Page 85 of Callan

They go straight to my neighbor’s place, which shouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.

Everything seems to be connected to her.

Once their voice fades, the kiss comes to an end, but his touch is still connected to my face as he tears his lips away.

“You’re good?” he asks quietly, searching my eyes.

My disappointment must be evident as he rubs his thumb over my cheekbone.

I nod.

“You?” I murmur.

“Never been better,” he says in a steady voice. “Let’s go now. I don’t want to kill anyone tonight,” he adds with humor, although my gut tells me he is serious about that.

He takes my hand, and I walk with him through the front door. We barely make it to the head of the stairs outside, and he looks up the street, brings his free hand to his mouth, and loudly whistles with his fingers.

The headlights of a car shine over the snowy road, quickly heading our way.

“Let’s go,” he says, not looking up or back, although I’m tempted to flick my eyes to my balcony.

There is no time for that.

A man steps out of the vehicle as Callan opens the passenger side door for me.

I tuck myself in while he rounds the car, exchanges a few words with the man, points over his shoulder in the direction of my building, and swiftly claims the driver’s seat.

“Ready?” he says as he adjusts the seat and the rearview mirror before setting the car in motion without waiting for my answer.

My eyes move over his face, his cheeks pinched by the cold outside.

Not growing up with a father has always made me swing from one end of the spectrum of emotions to the other in the presence of a man, vacillating between timidness and dauntlessness.But trying to be fearless has mostly had to do with my wanting to survive.

With him, though, something different happens.

I don’t need to behave in a certain way. And then, there’s something else.

Never in my life have I allowed someone else to make choices for me.

Since I was old enough to say what I liked or needed, I’ve always been in charge.And the older I got, the more I couldn’t rely on anyone else.

Not even when doing the simplest things.

Like going out on a snowy winter night.

Maybe that’s what has bothered Quinn. And others.

Never being able to break through that layer of protection I had wrapped myself in.

It feels good to step out of that mindset and just go with the flow, sitting next to the person in the driver’s seat.

Literally and metaphorically.

“What are you in the mood for?” he rasps, his eyes on the road.

I shift in my seat and look behind us.

The second I tear my gaze away and pivot back, I meet his eyes.

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