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Letting go of my hands as I stand flat-footed on the tile before him, he lifts his hands in defense. “No dog jokes, got it.”
* * *
Everything isfine when I get downstairs. Just Mase and Ami as we eat breakfast and talk about going shopping or lying on the beach. That is, until Leo shows up, hair sticking up in odd directions and with bloodshot eyes.
“Mornin’,” he mumbles, taking a seat next to me, our shoulders knocking together. When I don’t reply, he quirks an eyebrow, waiting for me to say something. “Am I not good enough for a simple good morning?”
“Jesus. Yes. Morning.” I finally break the silence, trying to remain civil even though I want to take the knife beside me and stab him in the dick for getting me into this mess. Okay, I got myself into this mess, but still, I’m so annoyed by him. Maybe it’s hormones or just me being catty.
Leo stares at the Bloody Mary next to me. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Leo asks, his voice strangely soft, gesturing with a judging glance toward the drink in front of me.
At first I’m shocked at what he says. Like he gives a shit what I did.
When I glare at him, he looks away, unable to meet my scorching gaze. “What?” he asks, his brow knitted together. “You’re not supposed to drink, are you?”
“Yeah, I suppose not,” I snap, taking Evan’s drink and pouring it down the front of Leo’s shirt.
He gasps at the shock of the coldness, or maybe because I do that in front of everyone. Jumping back in his seat with his hands raised, he gasps. “Was that necessary?”
“Apparently so.” I get up, knocking glasses and silverware in my rush.
“Callie, don’t leave!” Ami yells after me, smacking at Mase to follow me.
“That was my drink.” Mase groans, disappointed his drink is gone, as I rush away from the table, in tears again.
Never in my life have I been more emotional than I am now, and I know this isn’t going to change any time soon. I don’t wear emotionally vulnerable well. Clearly.
The last time I cried was when the Blackhawks lost to the Bruins, and I was out two hundred dollars on a bet. I don’t cry when I get emotional. I cry when I make shitty decisions.
“Don’t leave,” Mase says, chasing after me and wrapping his arms around my shoulders from behind. “Come on. Please don’t leave like this.”
Fighting nausea and panic, I gaze up at him and then push away from him. “I have to. I can’t stay here with him acting like this.”
“Acting like what? He asked a simple question, Callie.” Mase drops his hands away from me and nods, but he tries to defend him. “He’s just confused. And you’re kinda acting like a bitch.”
My eyes widen. “Don’t defend him.”
Mase raises. “I’m not trying to defend him. But he is confused. You went from not talking to him to telling him he’s about to be a dad. At least give him a minute to process it before you bite his head off.”
“I did give him a minute, and then he says shitty things like that.”
He gives me a pointed look. “He thinks before he speaks, but it was a simple question.”
He’s right. It was, and I overreacted.
“I’m going to get an early flight home,” I whisper, staring at my shaking hands. I just want out of this situation before I ruin all my friendships over a hormone surge.
“Don’t do that.”
“I need to. I’m not thinking clearly.”
He nods, knowing there’s no convincing me otherwise. “Are you going to say anything to him?”
“No.”
And I don’t. I leave the hotel that morning and cry the entire flight home because all I keep thinking about is where does this leave us now? I don’t have an answer, so I get to the point where my hormone-enraged body reacts for me. Crying.
So many thoughts go through my head, from how this happened to what now. How do I communicate with Leo and not act like a bitch? How will I tell my dad? He hates Leo. Thinks he’s an arrogant kid with a ten-million-dollar contract. He knows he has talent, but in no way does Ed Pratt want me looking at a future with a hockey player. He knows what they’re like. A different chick in every city, never settling down, always making bad choices.