Page 125 of Chaos at Westbrook High

Then one day she walked in with them, the Kingston brothers, and I didn’t think she was cool anymore. I thought she was a money grabbing Kingston wannabe. When Derek lied to me and told me she slept with him behind Damon’s back and almost got my brother killed, I hated her.

Now though, seeing her curled up on one of the daybeds on the roof of Kingston Palace, a bottle of vodka in one hand, a joint in the other, her makeup rolling down her face in two thick black lines, I know I was wrong about her—both times. She’s not cozying up with the Kingstons for their money, and she’s not cool. Nothing about her life is cool. Her life is messy and complicated and horrifying. I don’t know the whole story—honestly, I’m not sure I want to—but I know enough. Someone hurt her. Badly. Someone who was supposed to protect her. Someone she was supposed to be able to trust to keep her safe. Someone who was supposed to love her the way a father loves his daughter.

That man could have broken her, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. Because she didn’t allow him to break her. Her trauma didn’t make her stronger. She made herself stronger. She forced herself to get back up every time he knocked her down. She’s a fighter, through and through, and she fought for herself when she had no one to fight for her.

She has a massive heart in that chest she pretends is hollow to the rest of the world. She’d kill someone in cold blood for those boys downstairs. She’d die for them without a second thought. She loves them more than anything. She cares so fiercely about the people fortunate enough to be loved by her while not giving a single fuck about what anyone else thinks about her.

Which is why I don’t understand why she’s so triggered by what Katherine said to her. Why does she care so much about what Katherine thinks? Callie wouldn’t make a terrible mother. Anyone who thinks so doesn’t know the girl in front of me. She’d make an incredible mother. She’d be the mother Val was to me. The mother Claire was to Kai and her boys.

Even though I’m pretty sure she’s aware I’m here, I clear my throat to make my presence known. “Callie?”

She doesn’t even look at me. I slowly step in front of her, letting her see my intent. When her eyes close and more tears slip free, I kneel on the bed and curl up beside her, reaching up to her right ear to tuck her hair behind it and take the wireless headphone out. Curling my palm around it, I tuck my hands beneath my cheek.

She’s quiet for a long time before she asks, “Did you come looking for me?”

I nod.

“How did you know I’d be up here?”

“Wren.”

Her eyes squeeze shut again. “What did he say?”

I don’t think she’s mad that he said anything to me—he wouldn’t have done it if he thought she would be—but I already know it’s best not to repeat any of it.

“Some things,” I say. “What are you doing?”

“Drowning my sadness.” She tips the vodka bottle back and swallows a mouthful, wincing as it goes down her throat.

“Is it working?”

“Yes.”

I think that’s the first time she’s ever lied to me.

“You can’t do it downstairs?”

“There’s an addict down there.”

My brows dip. I didn’t miss the way she didn’t put any weed in the brownies she made, or that she and Wren haven’t been smoking it around Derek.

“Why are you so considerate of him? You owe him nothing.”

She drinks some more vodka. “Damon wants to have children.”

I blink, stunned. Not just at the words, but at the fact she said them at all. I didn’t come up here expecting her to talk to me about anything.

“Now?”

She shakes her head, then shrugs. “Someday.”

“And…you don’t?”

She shakes her head again, more fiercely this time.

“Never?”

“Never,” she whispers.

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