Page 98 of Keepsakes and Kismet

Callum sets down the weights. “You’re not even working⁠—”

“I’m gonna cut you off right there, Cal.” Carter holds his hand out in a “stop” motion. “First of all, no Peyton slander in my gym. Second of all, laughter is good for the core.”

“Thank you, Carter.” I stand and brush myself off. “Okay, enough about baby Callum. Tell me all about high school Callum.” I nudge my boyfriend. “I bet you were just, like, the under-the-radar boy that all the girls at Waterton High were secretly in love with, huh? I need to know who I should keep an eye out for at town meetings.”

The teasing look on Carter’s face disappears. Callum says nothing and picks up the weights again, putting one leg in front of him. It’s like I sucked all the air out of the room.

“Come on,” I say, trying to bring some life back into the conversation, “at least give me the details about the big teenage milestones. Prom?”

“I didn’t go to prom,” Callum says quietly.

“Not a dance guy, hm? Actually, that makes sense to me.” I glance at Carter, who’s toweling his face in the corner. “Tell me if this man is as good of an athlete as I think. He’s always so modest, but I bet he was Captain of Sports, right?”

Something’s off. Carter glances at Callum with questioning eyes, almost like he doesn’t want to talk without his permission—which is the opposite of Carter’s entire personality.

Callum shakes his head, answering for his brother. “No. They only make seniors captains, and I quit the team after sophomore year.”

I rarely feel awkward anywhere, but I’m heading down that path in this fitness room with two suddenly silent siblings. I pick up the water bottle I borrowed from Callum’s house and take a swig, but nothing comes out. “I’m going to fill this up. Be right back.”

I walk out in a hurry, trying to escape whatever curse I cast upon the Galvin boys. A few men stare at me as I pass them on my way to the fountain, and I’m immediately uncomfortable. I fold my arms over the sliver of exposed stomach beneath my workout top until I finally reach the hallway.

Quickly refilling my bottle, I decide not to delude myself. It’s obvious Callum’s trauma happened in high school. And it’s even more obvious that he doesn’t want to talk about it with me. I tilt my head to each side, stretching out my tense neck, and twist on the bottle cap.

After a power-walk back down the hallway in an attempt to avoid any wandering stares, I arrive at the fitness room doors. I’m about to head in, but the tone of the voices inside makes it sound like I’d be interrupting something.

“We’re just worried about you.” Carter’s voice travels through the crack in the door.

“Don’t be. Contrary to popular belief, I’ve survived several Novembers before this one.” Callum’s voice carries an air of frustration.

I know it’s wrong to listen, but it doesn’t feel right to barge in, either. Maybe I should just go back to the drinking fountain. No. Not an option. I can’t find it in me to walk by a bunch of gym bros on my own again.

Carter sighs. “I know, Cal. But you know how you get⁠—”

“How I get? Actually, no. I don’t know how I get, Carter. Why don’t you explain it to me?”

Whoa. Callum sounds downright resentful. I haven’t heard this side of him before, and my instinct is to burst into the room and protect him. But hesitation gets the better of me, and I linger outside the door.

“You have to understand where we’re coming from. We’ve watched you… I’ve watched you become…” Carter’s voice gets muffled, quieter now.

I hear a loud sniff from the hallway, and my stomach drops. Is one of them crying?

“I love you, Cal.” Carter’s voice cracks. “And I only want to help. I can’t imagine how hard this week is for you, but I’m here for you, as your brother, if you need anything.”

“What I need is for you and everyone else to stop treating me like I’m made of glass. You act like the headway I’ve made is meaningless. It’s offensive,” Callum replies, his tone laced with bitterness.

“Okay. Fine. Have it your way.” Carter seems to be losing the battle in whatever they’re talking about.

I’m sure they’ll wrap up soon. It’ll only be another minute. Just another minute, then I’ll walk in. I hedge a glance through the crack in the door, trying to read their body language. Based on Carter’s hunched posture and Callum’s ram-rod back, it might not be the right time yet. Carter rubs his eyes, and Callum sighs.

Why is Callum still hiding his PTSD from me? I don’t want to push him, but we’re together now. Something has to give. I suck in a breath of resolve. I’m going to bring it up when I go inside. I’ll do it gently, but I want to show him that he can trust me.

Neither one of them speaks again, and I take that as my cue to join them. Carter wipes his neck with a towel, and Callum’s face splits into a shaky smile upon seeing me.

“No offense, but you two look a little worse for wear. What happened when I left? Did Carter make you do a thousand burpees or something?” I joke, trying to break some of the tension.

Carter laughs, but it sounds manufactured. “Come on, Peyton. This guy? He rarely does cardio. There’s no way he’d make it past fifteen.”

Callum breathes out a laugh, and my eyes bounce back and forth between them.