Claiming Callie: Part two (32 page)

Dean parks just outside the home. “Don
’
t worry. I know the owner. Come on.”

He gets out of the car and moves around to her side, where he opens her door and reaches for her hand, which she gives him. The concrete over
look of the city comes into sight as they move past the front of the house. Expecting to stand at the overlook, Callie halts when he suddenly stops at the side of the house and turns to her.

“Do you trust me?” he murmurs.

Callie raises a brow and glances a
round her. There
’
s no one around; only the passing of cars and the distant sound of traffic indicates the existence of life around them. She turns to Dean and nods.

“Okay, then. Up we go,” he says, and for the first time Callie’s gaze catches on a thin met
al ladder extending up the side of the house.

Dean places his feet and hands on the rungs and begins to climb.

“Um. What are we doing?” h
er voice quakes. She’
s not particularly afraid of heights. Still, the idea of climbing up a monstrous house on the edge
of a cliff is a bit disarming.

“It
’
s the best view of the city. I promise.” He reaches a hand down to her, beckoning her with the curl of his fingers.

Inhaling, Callie squeezes her eyes tight a moment—
here goes nothing
—then begins to climb.

Dean makes it
to the roof and he reaches a hand down to her as she ascends the side of the house. She clasps it in her own as she reaches the top of the ladder and allows him to help steady her as she steps up onto the old slate roof.

Dean grips both of her arms and duc
ks his chin so that he meets her gaze. “Okay, stay low so that your body
’
s centered as you walk, and don
’
t look down. Not yet. You
’
re not going to fall. We just need to move a couple feet. Got it?”

Callie nods rapidly, swallowing down the fear that has lod
ged itself at the base of her throat. She follows Dean, his hands still gripped in hers as he guides them several feet to the left. “Okay, now you can sit.”

Callie lowers herself—stomach tumbling with the movement—until she feels the smooth surface of the
roof on her bottom. Once seated, she rubs her now-damp palms on her pants. But when she takes in her surroundings, she realizes they
’
re nowhere near the ledge of the roof. Dean has positioned them so that they
’
re seated on the edge of a dormer, where the r
oof flattens slightly, forming a secure seat.

“Now, look out,” he says, his voice soft.

When she lifts her gaze, she gasps. The entire city sits hundreds of feet below them. In the purplish dusk of the night, the Monongahela River stretches before them lik
e an exotic, inky snake. She can glimpse the points where the Allegheny meets the triangle of the city, creating the Ohio River. Among the water, the city lights give off an ethereal glow, and as the sun continues its descent in the sky, Callie knows those
lights will only get brighter until it looks as though thousands of fireflies are dancing through the city streets.

Of the sweeping view, the largest buildings stick out the most, scraping into the sky, their roofs stretching into the cloudless night like
open arms. She can make out the U.S. Steel Tower, the Mellon Center, and Macy
’
s. The view takes her breath away, making her feel oddly small. Insignificant.

“Wow,” is all she can think to say.

“Exactly,” Dean says. “I used to come out here a lot, more
than I do now. I used this place in the past as a sort of thinking post, and lately I
’
ve been doing a lot of that…thinking. I missed this place. And I thought maybe you could use it, too.”

Callie glances over at him. He
’
s leaning back on his hands, his
face relaxed. A breeze lightly ruffles his dark hair and she wishes she could see his eyes, but he continues staring ahead, his gaze unwavering in its focus on the city, and she wonders what he
’
s thinking about now.

“Whose place is this?” Callie asks.

“Thi
s house?” He points down at the house and finally turns to her, his eyes wide. “Hmmm… That
’
s a good question.
”

She swallows as her stomach jolts. “Please tell me you
’
re joking.”

He grins. “Well, I wanted to woo you with my mysterious connections and all, b
ut it
’
s Mr. Davidson’s, the owner of Buzz.”

“Oh, wow. This is a nice perk of your job.”

Dean shrugs. He
falls silent
once again, staring out at the city. “I came out here a lot in high school. After the accident,” she hears how his voice trips over the wor
d, and she knows she
’
s to blame for that. Anyone who knows her well steers clear of the subject.

“I
’
d come out here and I
’
d sit and wonder… What made me so lucky? Why was it your family and not mine? I would never want anything bad to happen to my parents,
obviously, but so many times I couldn
’
t help but consider the fact that at least I have other family. I have two sets of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, a sister. And you…you had no one but them. The only two people you had were taken from you. It j
ust seemed so unfair…”

Unbidden tears collect in her eyes, obscuring the view. She turns to him and places a hand over his. She can
’
t find any words, so he continues, filling the silence. “I remember holding you as you cried. And what was even worse than t
hat, than watching your pain, was when you started to hide it. You became so careful about showing emotion, but I can still hear the sound of your tears as I stood outside of the closed bedroom door. I might
’
ve been young, but I never felt more useless. Yo
u were in pain and there was nothing I could do...nothing I could really say to help you.”

He glances over at her and the raw emotion etched in the lines of his face leaves her breathless. Not the view. Not the city. But this man—Dean—and the way he feels
at this exact moment, reflected in his stormy gaze.

She, too, remembers those days. Far too clearly. After her parents’ deaths, grief weaved itself deep within the fabric of her life, and he had been the one who tried to untangle it the most. Only Dean ha
d tried so hard to pick apart the threads. Looking back, not even Jinny or Mrs. Michaels had been as strong for her. Maybe it was easier for him. Because he hadn
’
t been as invested in her parents as the others. As her best friend, Jinny grew up with sleepo
vers at her house, her parents driving them to the mall, her mother taking them for manicures, and girls
’
days out. Mrs. Michaels lost her lifelong friend, whereas Dean had only played
a minor role in her parents
’
lives
—only connected to them through his
mother and Jinny. So, when they died, he hadn
’
t lost as much with the accident. He was able to only see Callie, focus only on her pain.

But the thing is… Dean could
’
ve avoided all of it. He had no obligation to help Callie, to take her grief, make it his o
wn, and try to turn it around. He could
’
ve went off and played ball with his friends, focused on the trivialities of high school, but instead he stayed and held her hand. How many nights out with his friends had he skipped? How many silly high school dance
s had he missed that year?

Dean has always been there, waiting in the shadows, a steel beam, holding up the walls of Callie
’
s crumbling life.

Thoughts of her parents start to dissipate, a thinning fog on her mind, as Dean fills every thought with startling
transparency. Callie can see through the looking glass of her life where the one constant, other than Jinny and the Michaels, has been—and always will be (of this she knows with complete certainty now)—Dean.
He
’
s
been the constant in her life, and with su
dden clarity, her heart triples in size because she realizes that these last couple weeks he
’
s become
more
. More than just a friend. More than Jinny
’
s brother. And that’s why she doesn’t want him with Maya. Not because she can’t stand her, but because
she
wants Dean.

Feeling wells up inside of her, hot and bright.
How long have I felt this way and not realized it? How could I have been so blind?

She wonders, now, if he has always been there, perching in her subconscious like a dove, waiting to be
discovered. Her mind reels with this thought and as she takes in the sharp lines of his jaw and his rumpled dark hair, she questions everything about the last couple weeks.

Does he feel the same way?

While the rational part of her knows he
’
s trying to win
Maya back, a glimmer of hope sprouts that maybe some of the sentiments have been real.

She reaches out and places her hand on the side of his face, feeling the rigid muscle of his jaw on her palm. The touch seems to startle him. His pupils dilate slightly,
even in the dimming light. His eyes wander to her mouth, and she wants him to kiss her. She
’
s never wanted anything more than to taste him, feel him in this moment.