Just the Beginning [Complete ✓]

Chapter 18

"So, how do you two know each other?" Mr. Finn asks. He's seated on the chair beside Sawyer, leaning forward so his elbows press into his knees. Adrian and I are seated on the couch opposite Miss Sullivan. 

"She was Cooper's girlfriend," Miss Sullivan murmurs softly. The way her face tightens on his name clenches at my chest. Sure, I was still struggling to get a grasp around his death, but I can't even imagine how difficult it's been for her.

"This is Callan?"

My head whips to face Mr. Finn. "You know about me?" I can't help but be surprised. Considering how little Cooper spoke about his father, I always assumed they were never in touch. So knowing that he knew about me, I don't know how to react. I don't know what to say or do. He's about to respond, but it's Sawyer's voice who catches my attention this time.

"Of course," he says. "He never stopped speaking about you." The tone of his voice changes. Like there's something caught in his throat, and again, I don't know how to respond. If Sawyer heard about me; knew about me, then were they closer than I imagined? Was this something Cooper chose not to tell me? Was this a part of his life he never showed me?

"Can I be excused?" Are the first words that pass my lips. Before any of them can respond, I'm already on my feet and around the corner. I step out onto the front porch and take a seat on the steps. I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jersey to keep them from shaking.

The door closes, footsteps echoing as Sawyer takes a seat. "You were the highlight of them."

"Oh." It's all I can think to say. After a long moment of uncertainty and inner debate, I continue. "I never knew he got back into contact with his dad."

"Originally, he didn't," Sawyer states. Looking over at him, he's got this torn expression, like he somehow can't believe it. What he can't believe, I'm not sure. Though I can say for certain that the topic of Cooper was influencing the expression. "He found me. Called me up and we started speaking."

"Did you guys ever meet?"

He shakes his head. "We were planning to."

I remember. Before the accident; before he died, he was planning a trip. No matter how many times I asked, he would avoid the topic. Said I needed to wait until after he got back. Though he always seemed nervous, I could see the excitement. He would constantly mention what he planned to do while successfully avoiding who it was he was going to see and the exact location. 

"He was excited," I tell him. "Nervous, but excited." 

"It wasn't all that long ago," he tells me. "We only started speaking toward the end of last year."

"I'm sorry," I say, for a lack of anything better. How do you respond to someone who never got a chance to know their brother? It's not that easy, especially when you knew him.

"That's alright."

Crossing my arms, I exhale heavily as I lean my upper body forward. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I look away. "So, this entire time you knew me?" I query. Really, I didn't want an answer. I wanted to assume that he didn't, because that would make it better. It would make dealing with this so much better. So much easier. Though of course, I know that's not how it works. It's not the way life works. I try not to look at him as I wait for his response, and it feels like one of the longest pauses in my life. 

"No," he admits. "Not until just the other day. You said I looked like him and, well, I connected the dots." 

"I didn't mean to yell at you like that."

He sighs. "It's alright. I don't blame you." 

We sit like this, in the silence, for what feels like forever, but is probably only a few minutes. The house is quiet, almost eerie. Which I suppose is good. Not being able to hear what's going on inside a house. It keeps the eavesdroppers away.

Sawyer stands up first. He starts to walk inside when he stops; I can hear it in his footsteps and how he hasn't opened the door yet. For whatever reason, I straighten myself. 

"You should tell me about him sometime," he says in a tone I can't pinpoint. Though by the time I've turned around, he's already stepped inside, the door closing behind him. Turning around to face the road, I can't help the odd sensation that starts coursing through me.

With as much courage as I can muster, I pull myself to a stand right as the door opens.

Adrian steps out, hands in his pockets and a crooked grin across his face. The uncertainty in his gaze when our eyes meet intensifies the feeling from before, though when he speaks, it's distraction enough. "Ready to go?" 

"Yes please."