrissy laughed. "His father felt the same way, but I'm told dance builds coordination. And he's so active, it's nice to have another outlet."
Amen to that. The boys wore him out when he was at full steam.
"Got your eye on the pretty teacher?" Sam's voice drew Callum's attention from the window. Callum took in his attorney friend's fancy suit as he approached.
His friend slapped him on the back, almost knocking Callum off his crutches.
"No," Callum said shortly. Denial. It was his best policy, the only thing he could think of now.
Sam's raised eyebrows were a challenge, but he didn't say anything more about Iris, only nodded to an alcove a few yards away. Callum followed him over where they'd have more privacy.
"How are the boys doing?" Sam asked.
"Active as ever. They're dancing with Iris."
"Seriously? Ha ha."
"What's doing with the lawsuit?" Callum asked, getting right to the point.
"I followed up with the police department. The report was amended."
Just like Iris had told him.
"But there were also notes that list Iris as a related party. It looks like they're trying to discount her testimony, if it comes to that."
He wanted to snarl, but Sam wasn't to blame. He knew whose fault it was.
"How can the town sue me if the accident was caused by someone else?"
Sam shrugged. "They're claiming negligence, and they are disclaiming that it was a hit-and-run."
"What do you think of my chances?"
"I think that if we can find a way to get it dismissed, that would be the best thing."
Callum shook his head, fixing his gaze on the opposite wall. Wade would never give up the suit, not when he could use it as leverage to get Callum to do what he wanted. And what he wanted was for Callum to leave town.
And Callum didn't want to leave Redbud Trails. He couldn't.
His life was here now, a new start for the boys. A future.
A future with Iris?
He didn't know if that were possible, if that were even something he should want.
Sam promised to keep hunting for a way out of the lawsuit before he left. Callum swung himself back toward the viewing window, unable to keep from watching Iris doing what came so naturally to her. Dance had been her passion back then. Clearly it still was.
Her injury had sent her home from New York City, but what kept her from teaching in a bigger city, where she'd have students with real promise? After Jilly recovered—and he hoped and prayed she would—would Iris leave Redbud Trails behind?
* * *
After they'd returned home, Callum stood on the back porch, listening through the window to his sons chatter with Iris and someone else in the kitchen.
He'd dawdled coming inside, missing the outdoors. He couldn't exactly clomp around the place with his crutches and cast. And though he might've tried, he was enjoying listening to them talk.
It was obvious from their chatter that they didn't know he was out here.
The back door was open, leaving the screen between them; he stood to one side, out of their line of sight.
"And I rode a pony—" That must be Brandt. He'd talked about nothing else for a week after Iris and Jilly had put the boys up on a pony and carted them around the corral just outside the barn.
"And we went to dance class with Iris—"
"And I pushed the cart at the grocery store!"
Callum stifled a smile, aware of how unhelpful the boys' help could be.
A softer voice answered, not loud enough for Callum to identify.
Who were they talking to? If they were detailing all their latest exploits for the person, it had to be someone who wasn't in their day-to-day lives. He hadn't noticed anyone come up the drive, but then he hadn't been paying particular attention.
Did Iris have a friend over? A date?
The idea made Callum's breath saw unevenly in his chest. He had purposely kept from asking about any men in her life, thinking if he didn't know she had a boyfriend, it would hurt less. But just thinking about her with someone else revealed that notion as false. It hurt.
Because he wanted her back. Against his better judgment, knowing that if and when she found out about how he'd let her father run him out of town, she would hate him. He was willing to take the chance. He wanted her back in his life.
"He's getting better every day," Iris said. "Grumpy, but that's to be expected when an active guy like Callum is stuck on his derrière for too long."
She was talking about him? And she sounded affectionate, even though the words had been a teasing insult.
"Where's grandpa?" one of the boys questioned loudly, and the hair on the back of Callum's neck rose, along with his suspicion.
Grandpa? Just who were they talking to? Did Iris have Maude in there? How dare she?
Temper flying, he pushed his crutches so hard they bumped against the doorframe. He pulled the screen door open with a screech that echoed the turmoil of his emotions. Almost tripping over Iris's little dog as it scooted outside, he rushed in so quickly that his second crutch got caught between the screen and doorframe, hampering him. He yanked it out.
"What's going on in here?" he thundered.
The boys flinched, and Tyler's face scrunched up like he was about to cry.
It didn't take more than a few seconds to see exactly what was going on. Iris held a tablet facing the boys, and his mother-in-law's face shone through on the screen. A video call.
He stifled a curse—barely—because of the small eyes and ears watching his every move.
"I'd better go," Maude said, her voice subdued.
A chorus of "But, Grandma..." echoed across the table, Brandt and Levi forgetting or ignoring their father's flaring temper. Tyler's eyes were riveted to Callum, who was struggling for a thread of sanity to hold onto.
"I love you, boys."
The screen went black. And through the red haze in his vision, he watched Iris set the tablet down on the table with shaking hands.
Good. He hoped she was scared. How could she have betrayed him like this?
One small part of him knew he was being irrational, that he was scaring his sons, but the fear had roared up. That woman had tried to steal his sons. No matter that a year and a half had passed, that fear, that fury, would never go away
He was breathing like he'd run a 5K instead of just stepping in from the porch.
He saw Iris round the table and bury her hand in Tyl
er's hair, offering comfort even as she reproached him with a glare.
She was blaming him?
"Everything's all right now." He gritted his teeth and spoke in as even a voice as he could muster. "Why don't you three go out and run around in the back yard? I'll watch you from the porch."
Brandt and Levi didn't seem to register anything was wrong as they jumped off their chairs and ran, screaming, out the back door.
Tyler moved more slowly, glancing at Callum as he did so.
Iris rushed through the door behind the boys before Callum could maneuver his crutches through the door he'd just entered.
His entire head felt hot, like it was about to explode. He was steamed.
Iris stood on the porch, looking out at the boys with her hands on the railing. Waiting for him?
"I can't believe you blew up like that in front of them."
He'd never blown up at her when they'd dated before, never had cause. Never wanted her to see the darker side of his temper.
But the pervasive fear still snaking its way through him showed itself as temper, and he couldn't stop it.
"I can't believe you would do something like allow that witch to have contact with my boys." His voice was raised, he knew it, but he couldn't stop. "There's a restraining order for a reason—"
"I read the restraining order." She whirled around to face him, her eyes flashing. "Maude emailed me a copy."
Bile rose in his throat at the easy way she said his mother-in-law's name. Like they were friends.
"And the order says she can't have physical contact with them, but it doesn't state anything about phone or video contact."
"I know what it says," he spat. He wanted to roar the words, but he was acutely aware of Tyler, who'd wandered closer to the porch with his thumb in his mouth. "It was written that way because they were babies and couldn't talk on the phone. They still aren't old enough to operate a phone. I'll have to refile it when they're ten."
He wanted to spin away from the emotion in her eyes, the moisture pooling there. But he was stuck on the crutches, so he had to settle for jerking his chin in the opposite direction.
"I can't believe you would betray me like this."
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