Page 20

Chapter Nineteen

Calum—past

The light’s gone gray by the time I hike the bluff back to Holiday House.

The wind’s picking up again—sharp with sea salt, blowing through the pines like breath through teeth.

I can still taste the oil paints on my fingers, the scent of turpentine bleeding from my shirt.

The canvas under my arm is still wet, blues and ochres slashed in furious streaks across the panel.

Something about it felt right today. Alive.

I should feel good. Steady.

But the second I reach the porch and see the front door cracked open, that unease I’ve tried to paint away begins to rise again.

Voices. Laughter.

Annabel’s laugh.

I step inside, boots heavy on the hardwood. The living room’s bathed in gold from the fireplace. And there they are—Annabel and Jonathan.

On the couch.

His arm around her shoulders. Her head resting lightly against him. Their bodies too close in a way that shouldn’t belong to anyone but me.

She says something I can’t hear, and he laughs softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear like it’s his right.

My throat dries.

And then?—

He kisses her.

Quick. Too familiar. His lips on hers.

And everything inside me breaks loose.

The canvas drops from my arm, slamming against the floor with a sickening crack. My easel clatters down after it, wooden legs splintering as it bounces against the stairs.

They both jerk apart.

“Calum—” she starts, but I’m already moving.

“You son of a—” I roar, charging forward and shoving Jonathan off the couch. He stumbles backward, arms flailing.

Annabel screams, lunging to stop me. “Calum! Stop!”

“This animal just kissed you!” I spit, pointing at Jonathan, my voice raw with fury.

Annabel throws herself between us. “I pushed him away! It was nothing! Innocent!”

But I can’t hear her. All I see is red. Jonathan’s smirk. His smug posture. Like he’s waiting for me to lose it. Like he wants me to.

He dusts himself off slowly, eyes cold and amused. “You need to calm down, Van Gogh. That temper of yours is gonna get you nowhere.”

“I’ll show you temper,” I growl, stepping forward again.

Jonathan meets me halfway and shoves me hard, right into the side of a finished painting—one I spent hours on. The frame snaps in two beneath my back. The canvas tears. I hear myself snarl.

Annabel’s crying now. “Please stop!”

But I’ve already surged forward .

I swing.

My fist connects with the side of his jaw. A sickening crack , then the sting in my knuckles. Jonathan’s head snaps to the side, but he straightens slowly, a laugh building in his chest.

“You want to do this?” he sneers. “Pick your battles wisely, Calum.”

I lunge again, but he sidesteps, grabbing my wrist and twisting it just enough to hold me back.

“I’m not going to fight you,” he says, pushing me off with controlled force. “You’re not worth the bruise.”

And then he turns.

Walks out of Holiday House like it doesn’t belong to me. Like she doesn’t.

The screen door slams behind him. The wind swallows him up, and silence crashes down like a wave after thunder.

Annabel stands near the broken painting, trembling. Her hair’s a mess, cheeks streaked with tears. My own chest is heaving, my hands shaking from the aftershock of violence.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly.

“I should be asking you that.”

She looks at me, wounded. “Calum… it wasn’t what it looked like.”

I sink into the armchair, dragging a hand down my face.

“I saw him kiss you.”

“And I pulled away, ” she says. “Jonathan doesn’t know how to let go. He’s always been that way. But I didn’t want it.”

“I’m not sure he gives a damn what you want.” My voice is tight. “Maybe we should leave. Go somewhere else. Get away from him. He can’t accept this— us .”

She steps forward, her bare feet whispering across the floor. “I could never leave Ravensreach,” she whispers.

I meet her eyes.

“It’s the only place that’s ever felt like home.” She kneels in front of me, takes my face in her hands. “I’ll die here, Calum.”

Something inside me twists. Not with jealousy. Not with rage. With fear. A fear I don’t know how to name.

“I can’t lose you,” I murmur.

“You won’t,” she says.

“I want him gone.”

She sighs, resting her forehead to mine. “He’s my oldest friend.”

“He doesn’t treat you like a friend.”

She presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll make sure it never happens again. I promise.”

The storm outside rages harder now. Rain slams against the windows like it’s trying to claw inside. The lights flicker, once. Twice.

“Let’s go to the couch,” she says softly.

She leads me there, curling up beside me. Her body fits against mine like memory. She pulls my hand to her chest and keeps it there like a tether.

“Tell me about your painting today.”

I breathe out slowly. “It came out… okay. There’s something in the color. Something I haven’t seen before.”

“That’s good.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

She runs her fingers through my hair, slow and gentle. Her touch melts the last of the tension from my shoulders.

“I hate how he looks at you,” I whisper. “Like he owns you.”

“He doesn’t.”

“He thinks he does.”

She kisses my temple. “You’re the one I’m curled up with.”

“Don’t see him again.”

She hesitates. Her hand stills in my hair.

“I can’t promise that,” she says. “But I can promise he’ll never touch me again.”

I clench my jaw. “I want more than that. ”

“I know,” she whispers. “But Jonathan’s been part of my life since I had skinned knees and tangled braids. Cutting him out isn’t simple.”

“You’re not simple.”

She smiles faintly. “No. I’m not.”

She resumes stroking my hair. Her touch soothes me. The fury ebbs into a low throb. My eyes grow heavy.

“Rest,” she murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

I close my eyes. The scent of her shampoo—salt and citrus—fills my nose. Her heartbeat pulses steady against my shoulder.

But sleep doesn’t come easy.

Even with her beside me, even with her warmth, my dreams are choked with shadows.

Of Jonathan’s smirk.

Of Annabel’s tears.

And the terrible, electric truth that I’ve never fought for something so hard?—

And still might lose her.