Callie looks a little tired herself. It doesn’t stop her from squeaking and making the most entertaining, darling face while Barrett shuffles off and he mumbles, “Rollie’s girlfriend’s real pretty. Real nice.”
She shoots a wide-eyed glance after him.
“Um.”
I can’t help smiling.
“Let him have ‘girlfriend.’ It’s easier than explaining what it really is. ‘Complicated and highly inadvisable.’”
Smoothing her hands over her skirt, Callie slumps on the piano bench with a rueful smile.
“We do have a serious problem with willpower,” she says.
“There are worse vices.” I settle down next to her on the piano bench, my thigh pressing lightly to hers, her warmth enveloping me. I run my fingers down the keys, playing a quick and quiet scale. “Thank you. For being so kind to him today.”
“You don’t have to thank me. He’s delightful!” Biting her lip, she lowers her eyes, letting her fingers slip over the keys in a soft counter-harmony that echoes my notes. “You know, my dad mentioned once that he heard your brother play live...”
I stare at her.
“He doesn’t seem like a man who can give a concert. That’s what you’re trying not to say, isn’t it?” My fingers hover on the keys. “He used to, once. Music was his world. He wasn’t always like this.”
There’s so much empathy in Callie’s gaze, and no wonder.
Her father also lost everything he loved—his gift—another victim of the scavengers in a warped fucking industry.
“What happened?” she asks softly, laying a hand on my arm.
I turn my head, looking down at her, swallowing the lump in my throat.
I know I can tell her without judgment, without fear.
She’s that kind of angel.
Except suddenly I’m no longer certain why she needs to know.
“Not here,” I mutter, covering her hand with mine. “Barrett needs rest. I’ll tell you in the car.”
Callie nods and twines her hand in mine as we leave with a respectful nod for the nurses. They’re now busy cleaning up the game they were playing.
We’re silent as we let ourselves back into the Rolls. I rap on the privacy screen and ask Dominick if he wouldn’t mind heading into the house for some tea—I think he has a little crush on Nurse Julia—giving us time alone.
“Right-o, boss. No need to ask me twice.” From his wicked grin, he’s thinking something far different from what’s really about to happen with us.
For once, it’s not hammering this woman into a coma that makes me want to be alone with her.
When the door closes, the quiet is oppressive.
I stare out the window, watching the faint glimpses of Barry through the window. The nurse has to practically chase him into his pajamas.
Even when he’s tired, he’s always pure mischief.
His mind has regressed to his teenage years. To him, it’s a game. To the nurse, it’s wrestling a full-grown man into clothes he hates wearing.
There’s a reason I pay them a princely sum.
Not only do they handle it with grace, they do it in a way that gives Barry the dignity, kindness, and respect he deserves.
You don’t know how rare that is.
How rare it is for people to see Barrett as a person at all, and not some infantile freak of nature who isn’t quite human anymore. Something only to be pitied and patronized.
Maybe that’s why watching Callie with him blindsided me.
She accepted my brother.
She took him as he was, on his own terms, and didn’t talk down to him.
She was just with him.
It never struck me before what a loving empath Callie is.
And I’ve been using her like she’s just another office drone.
That’s why she deserves the truth.
To know the tragedy that’s driven my life since the day I found Barry pale and almost dead, only hanging on because the knot in the noose slipped.
The reason I’ve been willing to take advantage of anyone and everyone I can if it means getting closer to ripping Haydn’s throat out.
I breathe slowly.
Even in the car, the air tastes like the cool pine trees around the house.
“I—”
But just as I start to speak, Callie begins, “You—”
We both stop, exchanging sheepish looks and small smiles.
“You first,” I mutter.
“I was just going to say you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” She reaches over hesitantly, resting one hand on my knee, watching earnestly. “It’s clearly personal, I mean...and it’s not just your privacy. It’s Barry’s, too.”
“It involves you, and you deserve to hear it.” I rest my hand on hers, covering it. The way her fingers disappear under mine gives me disturbing thoughts. Like how easily I could swallow her into my vendetta. “If I tell you, will you listen?”
“Of course, Roland.” Her voice is sweet as pie. “Of course.”
Fuck.
I still don’t know how to start.
The beginning, I suppose.
I close my eyes, gathering my wits, trying to turn this into a factual report. Really, I’m describing a scar on my soul with words that could never do it justice.