The first time I saw Callum Adler, my heart nearly beat out of my chest. He was, without a doubt, the most handsome guy I'd ever laid eyes on. One of his eyes was a deep green flecked with amber, the other a warm brown laced with hints of blue—like the sky just before dusk. His chestnut hair fell in soft waves, catching the light just right. Before I knew it, he'd become my brother Kaden's best friend—and somehow, I became Callum's honorary little sister. My name is Cara Greenwood, and I'm fourteen years old.
Fourteen going on forever-stuck-in-the-middle. Not quite a kid anymore, but definitely not old enough to matter in the ways I wanted to—not to someone like Callum Adler. He was eighteen, and everything about him screamed "older," "untouchable," and worst of all… off-limits.
He was my brother Kaden's best friend. That made him practically family. Except he wasn't. Not to me.
Callum had a way of being everywhere. In our kitchen, raiding the fridge like he lived there. In our backyard. In the living room, sprawled out on the couch, his long legs stretched out while I tried not to stare.
And he always noticed me—just enough to make my heart race, but never enough to mean anything.
Every time, I wished I was older. Or that time would speed up. Or that he'd look at me and really see me.
But I was just Kaden's little sister.Fourteen feels like the weirdest age in the universe—too old for dolls, too young for freedom, and definitely too young to fall for someone like Callum Adler. He's eighteen. Technically an adult. Practically perfect. And completely impossible.
But he was always around. Almost too much.
At first, I thought it was just because he and Kaden were best friends. They did everything together—football, video games, late-night kitchen raids like our fridge was a 24/7 diner.
But it wasn't just about friendship. I figured that out slowly. Quietly. The way kids notice things adults think they're hiding.
Callum would crash on our couch for days at a time. Sometimes Kaden would wordlessly toss him a spare blanket, no questions asked. Other times, Mom would fold an extra set of clothes into the laundry without saying a word.
It wasn't until I overheard a late-night conversation between Kaden and our mom that I understood.
Callum's dad hit him. Not just once, not just lightly. Bad enough that sometimes he showed up with a split lip, or moved like every step hurt. Bad enough that our house had become his refuge.
I remember staring at the crack of light under my bedroom door, trying to process it. Trying to imagine what it must be like to be so scared of your own home that someone else's became safer.
And it made me see him differently. Not just the way my stomach fluttered when he smiled or how my heart did that stupid flip when he said my name.
But how he still smiled at all.
How he made me feel seen, even when no one else did.
He was broken in places no one could see. And somehow, that made me want to understand him even more.
Even if I wasn't old enough. Even if I couldn't fix him. Even if I was just Kaden's little sister.