Page 130 of Endgame

With one glance in the mirror, I see the souvenir Callawayleft me from our night in the sheets front and center on my face. I’m covered in his dried cum, what’s left of it, at least.

I remember feeling him clean me off, but we both must have been so delirious we didn’t notice the poor job.

Cute, Dakota, cute.

I’m smirking before I realize it, loving that he marked me enough to leave a visual for me to wake up to. He did promise to make a mess of me, and it’s evident he’s true to his word.

Mission accomplished, Mr. Hayes.

After washing myself clean, I wrap myself in a towel, apply my morning skincare, and brush my teeth, looking forward to what today holds.

The carwash fundraiser starts in a couple of hours supporting Jack and Taylor. Navy busted her ass to make this happen and quickly, giving Jack no room to fight us on it.

He thinks the guys are meeting at Smoothie King to get together outside the field for once. Little does he know, everyone who loves him will be there, ready to flaunt their bodies for a cause. I’ll take the opportunity to support my boss and friend, while teasing Callaway in public, a victory I’ll gladly claim.

Let’s hope I can walk without looking like a newborn calf.

Opening the bathroom door, my attempt at holding in the groans fighting to escape my mouth stops short at the sight of Callaway sitting at the end of my bed with a photo in his hands—afamiliar photo of my parents, to be specific.

I’m not sure I can process what’s happening before he speaks up, my presence announced in the room, instantly bringing tears to my eyes. “She looks like you.”

My heart is in my stomach; Idolook like her. Our eyes and hair are almost identical, both with hazel eyes, althoughMom’s hair is slightly darker than mine. I don’t know how else to respond.

“Yeah, she did.”

I wouldn’t say I’m upset he went through my things. It’s my fault, I guess, for leaving the box out in the open. That part of my life has always felt solely mine, and I’ve never had anyone care enough to go there, in the emotional sense. It’s always been me and the memories of them that hold me together on the most challenging days.

Having someone from the outside who never knew them and wants to know about them throws me a little off-center.

I love him for noticing our resemblance. It was one of my favorite compliments to receive from strangers. Better yet, I would hope my heart displayed the likeness of hers. My mom loved boldly, and I felt it every day around her.

Lifting my head slightly, my eyes home in on the wilted frame from afar, gold pieces flaking from its age, leaving black knicks in their place. It feels freeing to look at it without feeling mind-numbing agony.

Callaway has yet to shift his eyes elsewhere, making my heart leap at the depth of his care for the two most influential people in my life.

I walk carefully in his direction, joining him at the side of the bed. The silence between us is deafening, but respect lingers.

Reaching my hand out to where the frame rests between his hands, I run my finger across Mom’s face as a tear escapes, blurring my vision. Elation over my emotional growth hits me, bringing tears of love and gratitude rather than sadness. I smile tenderly to myself.

“I haven’t been able to look at this photo since their death.” It’s a statement that has so much weight but nowgives me the freedom to reminisce on the happier times with them.

“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been. I wish I could have met them.”

I wish that too.

I know my dad would have loved Cal. His love for baseball is the thing I know would’ve had them hitting it off from the start.

If I allow myself, I can dream of my dad and Callaway lounging on the couch watching the game while mom and I cooked, topping off their beers, and sipping our wine in the kitchen. She always served dad well, while he served her in other ways. It was always a give and take relationship with equal devotion to each other.

“They would have loved you.”

His soft smile brings a warmth to me I can’t explain. Callaway has become such a shelter of refuge for me. He’s been consistent in his care while I weathered and fought emotions that consumed me. I recognize I wouldn’t have made it to the healthy place I am now without him.

I need to let him know that.

My hand falls from the frame, grabbing his intimately, hoping my words of gratitude register with him. “I never thanked you,” his eyes shoot up in question, waiting for me to continue, “for seeing something in me no one else saw. I refused to be a burden to someone I care about with the weight of their deaths swallowing me whole. But you saw past that. You saw past my damage and gave me room to breathe and heal. I’m so thankful you cared enough to hold out for me. You never once doubted we would work out or pressured me to face it sooner than I was ready for. I’m madly in love with you for that.”

I’ll never stop thanking him for pulling me out of the darkness—no task too big for my guy.

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