We stood for a long moment, staring at each other, like we were frozen in place.
Without warning, she hurled herself at me, jumping up and throwing her arms around my neck. “Gibson.”
The air rushed from my lungs and a lump rose in my throat. She dangled against me, her feet lifted off the ground, so I wrapped my arms around her to hold her up.
I knew it. Deep down, I’d known it was her. I spoke low into her ear. “Hey, Callie.”
Her body shuddered, but I had no idea if she was laughing or crying. Felt like both. Closing my eyes, I held her while she laughed, then sobbed, then laughed again. I didn’t give a crap what she did. She was here. She was alive.
Oh god, I never wanted to let go.
Eventually, she seemed to calm. I let her slide down until her feet touched the ground, then reluctantly dropped my arms.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m such a mess,” she said, sniffing. She swiped her fingers beneath her eyes, then glanced behind her. “Can I come in? Maybe I shouldn’t. I should probably just go.”
“No.” Before I could stop myself, I grabbed her wrist. “No, don’t go. Jesus, Callie, don’t disappear again.”
She glanced over her shoulder again, then met my eyes. “Okay.”
I gently tugged her inside and shut—and locked—the door behind her. Kinda still felt like she was a flight risk. She glanced behind her and touched the lock a few times, like she was checking it, then turned back to face me.
“I got mascara on your shoulder.” She reached for my shirt, but jerked her hand away, like she was afraid she’d get burned.
I couldn’t seem to get any words out. I just stared at her. At that crazy-ass hair. The scar running down her cheek, leaving a little notch in her upper lip. She wore a loose shirt over a black tank top with a pair of cut-off jeans that showed a hell of a lot of leg—not that I was looking—and beaded sandals. Her shirt gave me a peekaboo glimpse of the tattoos down her arms.
“You’re really standing here, aren’t you?” I said, finally.
She chewed her bottom lip and nodded. “I’m so sorry about last night. You caught me off-guard and I didn’t handle it very well.”
“Goddamn, I thought you were dead. This is freaking me the hell out.”
A few more tears broke free from the corners of her eyes. They were a pretty shade of hazel. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry isn’t enough. It’s just so good to see you again.”
She covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with renewed sobs.
It took me a second to react. I didn’t understand women on a good day. I had no idea what the fuck to do right now.
“Come on, let’s just sit down.”
I was almost afraid to touch her again. That hug had felt good—too good. And I didn’t even like hugs. With my hand on her back, I guided her to the couch and sat down next to her.
“I have no idea what’s wrong with me,” she said. “I never cry like this.”
“It’s all right. Just… breathe or something.”
She took a deep breath. “That’s better. Thank you.”
“You want to tell me what’s going on? Who’s Maya?”
“Me. I’m Maya.” She took another breath. “I am now, I mean. I changed my name.”
I nodded. A name change made sense. “Why were you in that bar? Don’t tell me you live fifty miles outside Bootleg.”
“No, I haven’t been in West Virginia since… well, since I left. I’m a producer for Attalon Records. My boss saw a video of you online and he wanted me to talk you into signing a recording contract. I wasn’t going to come, but he had me listen to you sing. And it felt like the next thing I knew, I was sitting in that bar.”
I grunted. “Huh. So that guy wasn’t fucking with me.”
“Oliver? No, he was serious.”
“I still don’t want a record deal.”
She cracked a smile, her cheeks still wet with her tears. “I know. That’s not really why I came, anyway.”
I had so many questions. What had happened the night she disappeared? Had my dad really helped her? Where had she been all these years? But there was one thing I had to know above all else.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were okay?”
The smile disappeared from her lips and she looked down at her hands. “I was afraid. The