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)
My sister was an absolute doll, so I wouldn’t be surprised if this kid she was talking about was looking for an in. “Would you take a selfie with Elle? She could show it to him as a conversation opener.”
“Oh, that would be amazing.” She gave Callan big wide puppy-dog eyes that only a callous man could say no to.
His lips twitched. “Sure. My way of saying thanks for the fajitas.”
“They’re good, ay?” I said, but it came out garbled and incoherent as I munched on a huge bite of yumminess.
In answer, Callan reached over and swiped guacamole off the corner of my mouth with his thumb and then sucked on it.
My womb clenched. His nostrils flared at whatever he saw on my face.
“Ugh, you two are as bad as Mum and Dad,” Elle pronounced and then followed it up with something I’d heard directed at my parents many a time over the years. “Get a freaking room.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
BETH
We did get a room. My old bedroom, to be precise.
After dinner (where we behaved ourselves for Elle’s sake) and dessert, Elle got her selfie with Callan (and it was adorable), and then made us watch some weird comedy she was in love with. Thankfully, the episodes were only thirty minutes long and after the first one, Elle’s best friend called, and she disappeared into the sitting room to gossip.
I gave Callan a tour of the rest of the house.
“It’s amazing, Beth,” he told me as we climbed to the top floor. “Dream house.”
“I know.” I tugged on his hand, leading him into my old bedroom. “I was lucky to grow up here.”
My siblings and I had shared the floor and the gargantuan bathroom on it. My bedroom was the largest because I was the oldest, and my parents hadn’t changed a thing since I’d moved out. A massive four-poster bed sat against one wall. There was a dressing area and a study corner. Two tall Georgian windows offered a view across Queen Street Gardens at the back of the house. The paneling in here had been painted a silvery gray-blue, and the soft furnishings were a mix of blush pink, silver, and blues. It was a pretty sophisticated room for a teenager, but I’d loved it.
Callan whistled as he walked through it. “I think princess is spot on.”
His tone was affectionate, so I knew he was teasing. But he wasn’t wrong. It was a bedroom fit for a princess. I sat on the bed, watching him look around. Pick up things. Stop to study the photographs I had pinned to the wall above my desk. There were lots of my family and extended family, a ton of me and Amanda. I couldn’t bear to part with the latter, even though they still hurt to look at.
Finally, Callan sauntered over to me and sat on the edge of the bed.
“What are you thinking?”
He leaned his elbows on his knees, still gazing around the room. “That you can feel the love in this house, even with only you and your sister in it.”
I swear my heart throbbed. “Then you’re feeling it right. There is definitely a shit ton of love in this house.”
“I’m glad. I’m glad you have that.”
We were quiet a moment, but I ached for him … so I dared to say, “You must miss them.”
Knowing I referred to his mum and stepdad, Callan swallowed hard. He sat back on the heels of his palms and met my gaze. “Every day. There’s always something I wish I could tell them. Sometimes I look up into the stands during a match, and I imagine them there. Cheering me on. Instead, sometimes I see Gavin. He’s started coming around again. Showing up at the games. At training. He pretends like he had anything to do with where I got. Embarrasses me. Hounds me for money.”
My stomach plummeted at his confession. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Ashamed.” He shrugged. “Ashamed that he’s technically my father. That I have to put up with that. Last time he was there, we got into a physical altercation.”
I rubbed a hand over his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“The gaffer asked me if I wanted him banned from the grounds. But I worry he’ll retaliate. And the truth is, he did take me in after Mum and Dad died. Put a roof over my head.”
Anger flushed through me. “A foster carer could have put a roof over your head, Callan. He is your birth father, yes, but he gave you nothing that mattered. You don’t owe him anything, and if he’s infiltrating a place that feels like home, you should have him banned.”
“You see that, don’t you?” His lips curled at the corners. “That Caley United is home for me.”
“I do. And now that we’re seeing each other for real, I’d like to come visit that home.”