Sometimes Moments (17 page)

Peyton gasped as she sat up from her sleep. She looked around her room, disorientated. When a sudden pain hit her head, she quickly placed her hand over her forehead to relieve it, but it was pointless. It came in thumps, one after the other.

Another
bang
led her to find that her bedroom door was open.

“What happened last night?” she groaned.

After throwing the blanket off her body, she slipped out of bed and walked over to the door. When she noticed that the curtains had been pushed aside slightly, her feet automatically took her to the window. Peyton moved the curtains farther apart and saw cherry blossoms falling from the tree as branches swayed with the wind. She stared at the way the light broke through and touched the petals of the pink flower.

“Good morning, Peyton.”

Oh God, it wasn’t a horrible dream.

Closing her eyes, Peyton sighed before she turned around to see him by the bedroom door. His eyes were a bright grey, but they couldn’t mask the hint of regret she saw—one that deserved to be there. In the light, he was beautiful. Last night, the darkness had kept him in the shadows, allowing her some sort of shield from him. But now, visibility was clear. She officially hated last night’s storm…and Mrs West’s cat, Mr Lucky.

Peyton leant against the windowsill and looked at Callum. Her eyes travelled down to see him holding a plate.

“What do you have there?” she asked.

“French toast is still your favourite, right?” Callum glanced at the bread and then at her, appearing unsure of himself.

Peyton pushed off the sill and wandered towards him. The smile Callum had made seemed to seek her approval. She took in the two pieces of toast that had berries placed on top of them. And then she saw it—cream and chocolate chips. Two ingredients her mother had placed on Peyton’s Sunday French toast. When her parents had died, Peyton had decided that Sunday breakfast at the hotel was no longer a tradition. Instead, she ate a bowl of Froot Loops and the occasional English breakfast made by her aunt.

“It was. Is that where all that noise was coming from? You struggling to make French toast?” Peyton watched his blush turn from a subtle pink to a vibrant red.

“I’m not much of a cook. It’s no longer your favourite?” His smile quickly faded and the disappointment could be seen on his face.

Feeling guilty, Peyton took the plate from Callum and sat on the bed, inspecting the breakfast. It resembled her mother’s. For someone who wasn’t much of a cook, Callum had outdone himself. It was presented exactly how she used to like it. Cream and chocolate chips sandwiched between the two pieces of bread with berries on top.

Callum walked over and sat next to her, the mattress moving under the weight of him. Peyton took the cutlery in her hand and began to cut a piece. Once she had a strawberry on the fork with the toast, she stared at it, afraid of all the memories that would flood back.

She missed her mother’s smile and her father’s laughter. She missed their Sunday breakfasts and she missed them telling her to let go of her anger towards the man who was sitting next to her. That holding grudges would leave her unhappy with life… And they’d been right. It was a shame they weren’t alive to tell her so.

Peyton placed the fork down and put her hands on the mattress.

“It can’t be that bad. Can it?” he asked nervously.

The worry in his voice had her internally smiling.

Peyton shook her head. “I’m sure it tastes wonderful, Callum. But I haven’t had this in a long time. The last time was…was the day before my parents died. Please don’t be offended if I don’t eat it. I honestly appreciate the gesture.” She turned her head and offered him the sincerest smile she could.

Callum nodded and took the plate from her. “Do you think I could make this for you every Sunday while I’m in town? Maybe one Sunday you may want to try?”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” Peyton stated.

“Can I make you breakfast tomorrow, Peyton?” The way he asked in such a low voice was beautiful. She’d be lying if she said that her heart didn’t explode within her.

What’s happening to me?

“Why would you want to do that, Callum?” she asked, still wondering why that wall wasn’t blocking it all—the feelings, the curiosity, and the memories.

“Like I said last night. I want
moments
together,” he answered.

Peyton stilled.

Sometimes moments.

He’d said that last night. She was sure that he had. Just before she’d fallen asleep, she heard those two words. And she was also sure that, in her dream, she’d heard them being whispered again. Something along the lines of,
“I want sometimes moments with you, Peyton. Ones I’ll remember…before I say goodbye.”

What in God’s name is a ‘sometimes moment’?

She’d never heard of that phrase. Never heard someone use it in a sentence or ever defined it. And it was definitely a phrase Peyton herself wouldn’t have used or made up. So it had to have been Callum. She should have asked him. But for some reason, she believed the worst in sometimes moments. She’d rather be oblivious to its meaning.

“Peyton?”

She caught it—the slight shakiness in his voice. She loved the sound of concern in his voice. Just like she had when they were teenagers.

“Did we sleep in the same bed?” she asked, turning her body to inspect her mattress.

“We
didn’t
have sex,” he quickly clarified.

Peyton rolled her eyes. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d know if she’d had sex last night. She’d
feel
it. She pushed his arm, Callum holding on to the plate so it wouldn’t fall.

“I know that. I was just asking if you left during the night. I think I heard you say something.”

He froze. “What did you hear?”

Caution. That’s what she’d heard in his voice.

“Was I supposed to hear something in particular?” she asked, cocking her brow at him.

“I heard something, too,” he stated.

The hell he did.

Peyton took the plate out of his hands and placed it on her bedside table, next to the remains of the half-melted candle.

She lifted her legs and crossed them on the bed. “What did you hear?”

Callum mirrored her sitting position on the bed. “What did
you
hear?”

“I asked you first.”

“Then you answer first,” he retorted.

She huffed out. “Fine. I heard nothing. I was bluffing.”

Lie. I heard you call us a sometimes moment.

Callum glared at her. Then he closed his eyes for a long moment and let out a hum. Rolling her eyes, Peyton leaned back against the headboard. Waiting.

The sunlight that passed through the window hit the side of his face, and she mentally noted just how beautiful he was in this moment. He looked peaceful and unworried. A version of the boy she had fallen in love with. Peyton clenched her fists. It was happening. And she hated herself for it. Somewhere within him was the person she loved—had loved.

He slowly opened his eyes. No smile or frown. He seemed restrained, not wanting to show his emotions to her.

“You mumbled that you still loved me,” he said.

Did I say that last night? Christ, Peyton!

Peyton let out a hard laugh. “Me?
Still
love you?
That’s such a lie. I did not,” she downplayed.

Still
was a very strong word. Though, in the back of her mind, she knew that word was a representation of her current status towards him… She just didn’t want to admit it.

Callum rubbed his arm, his long-sleeved top riding up. Peyton quickly sat up, staring. She was sure she’d seen something on his skin. So she grabbed his wrist, feeling him wince in her hold.

“What are you doing, Peyton?”

Ignoring his question, she stared at the black on his wrist. After a moment, Peyton looked up at him and raised her brow in disbelief. If it was what she thought she saw, then she was in the presence of the world’s greatest hypocrite.

Callum struggled to pull back and free himself, but had been met with Peyton clutching him tighter. She looked at him, hoping her face expressed her seriousness before she eyed the sleeve that covered up the questionable mark on his wrist. When she thought back, she realised that everything he’d worn since he’d had returned covered his arms and it only made her even more curious. Unable to help herself, Peyton loosened her hold and let her thumbs caress the mark.

“Peyton,” he warned and jerked back. “I got one, okay?”

Her hands fell in her lap. “You said you’d never.”

He got off the bed and shook his head. “Well, I did. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

Too curious to care about the harsh tone in his voice, Peyton rose to her feet. She placed her hands firmly on his hard chest and pushed him into the wall. He let out an, “Oomph,” and before she could take a step back, he held her arms, trapping her.

“Let go of me,” she said sternly.

“Not unless you say that you won’t look.”

She shook her head.

“Then I don’t want you to see,” he stated.

Peyton looked him dead in the eye. “You walked out on me.”

His hold on her loosened before his arms fell by her side. Then he turned away from her and said, “Fine.”

She took a deep breath and readied herself. When she was growing up, it had always been a pissing contest with the boys when it came to tattoos. Callum had straight up said that he’d never, promising her that he wouldn’t.

Peyton held his left wrist, traced his skin, and slowly pushed up his grey sleeve. When she was able to see his entire forearm, she stopped and stared. Reddish-pink colour against the black tattoos caught her eye. She held her breath as her fingers traced the inked cherry blossoms on Callum’s arm. As he turned his arm over and she looked at his wrist, she immediately stepped back.

Her eyes never left his wrist. The throbbing in her chest and the lump in her throat rendered her speechless.

“I got it when I turned eighteen, a few months after I left,” he said in a soft voice.

“But why?” she managed out.

“It seemed necessary,” he replied.

Peyton shook her head in disbelief. “My-my name…necessary on…your wrist.” She looked up at him, confused.

He’d left her the weekend after she’d given him her virginity and told him that she loved him, yet he had tattooed her name on his wrist.

“I don’t understand. You left me and then got a tattoo of my name? That’s crazy!” she exclaimed.

Callum ran a finger over each letter on his wrist before meeting her eyes. “It reminds me every day of why I did what I did. It’s a constant reminder of what I gave up for you.”

“What did you give up for me?” she asked, a little hurt.

“A horrible future with me,” he confessed in a small voice.

“No,” she whispered, staring at the way her name marked his skin in permanent ink. The useless hope that had filled her heart now consumed it.

Peyton quickly brushed the tear that was running down her left cheek. She walked towards her dresser and pulled open the drawer. After rummaging through her jumpers, she found a bundle of Polaroids. She stared at them for a moment before she turned and walked back to him, placing them in his hands.

“We were happy together, Callum. We could have had
this,
but you decided to walk away instead of fighting dragons with me. You turned your back on me and a future together. We were going to leave this town, go to Deakin, and live together. You went and did that all without me. Do you know how much it hurt me to hear that you went to Deakin while I was stuck here, grieving my parents?”

He sifted through the Polaroids of their time together and swallowed hard. She hadn’t touched them since the day after her parents’ funeral. She had been stupid to believe that he’d attend. Never answering her call should have been a clear indicator. But she’d been hopeful.

“You think it was easy going to Deakin without you? Going to classes and thinking maybe you had applied, too? That maybe I’d see you walking to class and we’d bump into each other? It didn’t happen. I waited for you, hoping you’d show up. That you didn’t let what I had done to you stand in the way of your dream school.” There was an it’s-not-my-fault stance in his voice.

Peyton sat back on her bed, rubbing her forehead. It was too early to be arguing with him. But there was so much that had gone unexplained between them. They were imploding.

“How do we move on from this? You’re adamant that you won’t leave until after the wedding. How do we coexist in this town?” she asked, defeated.

Callum sighed and crouched in front of her. She noticed his sleeve still pushed up and was able to see that her name had visibly branded him. He placed the photographs on her unmade bed and then rested his palms on her knees.

“I’m not saying that you should forgive me so easily, because I don’t want that. Just let me in your life, Peyton, even if it’s only for a little while. We keep taking too many steps back. I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me, but I won’t stop trying to get you to. Can we just have a start fresh? Actually become friends or at least something along those lines?”