Page 53

Calli

“Die Hard is obviously a Christmas movie,” Whip asserted, glaring across the table at Adrian like the guy had cursed his family. “The fact you think holiday action film is even a genre is grounds for an ass-kicking.”

Adrian chuckled, leaning back in his seat, his hand resting on my leg, thumb stroking back and forth absentmindedly. “It’s absolutely a genre. Die Hard. Lethal Weapon. The Long Kiss Goodnight. They’re not Christmas movies… they’re action films set during the holidays.”

Blue pointed the neck of his beer across the table at Adrian, narrowing his eyes like he was piecing together a puzzle. “Ah-ha! Iron Man 3! Definitely a holiday action film.”

The back porch of Dad’s house erupted in objections, the sound ricocheting off the walls like we were debating the club’s bylaws instead of movies. Who knew these rough, broody men had such strong opinions about Christmas movies and where the two did or did not cross over?

“Hell yes,” Adrian said, grinning as he raised his drink and clinked it against Blue’s bottle. The two of them seemed unexpectedly aligned in their stance—or at least, Adrian thought so. Judging by the devilish glint in Blue’s eyes, I suspected he was simply enjoying seeing Whip wound so tight.

But I guess credit where credit’s due, I was genuinely impressed with how well Adrian navigated these conversations without things getting awkward. Even more surprising, the club seemed to tolerate him so far, which was no small feat. His dark-wash jeans and casual T-shirt were safe choices around bikers, but the slicked-back hair, unfortunately, screamed electric car.

Still, I’d take the wins where I could get them.

Small victories meant fewer nerves. And fewer nerves made it easier to imagine that this thing—whatever Adrian and I had—might actually last beyond casual dating.

I covered his hand with mine, and he took it, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I waited for the butterflies in my stomach to stir, for that rush of giddy excitement that made my pulse race.

But there was nothing.

I glanced to my left, meeting Shay’s eyes where she and Dad sat at the head of the table. The corners of her mouth started to turn up into a smile but stalled when she saw my expression, and instead, her brow pulled into a frown.

“Anyway, I need to get going,” Adrian announced, squeezing my leg before getting to his feet. Shay continued scrutinizing me, but I shook my head and followed Adrian’s lead, scooting my chair out as he said goodbye. “It was so nice to finally meet you all.”

Everyone mumbled their goodbyes while Dad and Shay got to their feet, following behind us as I walked him to the door.

“I guess I’ll see you on Thursday for that game night at your friend’s place?” I questioned as we stood at the door.

“Yeah, we can—”

My dad cleared his throat. “You won’t be able to do Thursday.”

I turned, my eyebrow raised. “Um, and why is that?”

“You’re busy,” he stated, turning on his heel and disappearing around the corner as if the conversation were over.

“Dammit,” Shay cursed, shaking her head as he stomped away. “Sorry, I thought he’d talked to you about it.”

I frowned, staring at the space where he’d disappeared. “Busy with what?” I called after him, my annoyance flaring.

“Scorch!” his voice called, echoing into the stairwell.

The word hit me like a punch to the gut.

“Wait, what?” I said, my voice rising as I let go of Adrian’s hand. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Uh, is this… something I should know about?” Adrian asked, his expression uneasy.

I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head. “No, it’s not. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Adrian said, clearly unsure, but he pressed a quick kiss to my cheek before heading to his car.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, I spun around and stalked after my father, my blood boiling.

I found him in the kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee like he hadn’t just hijacked my plans while Hawk sat at the table, glancing between the two of us in confusion. “Am I missing something?”

“I’m not going, Dad,” I said sternly, folding my arms across my chest and lifting my chin. “No way. It’s not happening.”

“Calliope…” My full name, mixed with my father’s no-shit tone, had never failed to make me stand a little taller like someone had pricked a needle into my ass cheek. “This is non-negotiable.”

I shook my head, feeling like a rebellious child about to try to argue their way out of curfew. “I’m twenty-seven years old, I get to make my own choices about this,” I protested, trying to hold strong to my resolve despite how my stomach was now churning, memories building, returning from the depths of wherever the hell I’d managed to banish them to years ago.

I’d spent the past ten years avoiding and ignoring that damn event like the plague. For years and years, going to Arizona had been the thing I looked forward to the most. Not my birthday, not Christmas—nothing else compared to how it made me feel.

But when something has that kind of hold on your life, and suddenly it falls to pieces beneath your feet—it’s hard to go back and act like it doesn’t hurt.

And that’s exactly what I would have to do.

Act like the memories didn’t feel like a couple of shots through the chest. Like just being there doesn’t make it hard to breathe.

All because no one else knew why or what it was that made me stop going to Scorch.

Nobody but him and I.

“Dad, seriously…”

“Calli!” His hand came down hard on the kitchen counter, the impact rattling everything that sat across the top. “This year, every Exiled Eight MC chapter will be there, families too, and like hell I’m showing up as the president of this club without my only fucking child there.”

My stomach twisted, the sharp, Dad tone having morphed into something different. Hurt. Disappointment.

I gritted my teeth, fighting the tears that I didn’t want to try to explain.

“I’m not asking you for much,” he added, his voice softening just enough to make it worse. “I’m asking you to stand by me. To show up. Not for the club, not for anyone else… for me.”

“Well, Jesus Christ,” I muttered, swiping at a single tear that escaped and throwing my hands in the air. “Sprinkle a little more guilt on it, why don’t you?”

Hawk covered his amused grin with the back of his hand, so I picked up a discarded eggshell off the counter and tossed it at him, hitting him directly on the side of the head. “Hey!” he protested, trying to wipe away the leftover egg white that had been inside. “Why are you picking on me? He’s the one making you go.”

I pointed at Dad, who was still standing across the kitchen, a coffee mug in his hand and a scowl on his face—directed at me. “Do you want to fire something across the kitchen at that face?” I challenged, Hawk instantly screwing up his nose. “Exactly. I may be twenty-seven, but I’m still a lot more scared of him than I am of you,” I answered, pointing at the scary man in question.

Hawk was my dad’s vice president, but he was also my cousin, and my dad had basically raised him since he was in his early teens.

So we had that sibling kind of relationship where we drove each other crazy most of the time.

“Woah, who shat in your coffee?” Shay questioned as she stepped into the kitchen and immediately zoned in on the stormy look on Dad’s face.

I threw up my hand and rolled my eyes. “Apparently, that would be me.”

She walked over to him and tucked herself into his side. The tension in his shoulders visibly melted the second her arm looped around his waist, and for the first time since our argument started, his scowl softened.

I felt my muscles relax slightly as if Shay’s presence had the same ripple effect on me.

Dad wasn’t the touchy-feely type, but the way his and Shay’s bodies reacted to each other said everything that needed to be said about their relationship.

They anchored each other.

Him in her calm.

And her in his strength.

It was a balance they’d somehow got completely perfect, and a little part of me was envious of the way they were together.

Especially after spending the past few hours with Adrian and struggling to feel anything more than… eh.

“Looks like I’m coming to Scorch,” I announced, instantly feeling like I needed to vomit.

Dad looked down at Shay, and she grinned wide. “Thank God because I booked this little place a few streets from where the boys will be. Darcy, Missy, and Kadey wanted to camp, but…” She screwed up her nose as my eyes lit up.

“We don’t have to camp?” I could already feel the itching of the sand and dirt on my skin.

“I’m not a fucking monster,” Dad growled, rolling his eyes, the tension between us having settled now that I could imagine at least being able to sleep in a house, on a bed, and use a real bathroom during the night.

It didn’t take away the sick feeling of dread, knowing I probably wasn’t going to escape an entire week without at least one uncomfortable and painful run-in with my past.

But if there was no other choice, at least I’d have air-conditioning.