The Resolution of Callie & Kayden (The Coincidence, #6)

I’ve always been good at pretending. I pretended that my father wasn’t an abusive asshole for eighteen years of my life. That my mother wasn’t a sedated zombie for the same amount of time. For twelve years, I pretended that I didn’t cut myself because physical pain was easier than emotional. Pretending in front of Callie has always been hard, though. She’s not so easily persuaded to believe things she knows aren’t real just because it’s easier to deal with than the ugly truth.

Callie always wants the truth, no matter how raw and painful it is. And I need to learn how to give it to her, which is something my therapist and I talked about today after I went in for an emergency visit.

It was Dylan’s call that set me off, but it was the emotions that surfaced afterward that sent me over the edge. Anger. Hurt. Blinding rage. Relief. Guilt over the relief. It ate away at my soul and heart, and instead of feeling it, even though I fought to hang on, I slipped up and let a razor eat away at my flesh and blood. But I still felt guilty afterward for doing it. So I sought help, which is better than what I used to do. And it’s helping me get through the texts Dylan’s sending me of updates on what he found out.

And now I’m seeking Callie, even though I’m scared shitless to put myself out there.

‘What do you mean he found them?’ Callie’s eyes are huge against the pale moonlight. She keeps redirecting her focus from my face to my wrist that’s wrapped in gauze.

I want to touch her, but am afraid to. ‘I mean, he got a hold of them.’ I shrug then shrug again, my shoulders feeling as heavy as pounds of rocks. ‘They’re at a hospital. Been in there for a while. I guess there was some kind of accident and my father’s hurt pretty bad or something.’

If it’s even possible, her eyes enlarge even more. ‘What exactly is wrong with him?’

‘I’m not sure.’ I scratch at my wrist, making the fresh cut burn. The sensation is both soothing and frightening, a love/hate thing. ‘Dylan didn’t know all the details yet, probably because my mother wouldn’t give them to him, but I guess he’s been in the hospital for a few weeks now. Not sure why yet – what exactly’s wrong with him.’

Callie put her hand over mine, probably so I’ll stop scratching at my wrist. ‘How do you not know all this, though? I mean, how did your brother get a hold of them?’

I swallow the lump in my throat caused by her fingers so close to the cut, a cut we both know came from my own hand. ‘Tyler broke down and spilled it to Dylan. I guess he’d been with them for a while, but after the accident with my father, he took off and started hitchhiking to Dylan’s house.’

‘And where are your mother and father now? I mean, I know they’re in a hospital, but where exactly?’

‘I’m not sure. Dylan said all Tyler gave was a phone number. He said he’s still trying to get all the details from my mother, but it’s like pulling teeth.’ I smash my lips together so tightly they go numb. ‘That’s how my family is, Callie. They keep secrets. From each other. From the world. No one knows who the Owens are, not even the Owens sometimes.’ I’m about to start crying again, which is fucking ridiculous. I don’t need to be crying over anything, do I? I don’t know what to feel. All those years of being beat, both mentally and physically, are rendering me incapable of feeling the right things in this type of situation.

‘I think I’m broken,’ I whisper as a tear or two fall from my eyes. I feel like such a fucking *. This is ridiculous. Crying over something so stupid. Something I shouldn’t be crying over.

Shaking her head, Callie climbs over the console and sits on my lap, facing me with a leg on each side. ‘You’re not broken, Kayden. Why would you ever say that?’

‘Because …’ My hands start to quiver as she guides my arms around her waist. ‘Because a tiny part of me doesn’t even feel bad for him.’ Before I can see her reaction, which I’m sure is filled with disgust, I lower my head onto her shoulder and breathe in her comforting scent.

After a few minutes of gripping onto her and sobbing, I manage to get my crying under control, but the silence in the car is heavier than my tears. I’m not sure what to say to her, what she’s thinking, feeling. God, I wish I could read her mind, see into her soul like I swear she sees into mine.

‘You know that day when you beat up Caleb?’ she finally asks, her voice slightly choked up.

It’s not what I was expecting her to say, but I still lean back to look at her as I nod. ‘Of course I remember it. It was the day I felt I finally did something for you, instead of the other way around.’

I’d lost it that day when I found out Caleb Miller, a guy who was a little bit older than me and grew up in our town, was the one who raped Callie when she was twelve. I’d wanted him to pay for it somehow, so I did the only thing I could – beat the shit out of him.

‘Well, I remember when I heard about it – about what you did.’ Her voice cracks. ‘I hated to admit it, considering all of the bad stuff that happened afterward to you, but a part of me felt relieved, maybe even a little bit grateful.’

‘But you deserved to feel that way,’ I assure her. ‘What he did to you was fucking horrible and sick and wrong.’

‘Just like what your father did to you,’ she says with pressing eyes. When I start to look away, she places her hand on my face and forces me to look at her. ‘Kayden, I’ve heard some of the stories about the things he’s done, and I’m pretty sure you’ve made sure not to tell me the worst of them, considering’ – she glances down at my chest – ‘how big some of those scars are.’

‘But I don’t want to be like him,’ I say in a strangled whisper. ‘I don’t want to be full of rage and hate like him.’

‘Why would you ever think you were like him? You’re not in any way, shape, or form.’

‘But I’m relieved because he’s hurt, like he deserved it somehow. And that’s something he would do – feel relief by hurting people.’

‘That’s different, Kayden. Way, way different. And you didn’t hurt him.’

She’s saying pretty much what my therapist said to me today when I went to talk to him about how I was feeling. And part of me gets why they’re telling me this, but the other part of me – the one that fears turning out like my grandfather and my father – can’t get over how full of hate my reaction is.

‘I know, but …’ I can’t meet her gaze, my eyes on the parking lot, the stars in the sky, anywhere but at her.

‘But what?’ She urges me to tell her, to look at her, not to shut down like I have in the past. And I want to give her that. I really do, but I need to figure out how.

‘What if I keep getting set off?’ I finally dare say, forcing my attention back on her.

Her gaze swallows me up. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

I raise my wrist. ‘What if things only get worse and return to this. The last time my father was in my life, this shit owned me.’

Worry masks her face. ‘But he’s not in your life anymore.’

‘He might be. I mean, what if the rest of my family takes him back. And Dylan … he wants me to come out there for a week. I think he suggested it because he thought it’d help being around him while going through this, but I don’t know.’ I shrug. ‘I’ve never associated my family with helping me in anyway. Even Dylan.’

‘Then don’t go,’ she states simply, cupping my face between her hands, making me look at her. ‘You’re not under any obligation to go there. You’ve suffered enough. And if you think this is going to be hard, then you deserve not to go. You have me, Seth, and Luke all here for you, so you’re not alone in any of this. You’re never, ever alone.’

I force down the massive lump welling in my throat. ‘I know that, but I feel guilty that you guys have to put up with my shit. And I feel guilty for bailing on my family.’

‘Well, you don’t need to feel guilty about anything.’ Her voice shakes with anger, startling me. ‘You don’t owe them anything, only yourself, so do what you want to do and no one else.’

‘But what if … what if she calls me?’