he Resolution of Callie & Kayden (The Coincidence, #6)(18)

‘I f*cked up,’ he finally says, pulling his hands away from the wheel and wiping his palms on his jeans.

I’m about to ask him what he messed up with, but he rolls up the sleeve of his shirt and shows me the answer. Earlier, when he’d picked me up, I thought I’d noticed a piece of gauze sticking out of his shirt, but I’d stupidly gotten sidetracked by the rose and naked man and had completely forgotten to ask him about it.

God, I should have asked him.

‘What happened?’ I whisper, even though I sadly know the answer.

He shuts his eyes and rubs his hand down his face, releasing a weighted breath. ‘I was feeling a lot of pressure lately and instead of dealing with it, I let it eat away at me. Then some shit happened today … and I … I sort of just lost it.’ He opens his eyes, but looks ahead instead of at me. ‘That’s why I was able to pick you up today. I had to miss practice so I could go talk to my therapist.’

I know therapy is good for him, glad he does it, but still, sometimes I wish he’d talk to me, too, about stuff.

‘What was the stuff that happened today? Or do you not want to talk about it?’

He rubs his hand down his face again, this time so roughly I’m worried he’s doing it to cause himself physical pain. ‘I should have talked to you to begin with, instead of doing what I did. The therapist says it happens, though. Relapses happen.’ He squeezes his eyes closed, a tear or two slips out. I’m not sure what to do or say, if there’s anything I can do or say since I don’t know what this is about. I know enough to know his cutting comes when he doesn’t want to feel an emotional pain, but what caused him emotional pain?

I’m about to ask him, to try to get him to talk to me again, but this time he gives it to me without me asking. His eyes open and he looks at me, not bothering to hide the tears. ‘Dylan found my mother and father.’





Chapter 9


#145 Fall in Love with the Same Person Again.



Kayden


I’ve always been good at pretending. I pretended that my father wasn’t an abusive * for eighteen years of my life. That my mother wasn’t a sedated zombie for the same amount of time. For twelve years, I pretended that I didn’t cut myself because physical pain was easier than emotional. Pretending in front of Callie has always been hard, though. She’s not so easily persuaded to believe things she knows aren’t real just because it’s easier to deal with than the ugly truth.

Callie always wants the truth, no matter how raw and painful it is. And I need to learn how to give it to her, which is something my therapist and I talked about today after I went in for an emergency visit.

It was Dylan’s call that set me off, but it was the emotions that surfaced afterward that sent me over the edge. Anger. Hurt. Blinding rage. Relief. Guilt over the relief. It ate away at my soul and heart, and instead of feeling it, even though I fought to hang on, I slipped up and let a razor eat away at my flesh and blood. But I still felt guilty afterward for doing it. So I sought help, which is better than what I used to do. And it’s helping me get through the texts Dylan’s sending me of updates on what he found out.

And now I’m seeking Callie, even though I’m scared shitless to put myself out there.

‘What do you mean he found them?’ Callie’s eyes are huge against the pale moonlight. She keeps redirecting her focus from my face to my wrist that’s wrapped in gauze.

I want to touch her, but am afraid to. ‘I mean, he got a hold of them.’ I shrug then shrug again, my shoulders feeling as heavy as pounds of rocks. ‘They’re at a hospital. Been in there for a while. I guess there was some kind of accident and my father’s hurt pretty bad or something.’

If it’s even possible, her eyes enlarge even more. ‘What exactly is wrong with him?’

‘I’m not sure.’ I scratch at my wrist, making the fresh cut burn. The sensation is both soothing and frightening, a love/hate thing. ‘Dylan didn’t know all the details yet, probably because my mother wouldn’t give them to him, but I guess he’s been in the hospital for a few weeks now. Not sure why yet – what exactly’s wrong with him.’

Callie put her hand over mine, probably so I’ll stop scratching at my wrist. ‘How do you not know all this, though? I mean, how did your brother get a hold of them?’

I swallow the lump in my throat caused by her fingers so close to the cut, a cut we both know came from my own hand. ‘Tyler broke down and spilled it to Dylan. I guess he’d been with them for a while, but after the accident with my father, he took off and started hitchhiking to Dylan’s house.’

‘And where are your mother and father now? I mean, I know they’re in a hospital, but where exactly?’

‘I’m not sure. Dylan said all Tyler gave was a phone number. He said he’s still trying to get all the details from my mother, but it’s like pulling teeth.’ I smash my lips together so tightly they go numb. ‘That’s how my family is, Callie. They keep secrets. From each other. From the world. No one knows who the Owens are, not even the Owens sometimes.’ I’m about to start crying again, which is f*cking ridiculous. I don’t need to be crying over anything, do I? I don’t know what to feel. All those years of being beat, both mentally and physically, are rendering me incapable of feeling the right things in this type of situation.