Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 21- Callie

         I don't bother giving him a chance to respond before I'm dashing out the door and into the kitchen. Leaning against the counter, I allow myself a moment to breath. I'm not crazy. God was flirting with me. At least I'm pretty sure. Mostly sure? Okay, definitely sixty percent sure. Honestly, I'm out of practice. Nicole is always complaining a man would have to spell it out on paper in all caps, highlight it, and I'd still ask if he was sure.

Music continues to echo throughout the bunker, Bad Company this time. I recognize the chords to Feel Like Makin' Love and curse Rave's excellent choices. It's hard to dislike someone when they keep playing the songs that comforted you growing up. I wonder if that arrogant scowl graces his face when he plays or if that smile I wasn't meant to see this morning tilts up his perfectly plump lips. Either way, it's irrelevant. It doesn't change his attitude toward me or my feelings towards him. He's detestable, rude, and presumptuous. And everyone knows what assumptions make out of you and me.

Despite using it as an excuse, I am a bit thirsty. I grab myself a bottle of water from the fridge and know I'll have to go back any minute now. God seems to have a bit of a gentleman in him and I appreciate him giving me a moment to myself. I doubt he'll even call me out on running though there's no denying that is exactly what I was doing.

No time like the present. I simply do what Aunt Rachel and Nicole would do, imagine myself with the confidence of a Kardashian/Jenner or Stevie Nicks and strut back down the hall.

God paces the floor, muttering to himself before he notices me in the hall. "You alright? I know it's been a wild couple hours. Don't be scared to take a minute when you need it. I'll be here waiting when you're done."

He has no clue how much I needed to hear that. I flop back down on his bed and wait for him to resume our conversation. He doesn't bother to hesitate this time, taking a seat on the bed beside me.

God's patient stare is all it takes for me to realize I'm going to have to be the one to pick up where we left off. It's only fair with the way I ran out on him. "It's just a phrase a guy told me growing up. It's silly really. I couldn't even tell you why it stuck with me."

That's a bold-faced lie. I know exactly why it stuck with me. It should have been a wakeup call, but just like a sleepy headed teen in the midst of a dream with their celeb crush, I refused to wake up to face reality. Perhaps it did work a fraction. My rose-colored lenses were cracked and I began to see flashes of the real Colt through the excuses and the gas lighting. It's funny, back then I would have claimed the gas lighting was merely Colt shining a lamp illuminating my numerous failures.

"Clearly it stuck with you. Was it someone you were friends with? Teacher? Family?"

I try to relax in God's presence. However many feet underground we are, I should feel safe. It's not as if Colt will hear me disparaging his character as he would call it and rush to mete out my punishment. Despite my mind knowing all of that, I'm still reluctant. All these years between us and I can still hear his voice clear as day. Now why did you have to go and do that? I know you didn't mean it. Come show me how sorry you are Doll and maybe I'll forget all about it.

I fight to suppress the shudder of revulsion that rolls through me at his words. The thought alone makes me ache for a molten hot shower to scour off the grime of his words. If the memory of him can turn my head upside down, I'd hate to even think about what seeing him again would do. And that's just it, the main issue of this whole kidnapping. He knows where I am now. Maybe not my exact GPS location, but he knows once he finds the four men who kidnapped me, I'm his. No one would ever believe the traumatized victim over one of their good ol' boys in blue. They never do.

Ugh. I just want to punch something, preferably his smug perfect face. They really weren't kidding in Sunday school when they said Lucifer was beautiful. Colt was stupidly handsome, even in high school. He knew it and he made sure everyone else did too. Not a hair out of place and heaven help you if you scuffed his boots, a fact I was always so painfully reminded of.

I fell in love with Colton Barnes so easily, Thomas Rhett crooning about getting some of that and a blanket in a truck bed by the lake with the most thoughtful picnic I'd ever had. Any girl would fall for the boy who brought chocolate covered strawberries to their first date and remembered napkins. The Devil is always in the details and Colton never forgot one.

Love is a lot like fallingfrom the Empire State Building, or what I imagine it would be like. There'sthat initial jump where you go for it and your mind races with everything itcould be, possibilities galore. The fall feels like flying, superhuman and transcendent.All at once, filled with adrenaline and a peace that nothing to come will evercompare to. But like all things too good to last, like Santa and the beliefthat people are inherently good, the fall must end. And you can only hope thatyou're one of the lucky ones and the fall is what kills you. Because the afteris never worth the fall.It wasn't hard to recall the man God asked about, the day a core memory that had never been locked up.

Colt and I had been together for about seven months, practically forever to my naive sophomore self. I'd been living with Aunt Rachel for little over a year at that point, finally used to her relaxed style of living compared to my mother's rigidity. Knowing Colt and his need for cleanliness and perfection, it struck me as odd that he would want to go mudding. His precious lifted race red F-150 was bound to end up coated in mud and who knows what else, all of that could be easily washed off, but the mud would inevitably make its way into the cab. My outlook on the day was about as good as the Milwaukee Brewers winning the World Series.

The day had started out fairly well. He showed up to my house with fresh wildflowers from his family's land for Aunt Rachel and my favorite smoothie from Smooth with It, the local shop. Combined with their lack of drive thru and long lines, the stop was a sweet gesture. I remember questioning my pessimism. I should know better now than to question my instincts but old habits die hard.

A drought filled summer and spring had led to the lake being far below its regular levels, but it made for a perfect spot for the locals where the recessed shore lay hidden behind a planned subdivision. Only the sheriff's truck could make it down the steep incline and we weren't worried about his father coming down anytime we were back there. It just wouldn't do for his son to have an arrest record.

All was surprisingly well. The sun was beating down, the windows were caked in thick lake mud, and a smile was spread across my face as laughter poured out like it hadn't in weeks. Everything was perfect until his baby hit a slick of mud too stubborn to power through. Colt's back tires were spinning aimlessly without a lick of friction to help and every revolution further incensed him. I remember fighting to keep that smile on my face despite the snarl encompassing his own. Burying its head in the sand doesn't exactly work out for the ostrich either.

His hard stare said it all as the car started idling in the mud. The harsh click of the passenger door unlocking was just added punctuation. 'Don't worry babe, I'll get it," I remember telling him. Even in his own mind, asking me would have been ridiculous. Heavy implications were more his style, easier to dismiss away once I had time to think the situation through. As his father was always commenting, memories make for such unreliable witnesses.