CALLEN (Second Chance Novels Book 3) (16 page)

"What…" I start, trying to form any words that might bring clarity, but there are none. Callen begins pacing again, and I have no idea how to comfort him. My years of training and experience have been pushed away by the heartache I feel for him.
 

Suddenly, he paces toward me too quickly, scaring me again. I flinch as he grabs my shoulders hard. "Tell me," he says desperately. "Tell me what to do."

He collapses to his knees and grips my hips as his forehead presses on my belly. "Please tell me what to do," he whispers."I don't know what to do…"

My heart breaks further. This strong man never had to make decisions in his life. Throughout his career, orders drove his actions, and even now he relies on Mason, whether either of them realizes it or not. Mason runs that business, and Callen stands strong at the ready for any mission he's given. He remains the perfect soldier.

How am I supposed to lead him? I'm not a superior officer, which is what he's looking for. I'm simply a woman who loves and supports him. I have no idea if my role will be enough, but I can't make a decision for him.

"Shhh," I tell him again. "Sit down with me."

He instantly does as I ask, and my shoulders slump. I need to navigate the situation more carefully than I ever have. Silently I pull him to lie down with me along the length of the couch and I rest him in my arms with his head on my breast. His voice whispers in total brokenness. "Please tell me."

"Breathe," I say softly. "Slowly."

He complies again. We breathe together several rounds before he speaks again. He sits up and rests the weight of his shoulders down through his elbows and onto his knees. His hands carry the weight of his head as the heels of his palms press into his eyes. I wrap myself around him and rest my head on his strong shoulder.
 

"Cain and Abel," he says quietly, sounding detached from himself.

Silence, tension, and my inability to comfort or direct him strain minute upon minute. Finally, words from his thoughts come tumbling from his mouth.

"But I would be killing
me
. He's a limb, an organ. All my brothers are. They're all I've
ever had
…except for Evvie, and he stole her for nothing but money."

I simply listen and run my fingers through the stubbly hair at the base of his head. Being excluded from what he's
ever had
stings, but rationally I understand. I remain what he needs. My comfort, whether it helps or not, is all I have to give right now. A long while passes before he speaks again.
 

"I don't know what to do," he says again. I take a deep breath.
 

"Does Mason know?"

He shakes his head through a deep breath. "Mason has an impulsive streak. I'm not sure how he would react to this. If Spades is going to die, it will be my hands killing him, not Mason's."

I remain quiet, still unsure of how to handle the situation. His circumstance falls far beyond my training or experience. All I can do is be here for him. I can offer my touch and comfort, but little else.

He shifts his body to look at me, and I see sadness more than anything. Callen is broken, and grieving another loss. I see him questioning every fraternal bond.
 

"Quinn," he says in a shaky voice, betraying both his anger and sadness. "I don't know what to do. I
hate
. In red."

His eyes burn with frightening intensity. I hold his gaze almost painfully. I will be strong for the man I consider mine, even though he hasn't found his way to me yet. Sadly, he doesn't realize much about our relationship. As I keep my eyes locked with his, I randomly wonder if he'll ever move forward. No matter how well I understand him, the variables affecting his future all rest on his shoulders.

His eyes burn hotter as he stares into me, and I see his thoughts. Nothing else may be right in his world, but his time with me fills him with passion and meaning. He may be searching, or he may be avoiding…he may be fully in denial, but I see in him both darkness and desire. He came here looking for counsel, but finds himself in need of more.
 

He wants our pleasure to push away his pain. As an adult and a clinical psychologist, I'm fully aware such a course of action will do nothing to help him. The woman in me, however, needs to satisfy the tension between us…and months of wanting him. I cannot offer absolution or closure, but I could simply help him forget for a while. My own inner conflict adds to the tension.

He turns to me and winds his fingers into my hair with one hand. With the other, he drags his fingertips heavily down my cheek and across my lips.
 

"You're all that's beautiful," he rasps in shaking intensity. He watches my lips under the pressure of his fingers. Sounding more lost and confused, he whispers to the air, "How are you so beautiful?"

My heart races as my breathing becomes shallow. He continues to trace my lips, studying them carefully as he touches them. I unintentionally close my eyes to focus on the sensation.
 

"So beautiful," he repeats. The hand in my hair gently re-grips as he pulls me closer. My eyes may be closed, but a part of me sees him clearly. There is conflict in his voice, tension in his frame, and deep desire in every part of him.

I feel him move closer as he parts my lips with his fingers. His touch sends chills across my skin as his fingers move to my cheek. Opening my eyes, I see him watching his fingers still. Now his thumb drags along my lips, and he finally looks me in the eye.

Conflict remains hidden behind his crystal blue irises. He leans in as though to kiss me, but halts suddenly and drops his forehead to mine. I have no idea if any words would ease his angst, so I wait in near-shaking intensity as I wonder if he can ever let go. He's lived in denial for so long, and I desperately want him to break free. He needs to move forward, not only for his own mental well-being, but also to connect with another human being…with
me
.
 

"Quinn," he breathes with his eyes closed. His hands remain cradling my cheek and tangled in my hair. The conflict in his mind mirrors his body language. Holding on…holding back…

His words leave him as he presses against my forehead harder. "Please," he whispers in pain. "Tell me wha…"

His voice trails of as he clenches his jaw. I refuse to offer direction. I hope to God I don't lose him, but if we have a chance at all, we need to be equals. I refuse to be his commander. I'm astounded at the strength of the man in front of me mixed with the insecurity of forging his own path. I don't want to pity him, but my heart aches for his uncertainty.
 

Finally, I feel the need to break his sense of conflict. Swirling in confusion is painful for him. I won't lay out an ultimatum, nor will I decide for him, but I can push his brain toward clarity. I lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth softly, then I move to whisper in his ear. I'm terrified of the possible consequence of my next words.
 

"You can have me.
You're allowed to want me
, but only if at least part of you loves me."

His eyes snap to mine and he leans away. Sudden anger swirls in his eyes, and I force back tears. He stares straight into me.
 

"Of course I do!" he snaps at me as he grips my head harder. "That's half damn reason I'm torn apart!"

My heart stops at his confession, and I can sense the anger building in my own eyes. He abruptly lets me go. His hands grip his own head now as he looks around my living room. He remains lost, even through his anger. The tension between us presses in from all sides.

I force myself to stay strong. There's no way I'll cower to the tension, so I own our equality. I grab his arm and forcibly turn him toward me so I can take his face in my hands. With shaking intensity of my own, I speak strongly.

"Loving me doesn't force her away. Your choice isn't between Evvie and me. Your choice is between vengeance and moving forward."

"I promised her," he chokes out.
 

"No, you promised yourself."

His entire face tightens in frustration as he nearly shouts. "How can I let Spades live? But how could I possibly kill him? How can I love you, but honor Evvie?"

"Loving me doesn't erase her. Killing Spades is your choice," I whisper, forcing my own choice. I could so easily direct his actions in my favor. I could take him to my bed and finally feel him. I can instruct him toward my many fantasies, and drag him away from revenge. I can take our norm of 'casual dating' and push us to the place of passion where we belong.

However, if there's to be any truth in the concept of
us
, I can only open myself up to him. He needs to walk toward me with his own feet.
 

We stare at each other in a stand off, each angry and neither of us sure what he'll choose. With a final clench of his jaw he lets go of his head and glares at me again. "I just wanted your damn help," he says in disgust right before he strides away from me and to my door.
 

Hot tears threaten to fall when he turns the knob and jerks the door back. He's past the threshold when he suddenly stops. My heart stops along with him. A noise of pure angst and frustration pushes sharply from his chest as he turns around and punches my door. With one final pause, Callen stares angrily at me.
 

I can't breathe.
 

After a painful moment, he takes a single, long stride into my house. The door falls shut behind him. I'm not sure if he's breathing either. I'm not sure how much more staring I can handle, but I refuse to waver. He needs my strength more than my direction, whether he recognizes that fact or not.
 

Carefully, I speak one sentence. His indecision be damned along with his fragile inability to function in a world with no hierarchy. In a firm, soft voice, I ask a simple question.

"What's it going to be, Callen?" I hold my breath again, simply because every muscle of my body can do nothing but wait for his answer.
 

His shoulders drop so slightly. "I honestly don't know."

With a final heavy breath, he turns and leaves.
 

I can't hold back my frustrated tears any longer, so I sink to my couch and cry. Sadness and anger stream down my face slowly for his pain and for my own desperate wish to be with him in every sense. I want his time, his obvious compassion, and to be his choice over a dead woman and the ugly vengeance he seeks.

I'm teetering too closely to wanting to
change
him, which can never happen. Part of me wonders if we're compatible at all. I chuff at myself in disgust. I may be deluding myself into thinking I'm any more than the therapist forcing him to work through his problems. He may love only that part of me, seeking help rather than discovering our connection.
 

How could I be so foolish?

I shake my head and walk to my shower. This day needs to disappear down my drain along with the quiet tears which won't seem to stop.

Finding solace in my routine, I start the hot water in my tile shower, toss today's clothes in the laundry, lay out tomorrow's outfit, and tidy my dresser. A peaceful, orderly bedroom usually does wonders for my sleep, and seems the only bit of order at all.
 

By the time I make my way to the bathroom, the steam from the shower surrounds me with warmth, but only on the surface. I remain cold inside.

Routine, again, helps me deal with the chaos in my heart. Shampoo. Conditioner. Body wash. Shave every feminine part of me. Stand in the water forever, it seems. Today simply won't wash away, nor does the water replace the tears on my cheeks, but rather mingle together pointlessly.

With the steamy spray still tumbling over my upturned face, I freeze when I hear the click of my front door and the sound of Callen's voice again. "Quinn?" I hear muffled by the sound of the water. Even through the sound of the shower, I can hear the emotion in his voice. The bathroom door clicks open, and I can only stand frozen in place.

"Quinn…"

He doesn't say another word, and I can't find the breath to answer. The quiet presses in on me until the shower curtain opens slightly and I see a stunningly perfect male form naked in front of me. With intensity straining his eyes, he steps in beside me and takes my face strongly in his hands.