Page 68 of Boiling Point
His reply came slower, but steady.
We survive Monday. Then Tuesday. Then whatever comes next.
I stared at the screen, the ache in my chest sharper but somehow sweeter.
I wish you were here.
So do I, love. More than you know.
Chapter 25
Callum
Ijoined the video call at 5:59 a.m.
The house was still, wrapped in the kind of deep winter darkness that resisted morning. Outside, the sky was a solid slate—no hint of light yet on the horizon. My office windows arched high overhead, cold glass reflecting the soft glow of the two lamps I’d switched on. The blinds were half-drawn, shielding the room from the void beyond. Everything was where it should be—books aligned, papers neatly stacked—control in physical form.
I didn’t usually notice the silence in here. More accurately, I usually treasured it. But not today. Today, the room felt off-balance, like something was missing.
Or someone.
I straightened my tie—navy with a pale blue diagonal stripe—and adjusted the starched collar of my shirt. Lecture wasn’t until eight, but I needed the structure this morning. The discipline. Something to counteract the ache I hadn’t quite shaken from the night before.
The laptop fan hummed.
The clock ticked over, and the screen flickered, then filled with Isabel’s face.
Auburn hair swept back. Pearl studs. A red silk blouse that probably cost more than my motorcycle. She was sitting in one of her drawing rooms by the look of it—tasteful, muted, curated to the inch.
She didn’t smile.
“Well,” she said, lifting her teacup in a lazy sort of salute. “It’s a bit bloody early, isn’t it?”
“Lovely to see you too, sister dear.”
Her mouth curled into a wry half-smile. “I’m always glad to hear from my darling baby brother.” Her tone turned pouty. “Sometimes I feel you’ve forgotten I exist.”
“Never,” I said, stretching back in my chair.
She arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow and set down her teacup with a soft clink. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this ‘urgent’ call? What time is it there, anyway?”
“Six.”
“Ugh,” she groaned. “I’ve barely gone to bed by then.”
“Some of us have responsibilities.” I glanced at the clock, willing time to move faster and slower all at once.
“Some of us know how to live,” she quipped, a sly smile playing on her lips. “And here I thought you’d become a proper American hedonist by now.”
“You know me better than that.”
“Yes,” she said, eyes bright with amusement.
The old game of verbal chess—Isabel’s favorite. She played it with surgical precision and a hint of mischief, never revealing how many moves ahead she was.
“How’s the wedding planning?” I asked, the weight of what I needed to say pressing at the edge of my words. “Still on for May?”
“Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “Mother’s being impossible, as usual. It’s a second wedding, so you’d think it wouldn’t be such a production. But she’s got to have it her own way.”
