Page 111 of Score on You

She shivers and sends me a sly glance. “You did me right, boyfriend.”

My chest expands while I idle at a stoplight. “That’s what I thought.”

“But our good boy needs reassurance that we still love him.” Her voice returns to the pitch reserved for babies. “We’ll never leave you for too long. No, we won’t. And when we take another vacation, maybe you can come with. If not, Sydney will gladly watch you. She did such a great job. Didn’t she?”

Walter yips and bathes her face in sloppy kisses. The spoiled dog looks extremely confident in his pampered state. I’m certain he’s aware that we’re his forever home. Especially since rules are already bending in his favor. He usually isn’t allowed in the frontseat while I’m driving, but the distance from Jake’s garage to our house is just a short ride. Nothing too eventful happens on this stretch.

“Stop!” Callie’s screech is paired with her palm slapping against the passenger window.

I almost swerve into oncoming traffic. “The fuck?”

“Pull over. Right now. Hurry. Please.” Her punctuated statements are as close to a demand as she’s ever given.

I’m quick to follow orders, finding an empty spot along the curb. Walter detects the change in mood, leaping into the backseat without a command. Callie is out of the truck the second I’m parked.

My rushed stride quickly eats the lead she gained on me while chasing… a person? Confusion muddles my thoughts until Callie touches a lady’s shoulder. The stranger whirls, fright trembling her already shaken form. Recognition sparks in her troubled expression and she visibly relaxes.

“Mother,” Callie exhales.

A broken sob rips from the older woman when she realizes her daughter is there. Her bottom lip trembles, drawing my focus to a bloodied split in the middle. There are faded bruises on her cheek as well. Those are the only wounds I can see. The haunted look in her eyes is most likely from injuries that go far beneath the surface.

Callie’s mother collapses forward into her daughter’s open arms. They embrace as shared relief and sorrow shudder between them. The contact is obviously long overdue.

“How is this possible?” Callie’s voice cracks over the disbelief.

Her mom doesn’t answer. She quietly basks in the comfort her daughter’s hug provides.

Callie rubs a palm down her back. “You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

And that’s an undeniable truth. It’s obvious this woman is seeking refuge. I’m not a gambler, but I’d bet my fortune she wasn’t granted permission to leave the compound. Against the odds, she managed to escape. Much like her daughter.

Emotion quakes through their bond as they sway together. Callie’s eyes squeeze shut, spilling tears down her face too. The sight physically pains me but I remain on the sidelines.

I’m not alone in my place on the outside looking in. What’s meant to be a private moment is becoming a public display.

A crowd is gathering to witness their reunion. Rumors will soon follow. I highly doubt either will be comfortable with that.

“Sweetness, we should get her away from prying eyes.” I motion to the busy street and nosy pedestrians.

Her watery gaze finds mine as she straightens. “Yes, good idea. Come on, Mama.”

But her mother is stumbling backward, away from me. Her fretful motions and unblinking stare reflect years of torment I wouldn’t wish on many. Only the ones responsible for creating this fear deserve such punishment.

I hold out my palms in an attempt to appear harmless. The horrors she’s been dealt probably make my efforts futile. To prove that assumption, she shrinks into herself as if wishing to be invisible.

Callie is there, crouching to console her. “Mother, be calm. Ridge is safe. I promise.”

The assurance from her child, most likely the only soul she trusts, slices through the terror. The older woman rises to her defeated height and nods. She allows Callie to guide her to my truck where they climb into the backseat.

I paste on a signature scowl to alert the onlookers to fuck off. Most scatter like the pests they are. That doesn’t stop several others from whispering as they flee.

“Fucking vultures,” I spit.

My boots smash into the concrete as I stalk to the driver’s side and get behind the wheel. A glance in the rearview mirror reveals Callie clutching tight to her mother. Walter has his head on the older woman’s lap, providing his own form of moral support. The battered survivor is still crying, but she’s trying to muffle the upset. More than likely for my benefit. It serves to remind me of the insecurities Callie still drags around like a shackle she can’t escape.

“Mother,” Callie whispers. “What happened?”

Strained silence is the only response. I catch her mother’s gaze for less than a blink before hers lowers to the floor. It’s an ingrained response, one I’m familiar with. Callie relied on the same avoidance to protect herself.

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