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—Caitlin’s Secret Thoughts
We sit in silence as Callen drives into the city to drop Declan off at his car.
No one dares to speak until we park next to Declan’s car.
He leans forward from the back seat and gently rubs my arm. “You’re going to be okay, Caitie. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you will be. And if you need anything at all, you know Annabelle and I will always be here for you.”
He presses a quick kiss to my head, this man who’s been an honorary uncle to me my whole life. “Anything, Caitie.”
I nod quickly. I have no words left to speak, and my emotions are all bubbling right there at the edge of my sanity. If I crack now, I’m not sure when or if I’ll stop.
“Thank you,” I manage to push past my lips almost inaudibly.
Callen waits for Declan to get in his car and pull away before he turns to me.
The car reeks of devastation.
It’s rolling off us both in waves.
“Do you need anything from the condo? I can call Killian and ask him to make sure no one is there.” I don’t know if I appreciate the kind gesture or if it pisses me off because I’m not ready to be anything other than mad.
“No. Can we just go to your house, please? I don’t want to see anyone.” The words whispered speak so much truth.
Ones I can’t even begin to understand the full extent of.
I don’t want to see a single soul.
Not even Callen.
I close my eyes, pull up the chunky blanket wrapped around me and turn away.
“Caitlin... we’re home.” His words are soft, but they hurt just the same.
This isn’t my home.
I can’t go home.
Not to where I’ve lived for the past four years and not to where I grew up.
Not now.
Callen helps me down from the truck, and I can’t help but pull away the second my feet hit the ground. “This was a bad idea.”
“Just come inside, Caitlin. We can talk or you can sleep. The decision is yours.”
I hate that I don’thatehim.
I can’t. But I want to.
It’s a weird thing... stepping into his space, but nothing about it screams Callen.
Whites and pale blues dominate the space with touches of navy and emerald. It’s soft and serene and completely unlike him, but it somehow fits. I stand in the center of the family room that’s open and airy and connected to the beautiful kitchen, and I’m suddenly clinging to my fury. “You really made this place your own, didn’t you?”
“We going with sarcasm instead of substance? I can do that, if it’s what you need. But I’m pretty fucking sure neither of us is going to sleep until we talk.”
What I need, not what I want.
