Free Callahan's Fate by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy Page A

that he had a dangerous job.   When he went out on duty, anything could
happen. “Take care of yourself and be safe, Callahan.”
    “I’ll do my best, baby.” He turned
around to face her. “But I can’t make any guarantees, so I won’t.   But you give me a reason to stay safe, so
I’ll give it all I got.   Good enough?”
    “I guess it has to be,” Raine said.   A
thought struck her.   “Have you been hurt
before?”
    His forehead creased as he frowned.   Cal blew hard through his nose and then he
nodded, once. “Yeah, but don’t worry about me, all right?”
    Haunted by images of bloodstained shirts,
the terrible red glare of ambulance lights, and the imagined sound of sirens
echoing through her head, Raine shook her head. “I
already do, and I will,” she said.   “You
matter to me, and I can’t pretend you don’t.”
    He grasped her in a fierce hug and held
her tight.   Raine clung to him seeking comfort, and after a long few moments, Cal kissed her
forehead and released her.
    “You watch out, too, baby,” he said and
vanished through the door, leaving her alone.
    Her two rooms had never seemed so empty
or small.
     

Chapter Seven
     
    Callahan strode away from Raine’s building with an even step, his back squared and
head held high.   If she happened to be
watching, he didn’t want her to see any sign of anxiety or show of
weakness.   The chance meeting with Snake
Marsh and company rattled him far more than he cared to admit.    He remembered making the arrest and sending
the hard-eyed man to jail, and Marsh wasn’t the first perp to toss a few insults his way.   He could
and did deal with that.   But the incident
reminded him of what happened with Anthony and brought the slow, simmering
guilt he’d tried hard to shed to a boil.   If Raine were to be hurt or worse, Cal knew
he’d never be able to deal with it.   It
would gnaw away at his guts and soul like caustic acid, and in time it would
destroy him.  
    A year and a half later, he still hadn’t
come to terms with Anthony’s death or shed the blame he’d put on his own
head.   Aidan had told Callahan it wasn’t
his fault, to grieve, not choke on guilt, but he hadn’t listened.   So Aidan put the distance of the continent
between them and moved to Los Angeles.   When he died, Callahan paid to have his remains brought home and buried
at Green Wood cemetery in Brooklyn beside Anthony, Grandma, Aunt Birdie, and
their mother.   It didn’t provide any
closure, though, and he’d carried a double burden of regret and blame since.
    Shay had never pointed any fingers and
welcomed him into her home.   The boys—Alex,
Sean, and Timmy—adored him, and he played the generous uncle as often as he
could stand.   She intended to be
supportive and kind, but all she did, in his opinion, was heap coals of fire on
his head where they smoldered.
    En route to the
subway, he saw a liquor store and entered.   He bought a fifth of Jameson’s fine Irish whiskey, his favorite poison
when he sought oblivion.   It always went
down smooth and eased his pain if only for a short span.   Some respite was better than none at
all.   Callahan resisted drinking until he
reached his apartment.   Once inside, he
tossed down his keys, kicked off his shoes, and took the first slug.  
    The liquor traveled down his throat and
impacted his belly with warmth.   After a
few more drinks, he began experiencing the effects of it.   Some of his tension, his terrible emotion
eased, but most of the fear remained.
      Caring for Raine brought him happiness, but it made him vulnerable, too.   Cal hated that because it meant he could be
hurt emotionally.   He didn’t give a shit
about physically —he would die for Raine if a situation warranted—but he doubted his ability
to live with any additional torment.   Fear made him mean, and he knew it.   If he didn’t take control of himself, sooner or later he would vent on Raine and she might walk