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Callie is so intent on ignoring me, she’s oblivious to all of this. “That’s it, Mr. Carter. Just initial here and we’re good to go.” Her grin is professional.
I wait until the father walks away before stepping into her space. “Didn’t know you were moonlighting as school staff these days, Alley cat.”
She stiffens at the nickname. “It’s a favor for Aspen.”
The tension between us is a living thing, thick enough to touch. Ten years of unspoken words, apologies, accusations hover in the air between us like a grenade. Someone has to reach out and pull the pin.
“Callie, about what happened—”
“Don’t.” She glances around, making sure no one’s within earshot. “This isn’t the time or place.”
“Then when is?” I lean in closer, lowering my voice. “You can’t avoid me forever. Not in Big Ridge.”
A muscle twitches in her jaw. “Watch me.”
There’s so much I want to say. How Jax and I spent months searching for her after she left. How Knox nearly drank himself into oblivion. How nothing’s felt right since she disappeared. How dad asked for her on his death bed, and she wouldn’t answer our calls. The last part makes me a little angry. I know she was hurt, but she turned around and hurt the people who loved her too.
Before I can get another word in, Aspen’s voice cuts through the room, hands clapping for attention.
“All right, everyone! Time to start our day! Parents, thank you for dropping off your little ones. Kids, let’s line up by grade level!”
Callie steps back, relief washing over her face at the interruption. “Duty calls.”
“This conversation isn’t over,” I tell her, watching her eyes narrow.
“It was ten years ago. Let it go.”
I shake my head, letting her walk away for now. But only for now. I’ve waited too long for a second chance. I’ll be damned if I’m letting her slip through my fingers again.
Callie’s been on my mind all morning, so much so that I forgot to print out the writing practice sheets. As soon as I get the class settled on a task and make sure the assistant is okay to be alone for a moment, I head to the office, heaving out a heavy breath.
Summer school is always hard. A lot of the kids are here because they didn’t have the proper support at home or because traditional schools aren’t the best setting for them. It’s nice to be able to help them progress, but somehow the short few weeks I’m with them is always more exhausting than an entire school year.
I turn a corner and run straight into Callie, who’s wide-eyed and panicked outside of her classroom full of students. “Whoa, everything okay?”
She looks at me, and I expect walls, her icing me out again, but there’s vulnerability in her gaze that makes me instantly protective.
“What happened?”
“What if I can’t do it?” Her eyes flick back and forth between mine. “What if I can’t teach them art?”
“Well, they’re kids, not college students. All you have to do is teach them how to have fun and be creative.”
“How do I do that if I can’t even do that anymore?” she asks, desperation coloring her tone.
I don’t know what or who made her doubt herself, but she has to know how amazing she is. “Do you remember that night we stayed up late watching movies and you drew that picture of Jax eating pizza?”
“That was terrible,” she mutters.
“No, it was funny, and oddly realistic.” I tug out my phone, flip through the pictures until I find one of me and my brothers in our living room. Dad framed that drawing and put it next to the TV. I zoom in and show it to her.
“I can’t believe you still have that,” she says softly, eyebrows pinching.
“We kept it because it made us feel something. It was a memory.” My gaze lifts to meet hers. “It was special, just like you.”
“I’m not special,” she says with a shake of her head, pulling away.
Catching her arm, I study her. “I don’t know who told you that or made you feel that way, but you, Callie Mae Harrison, have always been extraordinary. If you never believe me about anything else ever again, believe that, because it’s true.”
