Collateral Damage (30 page)

"Kind of," I lie.

"Get used to it, Callie," my mom says, shaking her head. "These boys and their work."

"It must be difficult," Mrs. Donovan begins, "not knowing what to expect day in and day out." She takes another sip of wine.

At this, it's clear a line has been drawn. The Donovans and my father versus me.

"You must be very close to wrapping this case up with all the extra work you're putting in," Mr. Donovan muses.

"I can't really discuss..."

"Christopher," my dad chides.

"You
know
I can't talk about my work," I remind him.

Mr. Donovan leans back in his seat, adjusts the collar of a suit it would take me two months to pay for, and drapes his arm across the back of his wife's chair. "After this I'm sure you'll want to stick close to home for a while. There's a lot to be done if this wedding is going to happen. I'm sure my daughter would appreciate the help."

"Dad," Callie mutters. I can hear the exhaustion in the single word—how fed up she is with all of this.

"I don't get to pick and choose my assignments," I remind them. "I go where I'm needed."

"That's what's so great about being a sheriff," Dad says, sitting taller. "You have your patrol. You answer your calls. You're home by dinner."

The words set my blood on fire. I am so
sick
of this same tired argument—for my father, who's supposed to
support
me, to remind me I will never be as good as him. To remind me that I picked wrong every chance he gets. And so I tell him, for what feels like the millionth time: "I'm not interested in being a sheriff."

"There's nothing wrong with being a sheriff."

And it's like he doesn't hear a word I'm saying—the words I've screamed at him for the last two years. "I didn't say there was! Look, I'm sorry I'm late. I didn't plan on.... Shit! I'm doing the best I can!"

"Language, Chris," my mom warns.

I laugh. "Jesus Christ, Mom. I'm twenty-one years old."

"That's right," Mr. Donovan agrees. "An adult. Perhaps it's time you start acting like one."

"With all due respect, Sir, I'm sorry I'm late. I'm sorry I haven't been there for Callie with the planning. I'm just trying to do my job."

"A job you wouldn't have if it weren't for me," Mr. Donovan says.

A thick, heavy silence descends—a thundercloud settling over my world.

The muscles in my stomach tighten. The room closes in on me. Sweat prickles against my skin. "You guys are never gonna forgive me, are you?" I ask, glancing from Mr. Donovan to my dad to my mom. "
One
mistake, and you're
never
going to let me forget it." I crumple my napkin and toss it on the table.

Fuck William Donovan. Fuck this table. Fuck this whole goddamn restaurant.

"You know, I wish you would've stayed out of it," I confess. "I wish I would've taken my chances."

"Against the
state
?" Mr. Donovan says, chuckling under his breath. "Do you have any idea what happens to eighteen-year-olds with criminal records? I'll clue you in on a little something. When it's all over, they don't become police officers."

My chair scrapes the floor as I stand. "Maybe not, but I would've done everything I could to make it right. Even now—I'm
trying
to make it right. But anything would be better than this—having to defend every choice I make, every action. Anything would be better than owing everything I have to you, and having you remind me every chance you get."

I push my chair beneath the table and weave my way through the restaurant. I stop at the closet for my bag and jacket.

I don't have to do this. I don't have to stay here. I don't have to put up with this.

"Chris!" Callie calls just as I reach my motorcycle.

I spin around to face her. "What the
fuck
, Callie? Were you really going to sit there and let him talk to me like that? What do you want from me? I said I'm sorry! I'm sorry tonight didn't work out like you planned. I'm sorry I was late. But I'm not going to sit at that table and put up with that shit. It's not going to happen!"

Her arms fold tightly across her chest in defense. "Don't act so righteous. You didn't even
want
to be here tonight."

"I told you I got here as fast as I could!"

A couple hurries past, avoiding us, heading for the entrance.

"I am not
stupid
, Chris. You don't want this wedding to happen, do you?" Callie asks, voice lower.

I open my mouth to lie, but it won't come. And now that I have this opportunity—this chance to tell her how I really feel—I don't know what to say. But, in the end, I don't have to say anything. The silence speaks for me. And sometimes it's the silence that speaks the loudest.

No. I don't want this wedding to happen. It was inevitable. Callie. Her dad. Even without Jaden, this never would've worked. I can't spend the rest of my life with the constant reminder that I'm indebted to my father-in-law—that I owe him everything I am. And Callie? Why didn't she say something? Why didn't she stand up for me?

Jaden
believes
in me.

"That's what I thought," she continues. "I don't understand. What are we doing? What is the point of this?"

"I love you, Callie," I say, voice lower. "I do...."

"But?"

"But...." I trail off.

"But you don't want this wedding to happen."

I shake my head. "No. I'm not ready."

She steps back, laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Good. At least we know where we stand. So, do you think you might be ready next year? Or maybe the year after? We could always wait another four years. Or until we're twenty-eight. Twenty-eight is a great age to get married."

"Callie, I know. I'm sorry. It doesn't make any sense."

"No, it makes perfect sense. What's her name?"

The words—they're like a quick sock to the gut, leaving me without air to breathe. "What are you talking about?"

"We've been together for four years and we've never had a problem—we've barely ever had a fight. Something—
someone
—changed your mind. So who is she?"

"You're accusing me of
cheating
on you?" I ask.

"Are you denying it?"

Am I? Am I really going to stand here and tell her that my heart doesn't belong to someone else?

Darkness encroaches. Streetlights flicker to life. And her name echoes in my head, hovering unsaid between us. Say it out loud, and I kill Callie. Keep it inside, and I'm the liar I've always been. I whisper the name. This confession. "Jaden."

Her name is Jaden.

"Jaden," Callie repeats, considering this. The realization dawns. Her face twists in horror. "Oh my God. Your
English
partner?
That
Jaden?"

"Callie, I'm so sorry. I never expected..."

"She's in fucking
high school,
Chris!" she shrieks. "You
asshole
! Are you
serious
?"

"No. It's not like that. Nothing—nothing's happened, I swear!"

"But something
would've
happened. You just confessed, first!"

"I'm sorry. I've been trying to figure this out—to find a way to tell you."

"To tell me? To
tell
me? Oh, I don't think so, Christopher Whalen. You do
not
get to come to me with this
confession
, telling me you're calling off our wedding. You do not get to break up with me. You do not have that luxury. So, thank you for wasting the last four years of my life, but I'm not going to force you to do anything you're not
ready
for. I deserve better than that. And I deserve a hell of a lot better than you."

She slides my grandmother's ring off her finger and hurls it at me. I try to catch it, but it falls anyway, pinging against asphalt, light springing off facets as it bounces under a tire.

And, just like that, it's over.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-N
INE

It hurts more than I expect, ending things with Callie. My emotions riot, turning a million directions during that long ride home. I'm sad—Callie was my entire world for four years. I'm relieved—the burden lifted. It wasn't the right time. She wasn't the right girl. I'm anxious—worried I've ended a good thing too soon. Callie was a mistake. Breaking up with her, a mistake. I've made nothing but colossal mistakes my whole life. She's right—she deserves better. I deserve better.

But it didn't really end tonight—it ended a long time ago.

It ended the day she found that ring.

It ended that night at the police station—handcuffed to a steel bar, waiting to make that phone call.

It ended the day Jaden McEntyre brought me a bag of Sun Chips. The day she first smiled at me—really smiled at me.

Because love is unpredictable. Love has the worst possible timing. Love takes no prisoners. You fall and it's over. And if it doesn't work out...it's still over.

My apartment is too quiet when I arrive, feels emptier than it should—emptier than it already is, with its vacant bedroom and bare white walls. I change out of my dress clothes and heat a can of vegetable soup on the stove. I eat. I try to focus on homework, but my brain refuses to cooperate, worthless. My thoughts won't stop spinning, my head hurting, a single name repeated over and over and over again.

Jaden.

It already feels like a thousand years have passed since she pressed her forehead into my chest, that I felt her body against mine, that I wrapped my arms around her. And suddenly I have to see her. I have to know what happened when I left her this afternoon. I have to know she's okay.

It's 11:36. If I hurry, she might still be awake.

In minutes I'm back on my bike, headed for Bedford.

I park a few blocks from her house and slink through the darkness. It's not nearly as cold as before. Spring is here. Those cloudy winter days are almost forgotten. A memory.

If Ethan could've made it to spring, everything would've been different.

I reach her yard, passing through shadows, and climb that oak tree for the second time. I remove my shoes, but take them with me—grasping them between fingers as I jump to the roof. I suck in an anxious breath and hold it.

If anyone sees me, I'm finished. Jaden is finished. And I'm fired.

I tread softly across the warm shingles, moving toward the front of the house—to her room.

Please be awake
.

I kneel, crouching low, and tap the windowpane.

What if she can't hear me?