His mother blew out a slow breath. “We’ll talk more when you’ve thought about your decisions. I’m… I love you, Calum. I just want to make sure you aren’t making a mistake.”
He groaned under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You wanted me to change, Mom. I have. Why is it a problem?”
“I’m not having this conversation, Calum. I’ll call you this weekend.”
Natalie hung up before he could formulate a response. Calum stared at the receiver for a long minute then slammed it into its cradle. Tiffany stood leaning against the wall when he turned away from the phone. Sighing, he waited for her snide comment. Her sarcasm and lack of empathy.
“Mama not approve?” She grimaced when he shook his head. “That sucks. I’ll distract Mama if you wanna leave.”
“It’s fine. Rett’s probably getting yelled at by her parents. I don’t wanna make it worse by showing up there.”
“Your call.”
She walked away, and he watched her bedroom door close. She was an enigma, he thought. Some days, it seemed as if she loathed him with every fiber of her being. Then there weredays like that one, when she was willing to help him be happy. Shaking his head, Calum headed toward the front door. He might not be able to see Rett for the day, but he could hope.
An hour, two, three slipped by, and still she didn’t appear at the tree where they normally wasted away their time. He sighed and slipped off the branch, landing hard on the damp ground below. The river flowed by under the thin blanket of ice, a gentle rush of water that would become a torrent soon enough. He stood at the edge of the bank, toes hanging over the water, and stared at the sky.
Not having Rett felt a lot like not having his own heart in his chest. It was a weird concept—he’d certainly never felt that way about anyone else. He never even thought it was possible. He’d watched his parents’ marriage implode, ending with Spencer leaving behind five children, a soon-to-be-ex-wife, and a massive load of debt that Calum’s mother was still paying off. Why would Calum have ever thought love was real, that it was worth fighting for?
Rett had proved it was.
With another heavy exhale, he turned away from the river and toward the heart of town. Roots crackled and twigs snapped beneath his feet, and he shivered with the cool breeze. The watery sun hovered high in the air, its weak heat barely touching the world below. Calum pressed his palm to a tree trunk as he stepped carefully over a fallen log, and a rush of wings forced him to look up into the sky. Empty branches swayed when birds launched themselves into flight. He watched one fly beak-first into a tree, nearly fall to the ground, then catch up with its companions as if nothing had happened. Calum wondered if it was normal behavior.
He wasn’t watching where his footsteps took him, too focused on not tripping over the brush, but he recognized the sickly sweet smell of decay. His head snapped up at the first shriek ofmetal, and the door swung open on rusted hinges. The trailer stood in front of him, as unimpressive as he’d ever seen it. Calum swallowed the tendril of fear—it was just a dilapidated home, that was all—and listened to a branch scraping against the far window. The front door rocked, hinges crying with disuse, and he took a step forward. It was the same as it was the day Rett and he explored the mobile home: a pile of rust and rot. He’d said it had potential.
Maybe it was a sign.
Calum grinned suddenly and wheeled about on his heel. There was no care in his steps now; he only sprinted as quickly through the woods as he could, desperate to get to Rett. Her father turned Calum away at the door, telling Calum what he didn’t want to hear—Rett wasn’t home. She was babysitting the Amos triplets until nightfall. Calum nodded and walked away. The Amos family lived on the outskirts, farther away than Calum could walk, farther than even the Robertsons. Maybe he could walk it if Rett were with him, but alone? He’d rather become vulture food. By the time he got there, Rett would already be on her way back into town.
So he made do with waiting for her.
“Hey, Aunt Georgie?” he asked as he carried the dinner dishes into the tiny kitchen. “Who owns the trailer in the woods?”
“I think it used to be… Yeah, it was Hank Turner’s place back in the early thousands. No one’s lived there since. Why do you ask?”
Calum shrugged and set the plates in the sink. His aunt stared at him, her gaze a heavy weight on his shoulders, and he finally cracked. He explained that Rett had shown it to him one day and he was just curious. That was all. Georgie clearly didn’t believe him, judging by her narrowed eyes and pinched lips. But she didn’t question him, so he blew out a breath and moved to grab the sponge to wash the dishes.
Hank Turner’s only living relative, a second-cousin, came back to Oak Creek once every three months. He’d moved to the big city when he was a boy, but Malachi considered the town home away from home. Even after Hank’s death, Malachi kept up the visits. As far as Calum knew, the man never went to the trailer in the woods.
Calum had no idea what Malachi Turner looked like, but he waited for the visit anyway. It wasn’t hard to figure out which man was Hank’s second-cousin—he was an unfamiliar face in a sea of familiarity. Calum never thought he’d reach the point where people were so well-known to him. Two days after Malachi arrived in Oak Creek, Calum slipped through the doors he’d just seen Malachi disappear through.
“Out, kid.” Henry Bowen glared at Calum from behind the bar, pointing a gnarled finger to the door behind Calum.
“Sorry, I, um, I just—”
“Aw, he’s a good kid,” a woman called from the back of the room. Calum thought her name was Darlene—just Darlene, none of that ‘Miss’ stuff. He vaguely remembered seeing her working at Mitchell’s. “Let him stay, Henry.”
“And have Lonnie on me for lettin’ a minor in? Hell naw.”
Calum hesitated; what should he do? Risk Henry’s ire to talk to Malachi or leave and never get his answer? Finally, he drew in a deep breath and got the words out in a rush: “I just—Mister Turner, can I speak to you?”
The man in question lifted his gaze from his beer, raising a brow. Swallowing the rest of his drink, he passed the stein back to Henry with a quick dip of his chin, rose from his stool, and ambled toward the doorway. Calum scooted out of the way quickly, ducking out onto the rickety porch. As soon as his boots hit the wood, Malachi leaned against the railing, just as worn-down as the rest of the town, and stared without blinking at the teenager.
“What’cha want, boy?” he finally asked when it became clear Calum wasn’t going to speak first.
Calum cleared his throat, scuffing his sneaker against the porch, then coughed quietly again. “I wanna buy your cousin’s old trailer.”
Whatever Malachi expected, it was clear that what Calum said wasn’t it. He raised a brow and narrowed his pale eyes. Calum resisted the urge to squirm under the scrutiny. It didn’t take long. After a moment—just a moment—Malachi huffed out a laugh and shook his head.
