Page 107 of The Other Side

“I’m sure it happens to some people.” I shrug.

She’s peering up at me through her lashes, her arms crossing over her chest.

She’s quiet, her green hues morphing with weakness. “I can’t stop staring at that house. It’s like a ghost,” she whispers.

“We’ll leave,” I tell her. “Momma’s going to sleep, and we can drive to the Airbnb.”

She gulps, softly shaking her head. “It’s not just about being terrified of it. It’s …” Her voice fades as her gaze drifts away from me. “I think I hear Daddy yelling for me, but I don’t necessarily want to run away. Part of me wants to confront him and hear what he has to say. If he has an apology after all this ti⁠—”

“Hey,” I whisper. My fingers tuck a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. Her attention perks up to me, those doe eyes searching mine for the magic cure.

A remedy I don’t have for her right now.

“I think we need to talk about this somewhere else. Not here. It doesn’t work like that, Callie.”

Her stare drops defeatedly, and the brewing storm gains traction. She’s handcuffed just like me.

And I don’t have the keys.

I don’t have the fucking keys.

She offers a shy nod, the faint agreement enough for me to get us out of here.

I snake an arm around her shoulders. We head back in to say goodnight, but the winds of the storm never settle.

They’re just beginning.

Chapter 32

Callie Rae

The bungalow is cozy, wood paneling framing the living room and adjacent kitchen nook. A plaid sectional sits across from the simple fireplace. A small, wooden dining table is stationed on the other side of the wall divider.

Brant drops our duffle bags on the carpet of the living area. His lack of words is just as fragrant as it was on the drive here.

“Have you stayed here before?” I ask, stripping my cardigan off.

I inch toward the dining chair, and he travels in my direction. “I typically stay with my mom,” he answers. “Sleep in my old bedroom.”

I turn to follow him down the short hallway. We’re popping through the bedroom door, and Brant clicks the rocker beside the threshold frame.

A muted glow encompasses the vacant space. The head of the king-sized bed is parked against the right wall, a vintage dresser across from it.

My hands meet in front of my belly, throat rolling when he continues to walk inside. He opens the beige curtains on the sliding glass doors, exposing the silhouettes of trees lining the open yard.

“What’s on your mind?” I finally probe.

He turns to stroll to the dresser, plucking his keys and wallet out of his jeans pocket. “Callie, do yourself a favor and don’t ask questions.”

He rapidly shoots the response out, his tone brisk. Metal clanks against the dense wood as he plops his belongings down.

I shrug, lifting my hands and dropping them to my sides. “I’m just supposed to stand here and remain mute? I don’t get it.”

“Yeah, that’d be ideal,” he fires back, opening his wallet to take a quick inventory.

My eyes burn with the sting of his curt attitude. I rock my gaze up and down the length of his tall stature. “I can tell you’re upset,” I offer over a stammering breath. “Just let me he⁠—”

The leather of his wallet smacks the top of the dresser. “How are you gonna help? Huh?”