Page 222 of Callan

His stare shatters me to pieces.

“Here.”

Well-trained and versed, the housekeeper takes my coat while the bodyguards head to the kitchen to get coffee, maybe.

I make the call and inform Kayla about the news.

Poor girl, she can’t make sense of what I’m saying, but she does her best.

“I’ll tell you more when I get the chance.”

A few seconds pass.

“Is everything all right, Kenzie?”

His eyebrows go up as if he knows what she just said.

“Yes. Everything is fine. I’m fine.”

We end the call, and he holds his hand out for my phone.

“Am I grounded or something?” I say with irony in my voice.

His hand is still out, waiting for me to give him my phone.

I put it in his hand and sigh in frustration.

“You know where to go,” he says dryly, turning my phone off and taking out the sim card. He tucks everything in his pocket, so I have no chance of recuperating it and calling for help.

I spin around and walk up the stairs while his footsteps fade into the kitchen.

MACKENZIE

His bedroom awaitsme like an old friend.

It’s the only place in his house that gives me a good feeling. The memories are still there, untouched, untarnished, unspoiled, living in the walls of this space, hinting at a time when I only knew half of what I know now about him. I was more generous by giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Walking in, the memory of an old scrap of dialogue comes to me. That second when he asked me…What if he was involved with some bad men?

There was no answer to his question. Because I didn’t know what to tell him. What was there to tell? I was afraid to face that hard truth, and for a good reason.

Look where it’s gotten me, that reality.

I walk around, studying the rugs, curtains, and furniture. The wooden burning fireplace warming the air.

It smells like earth, smoke, and winter.

I wonder if I’ll ever see the inside of another room from now on. Still, if he wants me to live here with him or without him, he needs to provide some accommodations.

With that thought, I spin around and make the trip back. My heels click and clack all the way to the foyer.

He exits the kitchen, his piercing stare directed at me.

“I need to talk to you,” I say, and he signals the bodyguard looming behind him to leave us alone.

The man walks out of the house.

“I need my things.”

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