Page 73 of Love Me Stalk Me
I swallow hard, a knot forming in my throat. The office suddenly feels too small, too intimate for this conversation.
I don't know what to say.
Tension rolls off him in waves, and when he speaks again, it's quieter, more measured, like he's choosing each word carefully. "Her letter told me she met someone else," he says. "That she was ending things."
Something twists in my chest, an ache of sympathy, of understanding. To be alone in a war zone, facing death daily, and get that news—I can't imagine the pain, the loneliness, the betrayal. The cruelty of it is breathtaking.
"But when I got back," he continues, the control in his voice slipping just slightly, "I found out she was pregnant." He looks at me and his eyes hold something fierce—like the truth still scorches every time he says it. "With his triplets," he finishes.
He gives me a small, sad smile. "Yeah. So obviously, she was with him before we'd actually broken up. The timing didn't match up. She'd already moved on. Already started a life with someone else. Already written me out of her story before I even knew the chapter was ending."
I shake my head, at a loss for words. "Cal, I'm—I'm so sorry."
He just shakes his head, dismissing my sympathy with a slight shrug. The movement is casual but doesn't quite hide the lingering hurt beneath.
"It was a while ago," he says, resignation in his voice. "I just didn't want you to think you were the only one to experience a shitty relationship."
I don't know what to say to that.
Because suddenly, it doesn't feel like venting anymore.
It doesn't feel like colleagues trauma-bonding after a difficult encounter.
It feels like something else. Something deeper, more personal.
Like something too raw, too real, too dangerous.
Like something I'm not ready to face, not when my entire life feels like it's balanced on the edge of a knife, not when I'm still trying to figure out what I want, who I am, what I deserve.
I take a slow breath, my heart still pounding against my ribs, hyperaware of his proximity. My skin feels electric, oversensitive.
And Callahan?
He just watches me.
Like he already knowswhat I'm thinking.
Like he can read every thought, every fear, every desire directly from my face.
And that?
That might be the scariest thing of all.
The sudden banging on my office door nearly stops my heart. I flinch, my whole body snapping to attention, the moment shattered by the intrusion. The loud pounding reverberates through the room, breaking the charged atmosphere. For a split second, I think Evan. But then I remember—he doesn't even know where my office is.
Then my brain goes to worse possibilities. Some irate customer, some intruder, some threat I can't yet identify. The adrenaline spikes through me, heart racing.
I glance at Callahan, at his broad shoulders, his steady stance, the way he's already turned toward the door, body shifting subtly to place himself between it and me. His whole demeanor has changed in an instant, alert and ready.
Yeah. Sure. Bring it on.
Because despite the loud, frantic knocking, despite the fact that someone is clearly determined to break my door down, I feel...
Weirdly calm.
Because next to him, I feel safe. Protected. Like whatever is on the other side of that door, whatever challenge it brings, I won't have to face it alone.
Then, through the door, I hear a familiar voice, high-pitched with indignation:
