The Coincidence of Callie & Kayden (The Coincidence, #1)

The eyebrow above his good eye dips down. “No, you didn’t.”


Kayden and I have gone to school together since we were in kindergarten. Sadly this is the longest conversation we’ve had since about sixth grade when I was deemed the class weirdo. In the middle of the year, I showed up to school with my hair chopped off and wearing clothes that nearly swallowed me. After that, I lost all my friends. Even when our families have dinner together, Kayden pretends like he doesn’t know me.

"You did what almost no one would have done." Lowering his hand from his eye, he staggers to his feet and towers over me as he straightens his legs. He is the kind of guy girls have an infatuation for, including me back when I saw guys as something else other than a threat. His brown hair flips at his ears and neck, his usually perfect smile is a bloody mess, and only one of his emerald eyes is visible. “I don’t understand why you did it.”

I scratch at my forehead, my nervous habit when someone is really seeing me. “Well, I couldn’t just walk away. I’d never be able to forgive myself if I did.”

The light from the house emphasizes the severity of his wounds and there is blood splattered all over his shirt. “You can’t tell anyone about this, okay? He’s been drinking… and going through some stuff. He’s not himself tonight.”

I bite at my lip, unsure if I believe him. “Maybe you should tell someone… like your mom.”

He stares at me like I’m a small, incompetent child. “There’s nothing to tell.”

I eye his puffy face, his normally perfect features now distorted. “Alright, if that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want,” he says dismissively and I start to walk away. “Hey Callie, it’s Callie, right? Will you do me a favor?”

I peer over my shoulder. “Sure. What?”

“In the downstairs bathroom there’s a first aid kit, and in the freezer there’s an icepack. Would you go grab them for me? I don’t want to go in until I’ve cleaned up.”

I’m desperate to leave, but the pleading in his tone overpowers me. “Yes, I can do that.” I leave him near the pool house to go inside where the very crowded atmosphere makes it hard to breathe. Tucking in my elbows and hoping no one will touch me, I weave through the people.

Maci Owens, Kayden’s mother, is chatting with some of the other moms at the table and waves her hand at me, her gold and silver bangle bracelets jingling together. “Oh Callie, is your mom here, hun?” Her speech is slurred and there is an empty bottle of wine in front of her.

“She’s out in the car,” I call out over the music as someone bumps into my shoulder and my muscles stiffen. “She was on the phone with my dad and sent me in to find my brother. Have you seen him?”

“Sorry hun, I haven’t.” She motions her hand around with flourish. “There are just so many people here.”

I give her a small wave. “Okay, well, I’m going to go look for him.” As I walk away, I wonder if she’s seen her husband and if she’ll question the cut on his hand.

In the living room, my brother Jackson is sitting on the sofa, talking to his best friend, Caleb Miller. I freeze near the threshold, just out of their sight. They keep laughing and talking, drinking their beers, like nothing matters. I despise my brother for laughing, for being here, for making it so I have to go tell him mom is waiting out in the car.

I start toward him, but I can’t get my feet to move. I know I need to get it over with, but there are people making out in the corners and dancing in the middle of the room and it’s making me uncomfortable. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Move feet, move.

Someone runs into me and it nearly knocks me to the floor.

“Sorry,” a deep voice apologizes.

I catch myself on the doorframe and it breaks my trance. I hurry down the hall without bothering to see who ran into me. I need to get out of this place and breathe again.

After I collect the first aid kit from the bottom cupboard and the icepack from the freezer, I take the long way out of the house, going through the side door unnoticed. Kayden’s not outside anymore, but the interior light of the pool house filters from the windows.

Hesitantly, I push open the door and poke my head into the dimly lit room. “Hello.”

Kayden walks out from the back room without a shirt on and a towel pressed up to his face, which is bright red and lumpy. “Hey, did you get the stuff?”

I slip into the room and shut the door behind me. I hold out the first aid kit and the icepack, with my head turned toward the door to avoid looking at him. His bare chest, and the way his jeans ride low on his hips smothers me with uneasiness.

“I don’t bite, Callie.” His tone is neutral as he takes the kit and the pack. “You don’t have to stare at the wall.”

I compel my eyes to look at him and it’s hard not to stare at the scars that crisscross along his stomach and chest. The vertical lines that run down his forearms are the most disturbing, thick and jagged as if someone took a razor to his skin. I wish I could run my fingers along them and remove the pain and memories that are attached to them.

He quickly lowers the towel to cover himself up and confusion gleams from his good eye as we stare at one another. My heart throbs inside my chest as a moment passes, like a snap of a finger, yet it seems to go on forever.

He blinks and presses the pack to his inflamed eye while balancing the kit on the edge of the pool table. His fingers quiver as he pulls his hand back and each knuckle is scraped raw. “Can you get the gauze out of that for me? My hand’s a little sore.”

As my fingers fumble to lift the latch, my fingernail catches in the crack, and it peels back. Blood pools out as I open the lid to retrieve the gauze. “You might need stitches on that cut below the eye. It looks bad.”

He dabs the cut with the towel, wincing from the pain. “It’ll be fine. I just need to clean it up and get it covered.”

The steaming hot water runs down my body, scorching my skin with red marks and blisters. I just want to feel clean again. I take the damp towel from him, careful not to let our fingers touch, and lean forward to examine the lesion, which is so deep the muscle and tissue is showing.

“You really need stitches.” I suck the blood off my thumb. “Or you’re going to have a scar.”

The corners of his lips tug up into a sad smile. “I can handle scars, especially ones that are on the outside.”

I understand his meaning from the depths of my heart. “I really think you should have your mom take you to the doctor and then you can tell her what happened.”

He starts to unwind a small section of gauze, but he accidentally drops it onto the floor. “That’ll never happen and even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. None of this does.”

With unsteady fingers, I gather up the gauze and unravel it around my hand. Tearing the end, I grab the tape out of the kit. Then squeezing every last terrified thought from my mind, I reach toward his cheek. He remains very still, hugging his sore hand against his chest as I place the gauze over the wound. His eyes stay on me, his brows knit, and he barely breathes as I tape it in place.

I pull back and an exhale eases out of my lips. He’s the first person I’ve intentionally touched outside my family for the last six years. “I would still consider getting stitches.”

He closes the kit and wipes a droplet of blood off the lid. “Did you see my father inside?”

“No.” My phone beeps from my pocket and I read over the text message. “I have to go. My mom’s waiting out in the car. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” He doesn’t glance up at me as he picks up the towel and heads toward the back room. “Alright, I’ll see you later, I guess.”

No, you won’t. Putting my phone away in my pocket, I depart for the door. “Yeah, I guess I’ll see you later.”