Page 96 of Callum

“What now?”

“Now, we wait.”

Leaning back in the passenger seat, I watch Callum pull back onto the main road into Forest Falls. It’s a twenty-minute drive to the Safe House from here, and I half expect us to spend it in silence.

“I’m sorry.”

Callum’s words are surprising, not just because they’re an apology. “For what?”

He snorts, flipping on the turn signal as we roll to a stop at the first light in town. “For everything. For asking you to choose between me and the GiGi’s when they were the only family you had. For leaving you here alone. For changing my phone number. For not coming back sooner. For not trying to find you when I did come back. For—”

“I get it,” I laugh, reaching for his hand. He threads our fingers together with a soft squeeze. “I’m sorry, too.”

“For picking a jackass for a boyfriend?”

“Oh, obviously,” I snort at the hurt sound he makes. “No, you dipshit. For not choosing you that day. And for everything that came after. None of this would have happened if I had tried harder to find you.”

Callum frowns, his eyes dancing over my face as he makes a right on Blue Spruce Lane. He doesn’t say anything else, and we drive in silence for several minutes before he makes a turn I’m not expecting.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

He pulls up outside an old church, the darkened stone speaking to years of battling the elements. I follow him out of the car, stopping to stare up at the stone bell tower. It’s a beautiful building, but I can’t understand what we’re doing here.

“Come on,” Callum holds a hand out, waiting for me to place my palm in his.

“Why are we here?”

“Why do you think?”

“You’re going to sacrifice me for good luck?”

Callum snorts, pulling on my hand to get me to walk faster. “If I were going to sacrifice you,” he yanks on my arm, catapulting me in front of him until I’m standing at the chapel door. “I wouldn’t do it in a church.”

His chest is flush against my back as he whispers the words into my ear, and I can’t hide the way it makes my entire body shiver. “Are you saying you’ve thought about sacrificing me?”

“Many, many times.” He smiles sharply down at me, reaching out to open the chapel door. It’s a standard room, exactly what you would expect from an ancient Catholic church. Callum gently ushers me toward the altar, and my feet drag along the threadbare rug running the length of the center aisle.

“If you’re not sacrificing me, then what the Hell are we doing?”

“Can you say ‘Hell’ like that in church?”

“You just did.”

“Fair point,” he concedes, directing me toward the second row of pews. He must sense my hesitation because he laughs darkly in my ear. “Move, kitten.”

Halfway down the pew he pulls me to a stop, turning us both to face the altar. “This is the part where you kneel,” he presses a hand into my shoulder, forcing me to my knees. Thankfully, there’s a cushioned ledge behind the pew in front of us, so my knees don’t slam into the concrete floor.

Callum kneels gracefully beside me, and I have to resist the urge to punch him in the ribs. Even I know violence isn’t acceptable inside a church.

“And now,” he smiles conspiratorially before turning to face the front of the room. “You talk to God.”

“I don’t have anything to say to your God.”

“We both know that isn’t true, kitten.”

I don’t ask what he means by that. I gave up wondering how Callum knows so much about me a long time ago.

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