Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“Oh, Callan.” I reached out to touch his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
He nodded gruffly. “Aye. Well, I ended up going to live with my real dad, who is a fucking arsehole, and his wife, who isn’t much better. Ashley, my stepmum, acts like I’m the devil. It’s like my being alive is an affront to her, you know.”
Anger and sympathy mixed in a tight, painful ball in my chest. “I hate that for you.”
“It’s fine. They mostly ignore me. And I’ll be out of there soon.”
It wasn’t fine. But I knew he needed to act like it was. “My … my mum, she’s American,” I told him. “Her mum was Scottish, but she moved to the US and got married to my grandfather and stayed. They had my mum and my mum’s wee sister, Beth.”
We paused at the bus stop and Callan turned, giving me his entire attention.
“When Mum was fourteen, her entire family was killed in a car accident too. Her parents and Beth.”
Callan blanched. “Fuck.”
I nodded. “She named me after her sister and my wee brother is named after her father. I’ve never known that kind of grief firsthand, but I see it in my mum. As happy as my dad and all of us make her, there’s this part of her that will always be just a little sad.” I reached out to squeeze his arm. “So, it’s okay if you feel that way too, Callan.”
A wet sheen glistened in his eyes, and I saw him swallow hard as he looked away.
Sliding my hand down his arm, I took his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together.
“You’re even more amazing than I thought,” I told him. “To have lost what you’ve lost and to still be fighting for what you want. I’m glad football has given you that.”
His head whipped back to me, his features slackened with surprise.
And then before I could take another breath, he released my hand but only to reach for me. Suddenly, my body was pressed flush to his and Callan Keen’s lips were on mine.
He swallowed my gasp of surprise in the deepest kiss a boy had ever given me.
It was hungry.
It was … more.
Like, I’d French-kissed before, but this was … my whole body felt like a million jolts of electricity were running through it.
I gripped onto Callan to hold me steady through the light-headed rush of the kiss as I deepened it.
Callan groaned, and I moved until I was stumbling back against the bus stop wall. One hand slid around the nape of my neck, while his other banded around my waist, pulling me tighter against him.
My fingers curled in his hair as we kissed until our mouths were swollen.
It was the longest make-out session of my life.
And it was bloody glorious.
Finally, Callan gentled the kiss, his lips whispering across mine in sweet, shivery brushes. With one last touch, he leaned his forehead to mine and took a deep, shuddering breath.
“That was … wow.”
Callan lifted his head to meet my gaze. “It was.” His voice was deliciously rough.
We stared at each other in awe for a few seconds.
Then he asked, “Will you come to our game against Longniddry next Saturday?”
A giddy smile tugged at my puffy lips. “Will you kiss me like that afterward?”
Callan grinned. “Aye, if you’ll let me.”
“I think we both know I’ll let you.”
Chuckling, he drew me against him for a hug. I was surprised by the tender embrace, and even more so by the kiss he pressed to my temple. Like I was precious. Like I was someone he cherished. “What about Amanda?”
A knot formed in my gut, but I shoved it aside. “Once I explain how much I like you, she’ll understand. She’s my best friend. She loves me.”
“Good. I like you a lot too, if that wasn’t clear.”
I had to bite my lip against another giddy smile. Callan saw and his expression brightened with smug elation.
When my bus arrived, he gave me a few more soft kisses and made me promise to text him when I got home. I’d never in my life not wanted to go home.
But that afternoon, I wanted to be wherever Callan Keen was.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BETH
Present day
While the men in my life enjoyed football, Mum hated it, so I hadn’t grown up in a household where it was playing on the television all the time. Luke watched it on his laptop in his room where it wouldn’t annoy the rest of us, and my dad usually caught the games at my uncles’ houses.
In fact, I’d had a rather negative outlook on football, since most of my information regarding it came from the media. The news or movies told me that football incited hooliganism and violence. Whenever I saw a group of drunk men, celebrating their team’s win, I’d cross the street.
Then I met Callan, and his love of the sport was infectious. It had given him purpose when he’d needed it most. And now as I watched a clip of his game on the news, I realized it had given him a home.