Page 30 of All the Forbidden Things
Cal turns and looks at me over the top of his Number One Rock Star coffee cup, eyebrows raised as he gives me his you-really-gonna-go-there look.
I fight not to smile and maintain what I hope is an impassive expression. I refuse to back down and incriminate myself. Keeping a straight face, I raise my own brows and stare right back.
“I call bullshit,” he says.
I frown, hoping to now appear confused. “What? Why?”
“Get your lying arse over here, woman.”
“No, tell me what I’m bullshitting about first.”
Cal sips his coffee and nods slowly. “You really gonna keep this up and lie for her?”
“Lie? Why am I lying?”
“Okay, if that’s the way you wanna play it.” His lips pull up into a small smile as he continues to shake his head while turning his attention back to his laptop.
I open my mouth to protest again when my cell vibrates on the edge of the counter beside me. I frown as I see Billie’s name on the screen. It’s seven-thirty here, making it around eleven-thirty at night in California. Call it female intuition, maternal instinct, call it what you will, but something in my psyche warns me this will not be good.
My stomach churns as I reach for my phone, and as much as I don’t want Callum to see the look of concern I know I’m probably wearing, my eyes instinctively slide to his, seeking reassurance that everything's going to be the same once I pick up this call.
“Hey,” I answer, outwardly sounding upbeat and inwardly armouring myself in preparation for the blow.
“Mel . . .”
Billie says my name on a sob, I frown, and can only imagine the look of pure terror I portray as I witness Callum’s reaction to it.
He stands so quickly the stool falls back and hits the floor with a crash.
“Billie, what’s going on, what’s wrong?”
“Mel?” Cal questions, moving towards me.
Billie’s sobs echo down the phone. I switch it to speakerphone and set on the counter like it’s burning a hole through my hand.
“Kid, you okay, what’s wrong?” Callum says as he steps closer to me and the phone.
We’re both silent as her sobs fill our kitchen.
“Kid?”
A myriad of scenarios rush through my mind as to what might be wrong. We’ve raised Billie as our own since she was just seven years old. She and Callum share a bond much closer than that of siblings. He’s played the role of both parent and big brother for most of her life.
“Kid, can you tell me what’s wrong?”
Cal's panic-filled eyes slice to mine, and I’m amazed at how calm his voice sounds. His face was flushed earlier from his morning run, but there’s zero colour in his cheeks at this moment.
“Find my phone,” he instructs.
I look around the room while taking in deep breaths and trying to remain calm. I find his cell sitting behind us on the kitchen table with his headphones. Noticing the two missed calls, I hand it to him.
“I need you, Cal. I need you to come,” Billie whispers.
“Okay. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Where are you, kid?”
Her sobs grow louder. I cover my mouth with my hand as I try to quiet my own.
“He tried to kill me . . . H-he tried to rape me, and he tried to kill me.”
