Page 23 of The Consequence of You (Heathley Academy #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ASHER

F uck. I thought it was a thrill racing, but racing with Callie next to me, it’s something else. It raised the stakes in a completely new way. I never felt out of control; it wasn’t that. It was because I wanted to win for her.

I sneak a look at her as I drive back to my garage to switch cars.

Her cheeks are flushed, and her bangs are all messed up from the mask.

She looks undone the same way she does after I make her come, and it suits her.

No doubt when she comes down from the high of winning, she’ll be pissed at me, but it’s worth it.

Taking her with me was a gamble. After what happened with her ex, I needed to get her out of her head, and I knew racing would do that for her.

I know her history, but it wasn’t a young person speeding that killed her mother.

I’d read the newspaper reports. It was just some old guy and too much ice.

She drives so I know she isn’t frightened of the road. Callie turns to me.

“You prick.”

I pull into the garage and switch off the engine. Here we go.

“What? I won. You had a good time.”

“You could have killed us both.” she admonishes, and I don’t even feel slightly bad.

She opens her door and jumps out of the car.

I get out after her and watch as she paces the small patch of floor between my two cars.

I love the unknown of racing, but I have never felt truly at risk while doing it.

I would never put her in physical danger.

Never. I like to live my life on the edge, but never at the expense of someone else’s safety.

Rounding my car, I hem her in between the wall and the cars, so she’s forced to face me.

“There was no danger. The road’s blocked off at both ends. It’s checked and double checked before the race. We’re both experienced drivers. We know our limitations. It’s all good.”

“It was an illegal street race, Asher. At best, it was fucking insensitive of you. At worst, it was fucking dangerous.” She’s telling me off, but the energy radiating off her is telling me everything I need to know.

“And yet?”

“And yet… I loved it. Fuck.” She lets out a long breath. “I loved it.” She tilts her head up to look at me. “The way you took that last corner. How did you get it right?”

“Mathematics.”

“What?” She squints.

“Well, maths and some physics thrown in. It’s all to do with velocity and angles. That, and practice. You get to know your car; you know the road conditions. You learn to adapt quickly.”

“How long have you been racing?”

“A couple of years. Started pretty much straight after I got my licence. The first time I was just a passenger in one of my brother’s friends’ cars.

It was wild. The next day, I came back and reran the course in the daytime, and then I did it again, and again, until I knew I could do it competitively. ”

“Aren’t you scared of getting hurt?” Her eyes run over my body, almost unconsciously, and I heat as I remember what it feels like to have her hands on my skin.

“No. I don’t believe I’m in any danger, not really. But even if I was, it wouldn’t be a factor. We don’t have control of what happens. Not really.”

“You really believe that don’t you?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

“No. Our actions matter, and I don’t want to be responsible for anything I can’t take back. Not again.” She rubs at her wrist absentmindedly. The edge of her tattoo is just visible, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her about it, but before I can, her phone rings.

The shrill sound has her shoulders tensing. She pulls it out of her pocket and stares at the caller ID before clicking answer. She lifts the phone to her ear. “Rossi.” She pauses. “Yes. I’m on my way back.”

I can’t make out what he’s saying, but his voice is loud enough to have her pulling the phone away from her ear slightly.

“I’m fine. Può essere un po' una testa di cazzo, ma lo conosco dai tempi della scuola.” She speaks softly and quickly, switching to Italian halfway through, but even with my rusty knowledge of the language, I manage to follow her words as she tries to reassure her bodyguard, she’s okay getting home.

“Va bene. Tornerò presto a casa.” She hangs up the phone.

“Should you be describing the person who rescued you from your ex-boyfriend and is now driving you home as ‘a dickhead’? Have you no manners?”

Callie blushes, clearly not expecting me to understand her words.

“You speak Italian?”

“I know a few words. I vacationed in Rome and Naples a few times and picked up a working knowledge.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Follows that with limited vocabulary, the term dickhead made it in there. Learned that from an ex-lover by any chance?”

I laugh. She’s so far from the truth, it’s funny, but I don’t correct her.

Growing up, our nannies and household staff were from all over the world.

As a result, I got used to hearing a variety of languages at home.

While my siblings were off in the music room or horse riding, I would spend hours with the staff, having them teach me swear words and rude jokes that I could tell with my parents having absolutely no idea what I found so funny.

It was an endless source of amusement growing up, but it also means I have more than functional Italian, Portuguese and Spanish.

Still, if Callie wants to believe I know the phrase testa di cazzo because a spurned lover called me that, then I have no interest in correcting her.

“I should leave you here right now and you can make your own way home.” I tease, but she’s quick to apologise.

“You’re right. I was being rude. Thank you for the lift. And for the distraction. I appreciate it.” A large part of me isn’t ready for the evening to end but I need to get her home.

“Better get going before your bodyguard sends out a search party.”

We get into my other car and head back to her place.

As I drive, I see her get the silver bracelet Nico returned earlier out of her pocket.

She turns it over in her hand before fastening it around her wrist. Her expression is downcast, beaten even.

The race lifted her spirits, but it’s clear the earlier part of the evening is now weighing on her mind again.

“Would you like to talk about what happened earlier, at the art gallery?”

Callie looks at me doubtfully.

“With you?”

“Well, I wasn’t suggesting you talk to yourself. Yes, with me.” Her forehead screws up, a cynical look in her eyes. A few minutes later, I pull into her driveway and turn off the engine. She makes no move to get out of the car. When she speaks again, her voice is shaky.

“He was my first boyfriend.” I wait silently for her to continue. “It didn’t end well.”

“Did he hurt you?”

It’s not the vibe I got when I saw them earlier, but I ask the question anyway, because something in the past left this woman badly affected. If he laid one finger on her, the fucker is a dead man walking.

“No. God, no. Nothing like that. He was always respectful. He was perfect.”

Hearing Callie describe this guy as perfect makes my blood boil, and the thought she might still see him that way makes me irrationally angry .

“So, he dumped you, is that it?” I snap. Callie shoots me a confused look at my terse tone.

“No. It’s… complicated. We always knew there would be an end point. It just came quicker than we imagined, and I didn’t act in the fairest way, as far as Nico was concerned. That’s why I asked him to meet me tonight.”

She instigated this evening. She called him. The thought’s unnerving, but I try to reassure myself it’s not him she wants. She tucked herself into my side. She was grateful when I asked him to leave. Her actions spoke volumes. She sighs.

“Do you ever wish you could just go back and do everything differently?” The question hangs between us, unanswered.

I have so many questions, but I hold back, because one thing I’ve learnt is there’s no point pushing her. She won’t open up until she’s ready. I intend to earn her trust, and then, maybe she’ll let me in.

“You’ve heard the saying Carpe diem, right?” She nods. “That’s how I live my life.” I shrug. “No regrets.”

She laughs bitterly.

“It must be nice for everything to be that simple.”

I stiffen next to her. Simple? My life isn’t simple. Privileged maybe, but never simple. Her assumption pisses me off and reminds me of the younger version of herself. The one with the perfect life. The one I envied so much.

I get out of the car and walk around to the passenger side and yank open the door. Placing my hands on top of the car roof, I lean down as she unbuckles her belt.

“You know what, Calliope? You never think about anyone but yourself.”

She scoffs and shakes her head.

“All I think about is other people. ”

For some reason her words only piss me off more.

Okay, so maybe she’s not as selfish as I just painted her out to be, but she certainly hasn’t made any effort to ask what my life is actually like.

She’s just read the headlines, like every other fucking person in this world, and assumed she knows me.

She struggles to unclip her belt, and in frustration I lean in and unbuckle it for her.

Callie’s eyes narrow, and I can practically see the anger radiating off her. She scoops her bag off the floor of the car and climbs out.

“I was right. You are a dickhead.” She ducks under my arm and I have to jump out of the way as she slams the door so hard it nearly comes off its hinges. She stalks up her driveway and jabs the security code into the lock.

Fuck.

How has our conversation descended into another argument? I spent weeks trying to get a rise out of her. Desperately trying to press her buttons, but somewhere along the line, things changed, and seeing her like this doesn’t feel good at all. In fact, it feels pretty shit.

I race up the driveway after her. She’s already inside by the time I make it to the door but it’s not quite closed, so I slip in after her.

Her and Rossi are in the large hallway and her protector raises an eyebrow at my intrusion.

“Miss Callie?”

She seems to know what he’s asking without any further elaboration.

“It’s okay. Can you give us a minute please?”

He nods and heads towards the back of the house, leaving the two of us alone. Before I can apologise for my outburst in the car, Callie approaches me, her eyes are fiery with anger.

“Why do you hate me so much? For years you were rude to me, nasty at times. What did I ever do to you?” she asks with no preamble. My mouth dries.

“Hate’s a strong word.”

I’m stalling because hasn’t that been exactly how I acted towards her?

I’m not sure how to articulate the reasons for my previous behaviour without sounding like a spoiled kid; maybe if I try and give her an explanation, we can wipe the slate clean and actually explore whatever the hell this thing between us is. Taking a deep breath, I prepare to be honest with her.

“You have everything.”

She looks at me blankly, so I continue.

“Growing up your parents used to come to everything. They were always at the school. Always showing up for you. Always so fucking proud of you. Even now we’re older, the way your father has staff to watch you when he can’t do it himself. You have a family who would do anything for you.”

Callie snorts.

“You’re fucking kidding, right? I lost my mother. I was fifteen years old. For your information, my father hasn’t been to a damn thing at the school since then. And if you must know, being watched by Rossi feels a hell of a lot more like suffocation than love.”

Of course I know she lost her Mother, of course I do, but I’d do anything to have had a single moment of experiencing the kind of love she had.

No matter how fleeting, it was still so much more than I’d ever experienced .

All I can think about is how back then, when we were thirteen years old, I was so fucking jealous of her, my skin burned with the unfairness of it.

I step towards her, my fists clenched at my sides.

“Or, it is love, and you have everything , and you’re so damn spoiled you can’t even see it.”

She blinks at my bitter words and swallows deeply before she whispers,

“Maybe once upon a time I did, but not now, and never again, will I have … everything .”

I wince as her eyes fill with unshed tears. Suddenly I can see how black and white my view had been. How had I not realised experiencing that kind of love and then losing it, must be tortuous.

She wraps her arms around herself and takes a step back.

What I said in the car about having no regrets sounds so stupid now because right now, I wish I could take back the last five minutes more than anything.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry. I followed you in here so I could apologise for what I said in the car, and now I’ve just made everything worse… Fuck… I’m sorry.”

I’m never apologetic usually. I don’t back down. Ever. I don’t make justifications for my behaviour or try to explain away my actions, but Callie makes me reconsider everything.

A lone tear escapes and tracks down her cheek, and I do the only thing I know of that makes her feel good.