Page 115 of Endgame

Cal has never once raised his voice at me or shown any sign of distress, always having it all together.

The twisted side of my brain is thankful he’s shown proof of being human—something less than perfect.

I’ve shown him more of my flaws than I’m proud of, butif I know anything about relationships, which isn’t much, those parts are equally as important as those suggesting control.

Working through this together will give us both the solace we need.

He stands rigidly by the Jeep, and my body feels a rush of coldness.

Letting the darkness of the night act as a shield to my vulnerability, I speak out to him, “Callaway.”

Sorrow reads in my tone, no doubt letting him know I’m upset.

At this point, I couldn't care less if he knew I broke down with his sister.

I’m standing three feet away from him, unmoving, waiting for his words to creep in; my gold paper clip bracelet is the only object of my concentration at the moment. I can’t let myself look at him.

I’m giving him a chance to start.

Why does this feel so painful, and we have yet to even speak?

This is why I’ve avoidedlove for so long.

“I think it’s best if I take you home. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

Surely, I misheard him.

His frustration doesn’t bother me. At least it’s showing me how he reallyfeels, but I won’t accept his dismissal.

I don’t have it in me to be silenced again.

“No.”

Cal’s head jerks in my direction, clearly thrown off by my refusal.

Well, you can kiss my ass, Ocean Eyes.

I’m not going anywhere until we talk.

The coldness in his stare is tangible. I shouldn’t bemaking excuses for him, but I know this isn’t him. This is the side of Callaway Hayes that screams fear and potential loss. If he had asked me about the job, he would know I declined it, and all of this could have been avoided, at least the him leaving part.

Except, he assumed the worst in me over something hethoughthe heard without letting me speak for myself.

Therefore, I have a right to be upset.

However, I know he’s hurting too, and that makes my pain greater.

I have to stand my ground before I fall at his feet.

“What are we doing, Callaway?”

I’m being assertive with him for once.

His blue eyes latch onto mine. He’s eyeing me up and down, not like a meal for once, but more like he’s trying to commit me to memory in case this ends between us. I can’t stand it.

He resembles the definition of a tortured man.

His black hair, which was neatly styled at one point tonight, is a disaster on top of his head, and he couldn’t look more tortured if he tried. I’ll take him any way he lets me, even frustrated and from a distance.

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