Love That Came Too Late

I came home and drew the curtains tightly shut.

Not a sliver of light could seep into the living room. The dimness calmed me, made it easier to breathe.

I curled up on the sofa and dialed my agent's number.

"Samuel," I said quietly, "you suggested I study abroad to refine my technique. I'll go."

Samuel Harper laughed, genuinely pleased. While praising my bright future, he couldn't help but ask, "What about Callum? Can you really leave him behind?"

"You always said he seemed young, like he still needed looking after," he added.

I pulled the blanket tighter around myself.

"He's grown up now," I murmured. "He doesn't need me anymore."

I drifted for a moment, caught in the haze of memory.

When my boyfriend Sean Ressler died, his last and only concern was me—and his little brother, Callum Ressler.

I had no family of my own. Callum was alone too. Loving him, making him the center of my world, gave me a reason to keep going.

After that absurd night, I'd woken before him. I stared at him for a moment, then bolted.

That was the first time it truly hit me—he was no longer a boy.

But the way those feelings shifted overnight left me unmoored. I couldn't sort any of it out, so I left. Traveled. Tried to clear my mind.

Still, Callum called me. He asked where I had gone, as if nothing had changed.

I didn't realize then that he hadn't figured things out—he had simply forgotten.

He had someone else now.

And me? I was no longer someone who had any place in his life.

After hanging up with my agent, I called Callum.

He picked up quickly. "Diana, what's up?"

I had meant to tell him everything. About that night. About what it meant. I wanted to draw a line and end the story of us, properly.

But before I could speak, a girl's voice broke in through the receiver.

"Callum, it's already so late, and she's still calling you? Doesn't she know how to keep some boundaries between men and women? She's not into you, is she?"

Caryn Dudley's hostility was blatant.

Callum's tone turned cold. "Diana, maybe don't call me this late anymore. It's easy for people to get the wrong idea. I'm hanging up."

He had never spoken to me like that before. By the time I gathered myself, the call had already ended. Long ago.

I looked at the clock.

It wasn't even eight yet.

That wasn't late by any measure.

There was a time when I could call Callum at three or four in the morning, and he'd answer right away, asking what was wrong.

Now, my call was just a nuisance.

I let out a quiet, bitter laugh and pulled the blanket tighter around me.

Maybe I was just too tired.

Even the thunder, the wind, the sudden downpour—none of it could wake me.

Not until the window shattered.

And in my drowsy haze, I fell into a pair of warm, rain-drenched arms.