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She yanks her arm away from me and whirls to face me head-on. “I do hate you right now, Leo. I moved in with you,” she points out. “I’m sharing my life with you, having your baby, and letting someone in for the first time. Yet here you are—” She pauses and motions to me with a wave of her hand. “—accusing me of being a slut.”
Bystanders on the street walk by, all giving us “who are these people” glances. But I see none of them. I’m too focused on our relationship going up in smoke, and we’re both making sure it does. “If you’re sharing everything with me, why won’t you tell me what happened with you and Dave?”
She blinks rapidly. “I did tell you.”
“No.” My jaw clenches, my wild eyes on hers. “You told me he roughed you up. What about the nightmares?”
Callie sighs again, closing her eyes. “What do you want me to say, Leo? Tell you every detail? I don’t want to remember him, let alone any fucking details and tell you about it. He held me down, slapped me across the face, and fucked me with his hands so tight on my throat that I passed out. Woke up with a black eye. Is that what you want to hear? And I told you all of that already. Why are you bringing it up again?”
My chest stings like I’ve been hit with a bullet, my breath gasping out in quick pants. I twist, and in an instant, my fist comes in contact with the metal street sign beside me.
She lets out a rushed breath, spinning on her heel. “You’re acting like a child. Get your own ride home, ya dumb dick!”
CHAPTER22
BACK CHECK
CALLIE
Rushing back to the defensive zone in response to an opposing team's attack.
We all havea past that makes us who we are. I don’t think it should play in how we treat others, and I like to think I don’t do that. Regurgitating the past is pointless, so why did Leo have to bring it up?
I know Leo has had a hard life. He holds resentment for his parents that he will never fully admit to anyone. It’s not his fault for that, but he can go fuck himself for all I care. You don’t say shit like that to any woman, much less a pregnant woman.
Ever.
I end up taking a taxi back to the condo but have him drop me off a few blocks away. Though it’s looking like it’s going to start raining any minute, I need to clear my head.
As I walk, it doesn’t seem fast enough. I want to run far away from everything that’s happening. It’s similar to that night with Dave, or when I found out that he was the same man who raped my best friend. The same anger and uncomfortable pain resurface.
I can’t shake what Leo had said and the way he said it. I’ve never seen him so angry.
In no condition to do so, I run up the street as the black clouds over the city sit low and turn everything gray and gloomy, just like my life.
When I get to Trump Towers, the clouds open, creating blinding sheets of rain, hitting me like sharp stingrays.
My shoes squeak through the lobby, announcing my presence. Nash, the door man, turns when I get to the elevator. “Are you okay, Ms. Pratt?”
I smack the Up button before he can with my fist. “I’m fine.”
Upstairs, I pour a glass of chocolate milk and realize I can’t stay in his condo. Not after the things he said to me. No way.
So I grab my bag with some clothes, unsure where I’m going. Maybe I’ll stay with Bethany tonight.
Outside, a warm breeze picks up, a heavy spray of rain now blanketing the city. I walk down street after street, my shoes splashing through puddles. I try to move as fast as I can, but then think, what’s the rush?
My pace slows, my breathing leveling, and I take in everything around me, from the sounds of the city to my heartbeats.Thump. Thump. Thump.
Within minutes, I reach the United Center, the sky pitch-black in a place I call home October to April. Only it’s different now. Dark. Secluded. Empty.
And then I see a man watching me, lurking around a corner. I eye his stalking form, my eyes shifting around to any escape route. The general vicinity around the United Center is the ghetto in my opinion. You never venture around here alone. Even the players don’t, but without thinking, I put myself in a position I know I’m not getting out of.
“You shouldn’t be walking around alone,” the man notes, his thick, gravelly tone scraping against me.
It’s a statement. My only warning, and even then, there’s a certain amount of dark promise in his words that leaves my breath hanging in the balance. I’ve already ventured past the point of no return.
Without paying attention, I’ve walked down W Madison Street, around the back of the arena, and am now cornered between a chain-link fence and a group of men in the distance, with one standing before me, the others back about fifty feet. It’s like a scene out of theTwilightmovies, and I’m really wishing I had a sparkly vampire to rescue me right about now.