Page 11 of Reckless Hearts

I chuckle, memories bubbling up of her chewing us out while standing a foot shorter, somehow still terrifying.

Blue eyes shift to me, a familiar lightness in Colt’s gaze for the few seconds it takes him to remember things aren’t what they used to be. The wall comes down again, freezing me out.

I rub my neck, the weight of the day dragging me down. “I need a drink.”

“Agreed,” Colt says, leading us to a corner booth with a reserved sign propped on the table.

I collapse onto the bench with a groan, resting my head against the wooden back. It’s too early for how much everything hurts. Every inch of me hurts. Colt must notice because a bottle of pills slides across the table. I don’t like pills; it’s too easy to rely on them. Too many riders have gone out that way.

I go to push them back, but he stops me. “Relax. It’s just ibuprofen.”

Grunting my thanks, I pop a few into my mouth, swallowing them dry. Anything to get me through the next few hours.

“You two look rough,” Callie teases, slipping in beside Colt. “Should’ve left you at home.” Her voice is smooth, like bourbon over ice. “Don’t worry,” she adds with a wink. “I ordered us some drinks.”

As if summoned, the waitress appears with a black tray nearly toppling with glasses. “Two steins and a mixer, sweetheart?”

“That’s us,” Callie chirps, already reaching up to help her. “Keep ’em coming.” Callie slides a tip across the table, and the waitress looks like she’s already half in love with her. Our girl just has that effect on people.

Our drinks hit the table with a satisfying thud. The glasses are frosted, and the beer goes down smooth, cold against my throat. Colt and I let out matching groans as the blend of bitter hops and sweet malt hits.

“Alright, you got us here. Now it’s time you answered our questions.” I meet her gaze steadily. She’s not squirming her way out of this.

“What brings you back here, Callie? Why now?” Colt asks the question that’s been on both of our minds since the second we saw her.

She takes her time sipping her drink. I hold back my impatience. I’ve been waiting a long time. I can wait a little longer.

“I’ve got the summer off. I was planning on staying for the season. Thought I’d tag along with you two,” she says finally. “Just graduated. My job doesn’t start till the fall.”

It lands with a quiet thud. Final. Like she’s already marked the day she leaves on the calendar.

Her gaze flicks up. “Is me being here… not okay?”

The uncertainty in her voice slices right through me. No hint of the wild, fearless girl who used to boss us around like she ran the damn world.

“Of course it’s okay,” I say quickly. “This place is your home too.” I leave the rest of my thoughts unsaid. Everything I’ve been wishing for is sitting right in front of me like a present, wrapped up in a bow.

She lets go of a long, deep breath, her shoulders sagging like the weight of the world has just been lifted off her.

I want to press. Ask why she never visited, didn’t call, didn’t come home even once. But I don’t. Not tonight. I won’t risk breaking whatever this is.

Clearly, Colt feels the same because he skirts around the topic, instead asking, “What has our little Callie been up to all these years?”

Callie perks up, talking about her life, and her mood is contagious as ever.

The warm ease between us spreads like the alcohol, a buzz in my veins. We drink, Callie leading the conversation, her stories rolling out and lulling me into the soft cradle of the past. Colt’s defenses slip, the fake smile turning real, and I’m just lost enough in this unexpected reunion to let it feel normal. The noise and ache recede, and all that’s left is the feeling that the world might’ve fixed itself.

It’s been a long time since I felt like this, like the past didn’t wreck everything, like maybe there’s still something worth saving. Callie’s in the middle, the axis Colt and I still spin around, and when I glance his way, there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. We both know she’s the reason we’re even sitting here like this.

“You should see the campus,” Callie says, sipping her drink, more talkative than I’ve ever seen her, more confident than the girl who left. “Half the buildings look like castles. I swear, I kept expecting someone to hand me a wand and a Latin textbook.”

Colt leans in, grinning. “Please tell me you wore a plaid skirt.”

Callie shoots him a look, sharp but amused. “Gross.”

“What?” He throws up a hand. “Just trying to picture you in your natural academic habitat.”

“Try picturing me punching you in the throat instead.”

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