Callum

I don't know what the fuck to do. It seems every single decision I’ve made in the last twenty-four hours has been the wrong one.

I can't believe I fucked her.

I can’t believe how fucking good she felt in my arms once again.

Home.

Where she belongs.

How the hell am I gonna convince her of that? Thirty seconds after shattering her world and making her legs tremble with each stroke of my finger, she dismisses me as nothing more than a delivery boy.

Hi, my name is Callum Johnson. Orgasm Deliverer Extraordinaire.

No need to tip.

It’s my pleasure. Literally.

Fuck. How the hell did I manage to screw this shit up so badly? I was going to take it slow and win her back by doing the only thing I knew how to do.

I planned to show her how much she missed me and pray she never wanted to leave me again. Instead, I fuck her senseless and then watch as she walks out the door with my new best friend, leaving me standing in the middle of my living room with psycho crazy Rhonda.

It’s like my life is on repeat and I am doomed to continue in this same vicious cycle.

A knock at the door pulls my attention away from the toxic train of thought. I groan inwardly as I stand and make my way to the front door, trying to gather the energy to send Rhonda away again, but when I open the door, I’m greeted by a seven-year-old torpedo who leaps into my arms.

“Cal. It is you.”

“Hey, buddy. Come on in,” I say, setting him down and closing the door behind him after dismissing Lonnie.

“Holy milk cow. Is this your house? Is it a mansion? It looks like a mansion. Do you have a pool? Do you have a roller coaster inside? It's big enough to have a roller coaster.”

I laugh, picking him back up and carrying him to the kitchen. I can’t believe how much he has grown in the last six months. His hair hangs in his eyes now, all bushy and kinky just like Amelia’s, and every few seconds, he tosses his head to move it out of the way.

“I don't think we have a roller coaster, but I could be wrong. This place is too big to explore all by myself. I sure do wish I had a partner who could help me.”

“Oh, Cal, can I help? I love exploring, and I’m really good at it. Like for real. I am. I bet I can find the roller coaster and the pool.”

“You think so? Well if you're up for it, then let’s go,” I say sitting him on the counter. “I think we should pack a bag, just in case. We don't know how long this might take, ya know.”

“Good idea, Cal. We definitely need water . . . oh, and pickles.”

“Okay. Water, pickles . . . how about some crackers? Pop Tarts?”

“Yeah, both of those.”

I slide all of our supplies into a bag in the pantry and then slip it over my shoulder. “Ready?” I ask Carson.

“Yep,” he says, jumping down from the counter.

“Which way should we go first?” I ask, looking at the two entrances to the kitchen.

“This way, Cal. Let me lead. I’m really good at this.”

“Okay, you can be the leader, and I'll be the caboose,” I say and then follow him from the kitchen, texting Griffin on my way out to ask him to let Amelia know that I have Carson and we are okay. I know everything that happened today has taken its toll on her, and she needs a little alone time. She's always the strong one, making sure everyone else around has what they need, putting their needs before her own.

Its time she let someone share the burden with her, to show her that she doesn't always have to be the strong one.

Someone like me.

But first, we need to sit down and have a good ole’ heart to heart. It’s about time I find out if what she said all those months ago was the truth or if my instinct was right and she was just pushing me away.

When I saw Amie in the lap of my best friend that night, a million thoughts ran through my head. Everything from . . . Is she hurt? to How could she? It wasn't until Tom kissed her and she let him, kissing him right back, that my worst fears came crashing into me. My future wife, the love of my life, was cheating on me with my best friend. I barely understood her words when she told me she didn't want me anymore. I couldn't focus enough to hear her.

And then I lost my shit.

It wasn't until my anger had finally subsided and I was already in St Louis that I was able to remember the other details of that night. Like how her body tensed when I walked into the room, even though she pretended not to know I was there, and the way her fist was clenched tight, her knuckles white behind Tom’s head when he kissed her.

Almost like she wanted to be anywhere in the world except right there. It definitely wasn't the reaction from someone who was crazy, head over heels about someone. No. It was more like the way someone would be acting when they were pretending to like someone else just to push away another person.

Like me.

She was just selfish enough to do something like that while thinking she was giving me the one thing I wanted. Little did she know, the only thing I ever want in this world is her.

Since the first day I laid my eyes on her, she has consumed me completely. Every thought. Every move. Every decision. They all revolved around her.

I should have gotten in the truck and driven back to her as soon as I could, but I couldn't. Not after the way I acted that night. Not after beating Tom within an inch of his life right in front of her. I saw the way she looked at me that night—like I was a monster, and she wanted as far away from me as possible. There was no way she would take me back then. So I did the only other thing I could do. I threw myself into the game.

And I fucking dominated it.

It wasn't unheard of for a rookie player to get game time on the field, but it was unheard of for him to get it the first week into the season and during every single game following it. When Ricky, our team’s prized wide receiver, got hurt during practice, I stepped up, ready for my chance. Ready to show these fools what I had in me.

They call me Breezy.

Breezy Johnson because just like a breeze that ruffles your skirt, you can feel me, you can hear me, but you won't see me coming. When that ball hits my hands, my feet carry me like the wind I’m named after. No one can touch me.

Sound cocky? You would, too, if you had the stats I have to back it up.

“Cal, can we build a fort?” Carson asks, stopping in the second living room. It's the perfect room for building a fort, with the massive couch that covers half of the room and the tall, blacked out windows across the room.

“Sure can. You tired of searching for the roller coaster?” I ask him.

“I think we should rest. Just like on a real hike across the desert, don't ya think so?”

“My legs are a bit tired. A break it is,” I say, tossing the backpack off my shoulder and grabbing several cushions from the couch. “Where should we start?” I ask Carson.

“This way,” he says, and I follow. I’ve missed this little guy and his active imagination. I’ve missed a lot of things. Now that I have them back, I’ll be damned if I let them go again.