Page 75 of Chasing Callie

“Hey.”

His jaw muscle flexes.

Okay. No talking. Got it. I pad over to him, slip my arm in his, and stare out at the trees. The cicadas are practically screaming tonight, and fireflies flicker about. It would be peaceful if not for the storm brewing inside Knox.

“Did you know some female fireflies lure the males in with their light only to eat them?”

“Jesus Christ, Callie.”

I smirk. “Don’t worry, you’re too big for them to eat.”

He glances at me, eyes shrouded in shadows and heavy with grief. “They all think something’s wrong with me,” he tells me, voice rough.

My heart aches for him. “Is there?”

The flicker of pain in his irises guts me. “I don’t know,” he confesses. “Do you think that?”

“No.” The word comes out fierce. I take a breath, turning until we’re chest to chest. “I think that everyone deals with pain their own way, and if this is yours, then it’s yours, but you have to process it, Knox.”

“It hurts.” His eyes shift between mine. “A lot,” he rasps.

I think losing Frank stirred up some memories of his mom. Knox, being the oldest, had to take on a lot of that pain for his younger brothers. He took being a big brother so seriously he never let himself be sad or mad. He buried it all down deep.

“You’re a good man,” I whisper. “Strong, but even tough guys have to cry.”

He frowns. “Crying isn’t going to help anyone.”

“It might help you,” I tell him, reaching up to cup his face. “But I’m not asking you to let it out tonight. Whenever you’re ready, if you need someone, I’m here.”

“Promise?” he asks, throat bobbing.

There’s a lot riding on my next words, but the decision to stay has been written in the stars since the day I came home. “I promise, Knox.”

Leaving these guys again is out of the question. They’re my home, my heart, and I think they’re part of my soul. Nothing is going to tear us apart again.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

KNOX

For the first time in a long while, I’m desperate to get off work because that means I get to go see Callie. I’ve been working overtime for years, chasing away the pain that her absence left, but now I’m finally ready to start living. To do more than carry the weight of the world on my shoulders.

I slide out from under Widow Cunningham’s rusted Buick and wipe my hands on the shop rag hanging from my back pocket. The engine purrs like a happy cat now, finally free from the clogged fuel filter that had been choking the life out of it. Roger’s been hovering nearby all morning, making disapproving noises every time I explained to the elderly woman that we wouldn’t be charging her labor.

Mrs. Cunningham sits in the waiting area with mismatched chairs and worn linoleum. Dad’s shop has seen better days, but I can’t bring myself to update it. That would be like erasing his memory. Mrs. Cunningham wrings her weathered hands, and she keeps glancing toward the garage bay where her car sits.

“All finished, ma’am.” I approach her slowly, knowing she startles easy since Mr. Cunningham passed last winter.

She’s alone up in their little log cabin. Her kids come to visit often enough, but at some point, she’ll either need to move to town, or they’ll have to move in.

Her face lights up. “Oh, Knox! Is it running again?”

“Good as new. It needed a fuel filter replacement and an oil change.” I hand her the keys, refusing to mention that I also fixed her worn brake pads and replaced her cracked belts. That car is on its last leg, but it can limp along for a while longer. “That’ll be forty-three dollars for the parts.”

She digs through her purse and pulls out exact change, counting it twice before handing it over. “Bless you, honey. I don’t know what I would have done. The dealer wanted three hundred dollars to look at it.”

Fucking vultures. Taking advantage of people who can’t afford to shop around or argue with a mechanic. “Well, the car’s running smooth now. It should get you through another year without any trouble.”

“I’m going to bake you a peach pie,” she declares, pushing herself up from the chair with the wobbly determination of someone who’s been making promises to feed people her whole life. “You know that was your daddy’s favorite.”