“Baby,” I start, trying to remain sweet. “Do you see how talking to me about this could upset me?”
Callum stops abruptly and gives me the strangest look I’ve ever seen. “Who the hell are you?”
I huff out a breath. “I’m trying to be mature about this. Trying to use my therapy techniques. One of those is trying to remain objective in situations where I would normal blow everything out of proportion. So, do you see how talking about her could upset me?”
He blinks, and then cringes. “Not great. Shit, I’m sorry, baby. Talking to my girlfriend about possibly going to her formal with the girl I was kind of dating while we were apart? Yeah, that’s pretty fucking selfish. Jesus, what is wrong with me?”
“Your girlfriend, huh?” Sue me, I get caught on that title.
“Of course, what did you think?” He opens his legs as he swings to sit on the side of my bed, and I walk to him.
He pulls me between his legs, resting his chin on my stomach and looking up.
“I don’t know, we haven’t talked about it.” I shrug sheepishly.
“I’ve been in love with you and only you for about as long as I’ve known what a boner is. Of course, you’re my girlfriend. And of course, it’s annoying as hell for me to talk about her.”
“I don’t care how nice of a girl she is, I hate her on principle.” My sneer lifts my lip.
“I thought therapy was supposed to make you nicer,” he jabs.
“More understanding, not nicer. You love me because I’m a bitch.” I ruffle his hair.
“I really fucking do.” Those raven eyes flashing a molten black.
“So, please don’t talk about her anymore. I love you. You’re mine. The only person on your arm at the formal is going to be me, no matter what you promised when we weren’t together.”
“Yes, ma’am. Fuck, you’re sexy when you’re bossy.” Now Callum stands, towering over me and enveloping me in a bear hug.
“Look at us, all grown up. Solving our problems like adults.” He rests his cheek on the top of my head.
I breathe in the only boy I’ve ever loved. “Look at us, huh?”
And even though I could still feel the sting of anger in my chest, I realize it’s dissipating quickly. By just communicating with each other, we avoided a nuclear meltdown like we used to have with each and every disagreement.
Day by day, it feels like we were building something stronger and healthier than we’ve ever had before.
29
CALLUM
Finals and Christmas pass us by in a flash, and when we arrive back to Talcott, the entire campus is blanketed in snow.
Kids use trays from the dining halls to sled down the huge hill on the east side of the campus, while the rest of us take our snowboards and head to the ski resort about half an hour away.
Bevan and I, when we don’t have to brave the cold to go to classes, hole up in the Prospect Street house. We spent most of the holiday break together, with her coming over to my house every day. Not that my parents or sisters minded. They’re fucking over the moon that we’re back together. I think if anything were to ever happen again, not that it will, but hypothetically, they’ll keep Bevan and toss me to the curb.
The days are shorter, and dark comes early, staying longer, and making us feel tired. Bevan is usually engrossed in studying or obsessing over when she’ll hear from law schools. I put together lesson plans for my classes and try to soak up the last bit of college life before the real-world smacks me in the face.
And while we’re solidly dating, together, a couple, we haven’t spoken once about what happens after we walk across that stage and get our degrees. If she goes to law school in another state, does she want me to go with her? Do I want that? What if she doesn’t get into her top choice?
My hangover isn’t kind this morning, even if the warmth of her naked body is making it marginally better. Which is why I shouldn’t even be thinking about this right now, my mind is already hating me for the amount I drank last night.
We’re lying in my bed, a lazy Sunday upon us, when she interrupts the mid-morning silence.
“If I lost an eye, would you still love me?”
A laugh booms out of my mouth, while my temples pulse with anger, because Bevan is starting up a game we used to play in high school.
“Till the end of time,” I answer.
“What about if I had scars all over my boobs? What then?”
“I’d suck those fucking nipples until you came.” I shrug, pinching her sides to make her giggle. “What if I had four balls?”
“Better odds for making babies.” She holds up an A-okay hand gesture.
“Rowan and Penelope.” I smile, referencing the names we picked in high school.
“Will we actually use them?” She chuckles, but the fact she’s talking about our future family warms my heart and gives me hope.
I shrug. “Only if you want to, we both know you have the last say.”
“That’s right, I do.” Bevan snuggles into my chest with a satisfied smile.
“If I was poor, would you still love me?” I ask, the future looming over my head.
“Why, because you’re hiding some trust fund I’ve never known about?” Her voice drips with sarcasm.
“No, because chances are I will never be as successful as you. I won’t earn what you do.” I shouldn’t let that miff me, but it does.
It’s age-old bullshit, thinking you need to out-earn your wife. I really don’t have a problem with it, Bevan has always been the smarter one, the one who will go further between the two of us. But being back together has put some kind of chip on my shoulder. After what she told me about her father, I always want to be able to provide for her, protect her.
Her hand comes up to my cheek. “Hear me when I say this; I am the only person responsible for being successful. I don’t need you to take care of me, but I want you to. In all the ways that count. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. But financially? I am going to make enough for the both of us. Because I’m smart as hell, and because I’ll have fun doing it in the courtroom. You love teaching, that much I’ve seen so far. I want you to do what you’re passionate about, and fuck all the other stereotypes. I got us, baby. And you can still be the man of the house.”
Even with my hangover, a surge of ego rushes through me as I flip her onto her back. “Can I show you just how manly I am?”
“Only if it’s after really greasy breakfast sandwiches because I’m hungry as hell and might throw up if you want to have sex right now.”
I flop on my back, nausea threatening. “Oh, thank God, me too. You’re my dream girl.”
30
CALLUM
“Scott, you’re a fucking moron,”
Bevan grumbles as she tucks further into my chest, the wind whipping around us as we run for the barn.
“What! It was cheaper to book this today, before the season where every senior and their fucking freshman girlfriend wants to go on a wine tour.” Scott pouts as we watch our rented limo for the day pull away into the parking lot to wait for us.