Chapter Nineteen
Tom
Tom woke with his arms wrapped tightly around Callum’s chest. Callum was curled between Tom and the wall, his body pressed against Tom’s as he made small contented noises in his sleep. His ponytail had come loose in the night, and his hair hung across his face. Tom gently brushed it back, and Callum stirred and murmured briefly before falling still again.
Maybe Tom could just stay here all day, basking in the warmth of Callum’s body, breathing in the scent of him. Maybe, if he wished hard enough, the world would stop for him—just for a little while—and he wouldn’t have to think about anything beyond this bed.
But the sun kept on rising, and Tom knew that soon enough Leila would be awake. And the threats they faced wouldn’t take the day off just because Tom wished for it hard enough. With a sigh, he climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb Callum in the process. Callum frowned in his sleep and wrapped his arms around his chest, and Tom grabbed the blanket that had fallen to the floor and carefully tucked it around the sleeping man. Callum’s face relaxed. Tom stood watching for another moment as Callum grabbed the edge of the blanket and, with a happy mumble, pulled it closer.
If he wasn’t careful, he would end up standing here forever, just watching Callum.
Tom wrapped his towel around himself and crossed the hall to the bathroom, wincing as he did. He ached in muscles he had forgotten existed. The twinges served as a tangible reminder—as if he needed one—of how much had changed last night.
He had broken another of his rules. He had let himself lose control. And the world was still here, and he was still himself. Nothing had changed expect for the soft warmth within him.
He had already given up on maintaining his usual morning routine. Instead of his morning run, he settled for a quick shower. Thankfully Callum’s family had never bothered to disconnect the water, although there was nothing Tom could do about the temperature. Tom usually preferred to shower at temperatures Aidan had once, in an argument over the gas bill, described as “ball-shriveling,” but today he found himself wishing he could turn the hot water up as far as it would go.
When he was done, he squinted at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He wished he had thought to pick up razors on that supply run. He was on his third day of stubble now, and on him it didn’t look rugged, just strange—the hair wouldn’t grow in the scarred places, leaving an oddly patchy effect.
He ran his fingers over the scars, and the scratchy fuzz that surrounded them. It was funny—the scars had never bothered him as much as they did Aidan. For Aidan, they had been a constant visible reminder of what he saw as his own failure. For Tom they were a memory of a time that was long past, and if anyone was put off by them, that was their problem, not his. He almost wished they had scared off Callum; in a way, it would have made things easier.
But Tom couldn’t bring himself to wish last night away.
He pulled his clothes on and headed for the living room. If he couldn’t go for his usual run, at least he could get in a few minutes of meditation. But as he entered the room, he heard footsteps. He turned to see Callum walking up behind him, his hair still loose and disheveled, his shirt hanging open and—Tom looked closer—his pants on backwards. Tom tried to suppress a smile.
“You’re up early.” Tom leaned in to kiss him.
But Callum turned his head away before the kiss could land.
The smile disappeared from Tom’s face. Of course this was how things were going to be. Just because Callum had climbed into his bed in the middle of the night didn’t mean regret hadn’t hit him in the cold light of morning. And one night wouldn’t erase years of insecurity and self-hatred. It had been naive of Tom to expect anything else.
Accept what comes, he told himself. He could appreciate last night for what it had been, and not expect more. He could accept whatever decision Callum made. That was what he told himself, but feeling the knot in his stomach, he wasn’t sure he believed it.
Callum frowned. “Tom? Are you okay?”
Tom had to force himself not to let his emotions show in his voice. “If you regret last night,” he said, “I understand.”
Confusion crossed Callum’s face, followed quickly by chagrin. “What? No! That’s not what I meant. I didn’t want you to have to deal with my morning breath, that’s all. Let me brush my teeth, and then I’ll kiss you all day if you want. I promise.”
Tom’s stomach unknotted instantly. He nearly laughed at himself—might have actually laughed aloud, if his new emotional volatility didn’t unnerve him so much. “Life is too short to let bad breath get in the way of a good kiss.” He touched his lips to Callum’s. There was none of last night’s hesitance, and none of the desperate hunger. This morning’s kiss was tender and familiar.
But a shadow lingered in his mind. He had been through too much in his life to believe one night together could erase all the potential problems between them. “It’s still worth thinking about. Right now we’re in a life-and-death situation. It isn’t the best time to be… starting anything. And after this is over, I don’t know…” His voice trailed off. He didn’t even know what his life would look like after this was over. How could he know what he could offer to Callum?
Callum’s own smile faded. “Are you saying you have regrets?”
Tom thought for a moment, and to his own surprise, realized what the answer was. “No. Not at all.”
Callum let out a breath. “I’m glad.”
“But you’re all right with this? Being with me? Being with a man?”
Callum hesitated. “It’s complicated. And not something I want to talk about right now, if that’s all right. Besides, we have more important things to think about.”
Right. Of course. The threat to Leila wouldn’t wait for them to work out their personal issues. “Do you have any more thoughts on what we should do next?”
“I’m not talking about that.” The corners of Callum’s mouth turned up. “I’m talking about breakfast.”
Tom looked from Callum to the counter, where the box of cereal waited. “It’s dry cereal again. Hardly worth getting excited about.”
“Oh, you’re not having cereal. This morning, I’m cooking for you.” Callum’s smile broadened. “You’ve tasted my gourmet flame-seared hot dogs. This morning I’m making you…” He paused, head tilted to the sky, like he was waiting for inspiration to strike. Then, all at once, he grinned. “I’m making you chocolate coconut pancakes. In raspberry cream sauce.”
Tom looked around at the empty kitchen, as if a wealth of food might have appeared there in the night. “And how are you going to do that?”
“Simple. We just take a little flour…” He opened one of the cabinets and pulled out… nothing. He wrapped his arms around an imaginary bag of flour, pretending to stagger under its weight, before dropping it to the counter. He tore the bag open and spooned the imaginary flour into an imaginary mixing bowl. “A little water…” He mimed holding a bowl under the faucet. “Um… what else is in pancakes? Maybe it’s a good thing we don’t have actual ingredients.”
Despite himself, Tom started to get caught up in Callum’s game. He had never seen this side of Callum before—relaxed, silly, at ease. Tom even helped him beat an imaginary egg into the mix. Callum flipped the first pancake on the cold stove, then served it up to Tom on a real plate with a flourish.
Tom started to pretend to take a bite, but Callum shook his head. He took the plate back and made a gesture that Tom could only assume was meant to be him tearing off a piece of the pancake with his fingers. He held his hand out to Tom, and Tom leaned forward, closing his eyes. He could almost taste the pancake in his mouth—warm and fluffy, with pockets of hot melted chocolate, and the tang of the raspberry sauce running off the sides. Then the taste became the salt of Callum’s fingers, very real. He licked off the imagined raspberry sauce, and opened his eyes—
To see Leila standing in the hallway.
He took a hasty step back, knowing as he did that it was too late. Callum looked over his shoulder to see what Tom was looking at, and dropped his hand down to his side, his face already beginning to redden.
How was he supposed to have this conversation? He suspected this was one that wouldn’t be easy even if he’d had the past twelve years of Leila’s life to practice being a parent. “There’s something the two of us need to tell you,” he started carefully.
Leila grabbed the box of cereal off the counter and pulled out a handful. “What is there to tell?” she asked, crunching. “Clearly you two boinked.”
Tom didn’t know what it was that made his jaw hit the floor—the fact that his daughter could talk about it so easily, or that she had figured it out so quickly. “That’s not—well, it is, but we—you shouldn’t—” He couldn’t remember the last time he had found himself this much at a loss for words.
“What? Would you prefer I said f—”
Tom’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Leila!”
“It’s not like it’s a surprise,” said Leila. “You’ve been flirting this whole time.”
“You’re still what’s most important here,” Tom assured her. “You, and keeping you safe. You need to know that.”
“It doesn’t bother me. Really.” Leila’s face softened. Her lips curled in the hint of a smile. “I’m glad you’re happy.”
Tom let out his breath in relief. “So we don’t need to have a conversation about this?”
“Can we not? Please?”
For once, Tom and his daughter were entirely on the same page. “I promise we won’t have that conversation, as long as you promise not to say… things someone your age shouldn’t be saying.”
Leila rolled her eyes. “I’m in junior high.”
“Exactly. You’re in junior high.” It struck Tom that they sounded like a real father and daughter right now—like they had known each other all their lives instead of less than a week. He smiled.
Leila looked past him into the kitchen. “Are there pancakes? Because I thought I heard you talking about pancakes.”
Tom started to shake his head, just as Callum said, “Yes! Absolutely. I was just about to make you one.” With an exaggerated motion, he dipped an invisible utensil into the space where a mixing bowl would have been, and started spreading batter over the pan.
Leila leaned in toward Tom. “What is he doing?”
Tom had to fight to keep the grin from taking over his face at this moment of camaraderie between them. It was just one small moment, but set against all the years he had spent without her, it meant everything. “He’s making pancakes,” he answered. He grabbed his own plate and, with his own larger-than-life gesture, took another bite of his own pancake. “See? Delicious.”
Leila rolled her eyes and started to walk away. But something stopped her. “Fine,” she said, like she was doing them a favor by staying. “Make me a pancake.”
As Callum started narrating what he was doing, the warm place inside Tom grew. It felt like holding his hands out in front of a fireplace after years of sitting in a cold dark room. He hadn’t realized how cold his life had been. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this.
Even over just the past few days, Leila and Callum had worked their way into his heart—too much.
He cared about them too much.
He wanted to protect them too much.
He was too afraid of losing them. Too angry at everyone who wanted to hurt him. Just thinking about the threat waiting for them outside, or what how Callum’s father had mistreated him, made his thoughts begin to twist and scatter, and his hands start to curl into fists.
A soft hand came down on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” Callum asked in a low voice, as Leila took her turn flipping the imaginary pancakes.
Tom nodded. Even if he had known how to explain what he was feeling, this wasn’t the place to do it.
“I haven’t forgotten that we’re in a bad situation right now,” said Callum, too low for Leila to hear. “That’s why I’m doing this. We’ve got enough to worry about—let’s take whatever good we can find.”
Tom tried to bring the smile back to his face. Callum was right—things would be bad again soon enough. He should enjoy this moment while it lasted.
But in the back of his mind, the snake waited.