The Scars That Broke Her

Chapter 21

"So," Callan started as we reached a lull in our conversation, his gaze casually cast out into the street. "who was that guy?"

I sighed, staring intently at the half-empty container of chicken noodle soup I held in my hands. I should have expected Callan to bring him up sooner or later. He wasn't one to let unanswered questions just linger around.

"You don't have to tell me. You never have to talk about anything you don't want to." Callan assured me, sensing my hesitancy. "I was just curious, that's all."

My eyes stared deeper into my soup, taking a serious interest in a floating carrot. As much as I didn't want to, I felt like I owed him some sort of explanation. I mean it was my fault Eli showed up and basically threatened everyone. If I had only texted him back it could have all been avoided.

Swallowing the lump in my throat that rose every time I thought about Eli, I set my soup aside. I was suddenly not feeling hungry anymore. I brushed a piece of hair from my face as I adjusted my position on the porch seat pulling my legs to my chest. Feeling my movement, Callan drew his gaze away from the street giving me his full attention.

My gaze stayed down, my fingers pulling at the rubber band around my wrist as I felt the embarrassment rise once again. Working through the lump in my throat, I spoke, "That was Eli. He...uh- he's a friend."

Callan's features remained expressionless as he listened to me talk. He was conscious of remaining neutral so as to not have me retreat back into my shell. I appreciated that. He knew I didn't need – or want – his opinion. He was just content with listening.

"Or he used to be." I continued quietly. I sighed. "I'm not sure anymore. We fight a lot, but I don't think he's ever been this mad."

"Why was he mad?" Callan asked quietly.

"It's hard to say." It's because I didn't answer his calls. "But Tate definitely didn't help the situation."

Callan looked at me curiously. I could tell he was really trying to hold back his responses. "Tate doesn't like him?"

I shook my head. "He doesn't approve of my..." I cleared my throat. "friendship...with him. Neither does Cale. That's why they were both so mad."

Realization crossed Callan's face. It was like he finally figured out how to solve a really hard puzzle he had been working on for years. I could feel his eyes on me, analyzing my features. I'm sure he could tell how embarrassed I was and maybe – if he looked close enough – he could see just how scared I was.

I bit my lip, my eyes watching my fingers tug on my rubber band intently. I was silently praying that Callan kept his opinions about the whole situation to himself. I already have Cale and Tate down my throat, I didn't need him giving his input too.

His hand reached for mine, stopping my fidgeting movements. It was a simple gesture, but he would never know just how much it meant to me. The warmth from his hand quickly spread through my body, enveloping me in a cocoon that I never wanted to leave. Slowly, my eyes traveled to his green orbs. They were staring intently at me, and they told me everything I needed to hear.

With just his simple look, he was able to calm all my anxieties, vanquishing them out of existence. With just his simple touch, he was able to wash away all of my insecurities, leaving nothing but pleasantries behind. I don't know how he did it, but he was able to send such reassurance through me that I knew it didn't matter what I did, he would always be here to listen.

It made me feel special.

  It made me feel safe.

It made me feel...happy. He made me feel happy.