Page 27 of Peripheral Vision (Tethered in Darkness Duet #1)

His eyes crinkle before holding his hand out to take it once more.

“ Four days more than before. I’ll take whatever you’re willing to offer me.

” I’m about to say something in response to that, with the way it makes butterflies swirl in my stomach, but he pulls me along before I have the chance.

He guides me through the parking lot, the sound of music and what sounds like people talking growing louder with every step.

As we near a building and round a corner, I realize that we are in a strip.

There are string lights hanging over our heads, multiple different kinds of booths selling different kinds of products lining the walkways, and people everywhere.

The music, I note, comes from a band at the opposite end from us.

They’re playing some kind of tune that I don’t know but it fills the air with a happy buzz.

There are vendors selling what looks like drinks of all assortments as well as food from multiple food trucks.

“You weren’t wrong. I love it.” I blink at him and then back at the strip. I don’t know how anybody truly couldn’t like it, it’s that cozy and inviting. “What made you want to bring me here, though?”

“When we first met, I could tell that you were... structured. Especially with how quickly you went job seeking from the time of your arrival. You also seem a little bit reserved. And while that isn’t a bad thing, I wanted to give you something that you can still have control over but without the stress of having to think about it.

When I first came here, I was trying to escape something and it immediately put me at ease.

Made me feel like I belong despite having never been here before.

And despite our lack of conversation regarding it…

it felt like maybe you were running from something too.

” His eyes flicker to me, a small smile tugging at his lips.

A part of me wants to ask what he was running from, but I don’t feel like we’re there yet. He will tell me when he’s ready.

“I can see that. That’s very thoughtful of you.” And it is, although his inspection and attention to detail regarding my life makes me a little uncomfortable. “What should we do first? Do you have any suggestions for food and drink?”

He nods his head to our front and we fall into step together while we browse the various booths on our way to the food trucks. The hum of the market and the live music playing in the background replace any nerves I was feeling earlier, and all I feel is peace.

A little while later, after enjoying all the food we could manage and warming our stomachs with drinks, we wander around arm in arm.

I’ve gotten to learn more about him, like where he’s from, what he’s studying, and what his plans are for when he graduates.

He tells me that he’s twenty-six and was born and raised in Leeds before his family moved to the US when he was fourteen.

The way he talks about his birth country, with a mix of nostalgia and warmth, makes me want to know as much as possible about him.

But then his tone shifts as he explains why they moved.

“My mom’s job brought us across the Atlantic. At the time, she was the primary breadwinner, always carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. But the stress of the move, of uprooting our lives and starting over here, was too much for their marriage. They got divorced two years later.”

I nod along, not quite sure what to say, worried about saying the wrong thing. “And you and your dad decided to stay? What happened to your mom?”

His voice tightens, a mix of sadness and something else twisting his tongue.

“She stayed too, at first. I think it was more for me, to ensure that I still had some sort of stability, normalcy in my life, despite the fact that they had separated. But she went back to Leeds, requesting her old position when I turned eighteen. I haven’t seen her since, although we do keep in touch over the phone.

But now there’s just this ocean between us and nothing is quite the same…

I wanted to go with her, but my dad thought it would be better if I stayed.

I was still finishing high school, in my senior year.

But deep down I think he just didn’t want to lose me too.

It isn’t as easy as you’d think to be able to afford to fly home and back. ”

“What did your dad end up doing when she left, if she was the primary income? Has it just been the bar?” I ask gently.

There’s a rawness to his voice, his layers peeling away with each question he answers, and I wonder if I should stop.

“Yeah. It took him a little bit. While he got money in the divorce settlement, it still wasn’t quite enough to start up.

I ended up working a lot to support his dream, and he picked up bartending gigs wherever he could so he could start learning about how to operate a business.

Said it was something he always wanted to do, and honestly?

I think it was his way of coping. He poured himself into it—literally and figuratively.

But he managed to open it up four years later, and in some ways it’s brought us closer, in others… ”

I catch the double meaning, the edge in his tone, and feel a pang of sympathy. “That sounds like a lot. Is that why you said he was grumpy when we first met?”

He shrugs, the heaviness in it apparent.

“He’s still pouring.” I don’t need to ask him what he means by that.

That his dad still copes, still relies on the bottom of a bottle to get him through each day.

I want to ask why he doesn’t encourage his dad to sell the bar, with its popularity it would probably fetch a nice dollar.

But I don’t think it’s my place to point out the irony in being an alcoholic and owning a bar.

“But you’ve moved forward?”

He nods, subtly. “You have to. Even if it’s messy.

Even if it hurts. I couldn’t bear the thought of standing still.

Life doesn’t wait for you to figure it out, and I refused to keep replaying the same loop.

It tore me apart when my mom left, and it tears me apart even now watching my father do the same thing every day.

At some point you have to break free. Growth only happens in discomfort. ”

There’s a quiet moment between us, the kind where words feel unnecessary, but the way he was just so vulnerable with me makes me want to do the same. “My dad died several weeks ago,” I say quietly.

At first, I’m not sure if he heard me because there is a blank expression on his face. But then he says, “Is that why you moved here?”

His gaze holds mine for a beat before I answer him. “Yeah. I tried telling myself it was because I’d have to leave eventually… but I just couldn’t stand staying in that house by myself anymore.”

“What about your mom?” he asks .

I should’ve been prepared for that question, but the truth still stings. “I never knew my mom. It was just my dad and I.”

He reaches out instinctively, his hand brushing my arm. “What did he do for work?”

“He was a navy SEAL.”

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

My voice is barely above a whisper when I say, “He did his best, gave me all of his attention when he was home. Made sure I had what I needed, but…”

“But there’s only so much he could make up for,” he says, filling in the silence.

His hand lingers on my arm, grounding me as I speak.

“Exactly. I knew he loved me, that was never a doubt I had.

He instilled a lot of good habits in me; how to be strong, how to take care of myself.

Which really came in handy when my grandma's health started to go, because she could no longer be my caretaker when he was gone.”

His eyes soften, and his thumb brushes back and forth over the material of the hoodie. “That must have been lonely.”

“It was. And the longer I was alone, the harder it became to let anyone else in. To know how. I have one friend back home, if that gives you an idea. And I’m only just now trying to open myself up more to the possibility of having other people in my life.

Staying in that house, it would’ve become my loop.

My noose. I want to figure out who I am outside of my grief, outside of the only life I’ve ever known.

” For a moment, neither of us speaks. The quiet feeling heavy, but not unbearable.

“It sounds like there’s more to your story, and when you’re ready I’d love to hear it.

I’d love to be the one that breaks down those walls of yours even more…

” He trails off, stopping our walk next to a building on the outside of the market.

The lights are dimmer here, but they bounce off of his face in a way that causes his eyes to shimmer.

It’s like time has frozen around us, the sounds of our breathing louder somehow than the music in the background.

He turns to face me more fully, settling one of his hands on my face and the other on my lower back.

The air charges as the tension builds around us and I breathe out his name.

“Callum.” Whatever note he detected in my voice causes his resolve to snap.

He hauls my face to his, pulling me in to rest firmly against his body, slowly backing us up until my back hits the wall behind me.

His hand wraps more firmly around the back of my head as he attempts to deepen the kiss and before I realize what I’m doing, I grab onto him like a lifeline.

His lips are warm against mine, and everything else fades.

His hand on my lower back applies more pressure, as if he’s trying to pull me even closer.

But there isn’t another inch of space between us.

My heart is pounding in my chest, a rhythm that matches the quick and breathless way we’re kissing.

His tongue runs along the seam of my lips, beckoning me to let him in, and I do.

The kiss deepens and I can’t focus on anything other than the rush of heat between us.

He tastes like apple cider and bourbon. He breaks the kiss briefly, resting his forehead against mine, his chest rising and falling as quickly as my own.

“Dylan… I…” He trails off, and I know he’s fighting himself on something. I want to reach for him, to pull him back into me, but I wait, giving him the space to speak.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Just… be here.”

His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to gauge if I’m saying what I mean, knowing my initial hesitation to even come out with him tonight.

Slowly, his hand moves from the back of my head to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair there as he pulls me closer again.

His lips press to mine in a kiss that’s softer, but somehow more intense.

It’s deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment.

My hands release the fists they have on his shirt, exploring the way his torso feels, before finding their way under his shirt, to the bareness of his skin.

I feel the muscles there, and a shiver runs through him before he pulls away again.

“I don’t want this to be a mistake.” His voice is soft and rough at the same time.

I can read what he doesn’t say, that he doesn’t want to pressure me. And I don’t want to rush it either.

I haul him back into me, my confidence surprising me. My eyes search for him, his pupils dilated, and I wonder if mine look the same. “Kissing you isn’t a mistake.” But opening my heart could give him the power to destroy me, to cause me to lose the control I’ve always fought so hard to keep.