Then once you both feel comfortable, you can meet at a place of your choosing.”
“I... I’m not sure.” The other project had been a group thing. I wouldn’t be solely responsible for the young people participating.
“It’s a lot of responsibility,” Freya added, as if she’d heard my thoughts. “But the rewards are steep. These young people need guidance. They need to know it’s going to be okay. But most of all they need an adult figure who will show up no matter what.”
I thought back to all the times I’d felt alone growing up. Being Callum’s sister was like being invisible. I’d had Mom but she was my mom—she was supposed to love me unconditionally.
“You’ve experienced a huge loss, Calli. That kind of thing changes you. It molds you into someone new. Someone stronger and more aware of the fragility of life. I think you’d be a great asset to the project and could make a real positive impact on the lives of some of our young people.”
“Okay,” I said, a tiny seed of excitement taking root in my chest. “Let’s do it.”
Freya gave me a little smile of encouragement. “I was hoping you’d say that. There’s a bunch of paperwork and some training you’ll need to do, but we should be able to get the ball rolling pretty quickly.”
“That sounds great.”
I left Next Steps feeling more positive than I had in a while. Freya was so easy to be around and had this way of making me already feel a part of the team, and I was eager to get started.
The center was only a fifteen-minute walk from campus, so I enjoyed the afternoon sunshine. Downtown Steinbeck was full of students and young professionals checking out the numerous cafes, diners, and bars the college town had to offer.
When I walked past a bar called The Pivot, a loud chorus of cheers startled me. Through the tinted windows, I could just make out a group of athletes... no, basketball players.
Ugh. I hurried away. The last thing I wanted was to cross paths with my brother or Joel, or even worse—
“Calli?”
His voice was like lead in my stomach. I was frozen to the spot, completely disarmed by Zach’s husky voice.
“Calli?” He moved closer. I could feel him at my back. Big, strong... imposing.
A shiver rolled through me as I steeled my spine to face him. “Hey,” I said, keeping my expression neutral.
“Hey, I... uh...” He ran a hand through his tousled sun-kissed hair. “I thought it was you.”
“You were in there?” I flicked my head to the bar, and he nodded.
“Monday happy hour.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from happy hour.” I went to leave, but Zach snagged my wrist.
“You were gone.”
Letting out a weary sigh, I lifted my gaze to his questioning one. “You were out cold, and I didn’t want to make things anymore awkward than they needed to be.”
“Yeah, but shit, Calli, it’s your dorm room. You didn’t have to leave.” Something flashed over his expression.
“It’s no big deal.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
The air turned thick with tension. This... this is what I’d wanted to avoid when I’d left my dorm room yesterday morning.
When we were angry, bitter and frustrated we could fight it out, use each other’s bodies to express ourselves. But in the quieter times, when our white flags were waving a temporary truce, everything about us felt wrong.
Strained laughter tumbled from my lips.
“What?” Zach frowned, his eyes clouded with confusion.
“It doesn’t matter. I should go.” I looked down to where he was still holding me and Zach released me, thrusting his hand into his hair. It was a move I’d once loved, but now it only served to make my heart ache.
“Calli, I...” He hesitated, his torment wrapping around me and sucking the air from my lungs.
But his words never came.
And even if they had, I knew they wouldn’t be the ones I wanted to hear.
“I’ll see you around, Zach.” I gave him a weak smile and took off down the street, knowing it was goodbye.
He let me go.
And I didn’t know whether to be relieved…
Or disappointed.
Callum didn’t call. He didn’t text or seek me out. If he was pissed that everyone knew his secrets, I didn’t know because he was still like a ghost around campus.
By the time Friday rolled around, I was beginning to think maybe I was the ghost. Or maybe I’d just built it up to be something in my head that it wasn’t.
This wasn’t high school, it was college. People had