Page 26 of Cautious

“He’s fine, says to say hey to you,” Kellen answers, not wanting to fill Callie in on the trouble Aiden’s been having. Not that we can really talk about an active case with her.

“Aw, tell him I said hey back. Oh, that reminds me, I’m supposed to be having dinner tonight with Oliva and her husband. Want to go with me?” she asks me over her shoulder.

I like Olivia and Wade. They are good people. “Sure, sounds good. What time?”

“I have to be there at six thirty, but I can always drive, and you can meet me there when you finish.”

“That will work. Marcus and I are giving a talk over at the shelter in Wellington. I can come straight from there.”

Her body goes rock-solid on mine, making me frown at her.What the fuck?

“Callie? You okay?”

She coughs and takes a sip of water from the bottle on the table before nodding. “Yeah, sorry, it just went down the wrong way.”

I take her plate from her and slide it onto the table before lifting her and dragging her down the hall to my office, closing the door behind me.

“Talk to me, Callie,” I tell her firmly as she wanders over to the window.

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Callie,” I start but she throws her hands up in exasperation.

“What do you want from me, Blake? Want me to admit that I’m acutely aware of the amenities the shelter in Wellington offers because I stayed there once before?”

“I didn’t know that. But baby, there is no shame in it. It means your mother was finally strong enough to seek help,” I say softly, wondering if she might open up to me.

“Don’t,” she snaps as I edge closer to her.

“Callie, you should talk to someone. If you can’t talk to me, maybe someone from Wellington can help,” I offer, even though I’d rather she felt comfortable enough to confide in me.

She cuts me off with a snort of disbelief. “Why? They didn’t believe me before. Why would they believe me now?”

I take another slow step toward her, sensing we are heading into dangerous territory. “What didn’t they believe, Callie?” I ask carefully, trying to keep her calm.

“When I told them about my father. They looked at me with pity, much like you’re doing now. But nothing I said or did could convince them that I was the one telling the truth.”

“Callie.” I don’t say anything more, feeling way out of my depth here. Her father pleaded guilty. He admitted in open court what he did to her. She doesn’t need to protect him anymore.

“Forget it, I have to go. Don’t worry about dinner tonight. I think I’d like a little space.” She moves to step around me, but I grab her arm gently.

“Let me in. Talk to me,” I urge. If she would just get it all out, maybe she would finally see the truth.

“Why? You hear my words, but you’re not really listening.” She pulls free, and I let her go, knowing keeping her here will only upset her further.

“I hate that you’re holding back from me,” I tell her foolishly, but I’m frustrated by my inability to help her.

She turns her angry glare to my desk for a moment before stomping forward and snatching up a photo of my old army teammates and me. It’s a candid shot taken back before I was discharged and started Price Security. Back before I came home. Back before they all died and left me alone to deal with the grief and guilt of walking away while what was left of them came home in wooden boxes.

“I’m not the only one holding back, Blake. So instead of trying to fix me, why don’t you work on your own bullshit,” she snaps, pressing the photo into my chest before turning and heading back toward the door.

“It’s not the same thing, Callie,” I protest with gritted teeth.

“Did someone die? Do you feel guilty that you couldn’t save them? Do you question every decision you made and wonder if you had just done something more that they might still be here now?” she shouts, as she swipes angrily at the tear that runs down her cheek.

I can’t speak, so I offer her a small jerky nod. The wound is still too raw for me to talk about. It might have scabbed over a little, but it never heals completely. It’s a constant reminder of what I lost, of how much I bled, agonizing over what I can’t change.

“Then it’s exactly the same fucking thing,” she bites out with less anger but there is so much pain in her voice. “I have to go,” she mumbles, then she’s out the door and gone before I even have time to process everything.

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