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

Chapter 22- Callie

The hem of God's shirt was soft as I twirled it between my fingers. It must be the fabric softener, though I was surprised that they even bothered to use it, most men wouldn't. Clearly someone had taught them well. My teeth ground together and heat rose in my eyes as I could feel myself fighting the inevitable tears. Even thinking of that day sent my mind back there, fighting emotions that had no business being able to touch me so many years later. But that's the thing about memories, like spiderwebs they cling to you, invisible until you walk right into their trap. Colt has always been my spider, just as I will always be his doll.

I force a smile to my face, ready to dive back down into those murky memories, but God's hand on my knee brings my eyes up to his. "Do you need a minute," he coughs out the last word before taking a drink of his toddy. "Gah, this shit burns. Family recipe you said? They didn't happen to mix it up with lighter fluid?"

A smile creeps its way through. "My aunt has been known for her less than orthodox concoctions. This is definitely one of the more tame options."

God's answering chuff says it all. No one can really picture the cult of personality that is my Aunt Rachel until they meet her. Under the circumstances, I don't imagine that happening ever.

"No, I'm fine. Just brings up unpleasant memories. My ex was a bit of a gem, my aunt would say. Pyrite, to be specific. And you're looking at the queen of fools," I say with a dramatic bow of my hands.

God is silent in the wake of my admission. But his silence comes with contemplation and understanding, not judgement. Acceptance like Cupid though in different packaging. Perhaps that's why the words come so easily under his warm amber eyes.

"Is he the reason for..." he hesitates as if trying to find a polite word to encompass all my idiosyncrasies. I'm painfully aware that's I'm about as relaxed as a mouse in a reptile house.

"The delightful mess that is me? I'd like to think I had a hand in it, but yeah. Nothing like your first love to mess you up for life." I can't hide the bitter sarcasm. I am bitter. I'm bitter that I allow him to have this much control over me, but as much as I'd like to leave him in the past where he belongs, I can't. Not without leaving the state and with it, Rachel.

"But about your earlier question, the only reason I know that phrase is because my knight in a filthy white Jeep called my ex everything but a child of God when he saw me with mud up to my knees and crusted beneath my newly painted nails while he sat in the air conditioning telling me to hurry it up. Well it was two knights, but the other one was more of a glower for backup kind of guy. Rave would probably like him. They offered me a ride home, but I had to decline. Though they were kind enough to pull us out and offered me a towel to clean up with. I bet I looked like a drowned rat, but they reminded me of how I should be treated. It stuck out to me."

God's eyes have hardened to a smooth coffee jasper despite the easy smile that graces his lips. "And where was it you said you were from Calista?"

"I didn't."

"Local?"

I scoot back on the bed, just a touch. God has always been intimidating, but his intensity has shot up to a ten. "Why?"

God takes a slow inhale and it set my nerves on edge. Colt used to do that too right before he would lay in to me, whether it was his words or his hands. Despite God's easy-going manner, I can't let myself forget that these men kidnapped me.

"I live here now. Well, Gremory. I'm not exactly sure where here is at the moment," I shrug.

"But you're from Grayson county, right? That's what you're running from?"

Blunt weapons really are the worst, whether knives or words.

Running is the only thing I can do. Fighting back never seemed to work. Even a young Colt had known to hide the bruises. My mother had made sure to instill shame as one of the worst sins you could bring upon the family. My absent father had shamed her enough. There was no way I could add to it despite her passing. So I made sure to absorb that shame, just as I absorbed every barbed insult and swift fist.

"Why ask questions when you already know the answer?" That tell-tale heat is sprinting past my cheeks and burning behind my eyes. I refuse to cry. My tears do not make me weak, I know that. But tears are one of those pesky little signs that let everyone know they're getting to you. I hate them.

"Enjoy your drink," I muster out. I don't like where this conversation is going. I stand and make my way to the door. Before I exit, I make sure to look back. "I'm not always running because I'm scared, sometimes it's the only option." Running takes a quiet strength. And I am not weak.