Long after Emily shut the door in his face, Callan stood there in the hallway, his back leaning against the closed door of Emily's room.
The hallway was quiet. The kind of quiet that made your ears ring, and his ears did ring with her last words.
He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. His chest felt heavy, like someone had dropped a big rock in it.
He didn't mind her hating him. He didn't mind her seeing him as a jerk. What tore at him was the hurt in her eyes. He would have preferred she was mad then hurt.
His fingers curled into a fist, then opened, then curled again. He wanted to knock one more time. He wanted her to come out so they could have a proper conversation.
He wished he could really explain to her and wipe away the hurt in her eyes. He wished he could make her understand things from his point of view, but something stopped him.
