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Chapter Eighteen

D amn. This place is top-notch. It smells like polished wood and fresh-cut turf.

I still can’t believe Sebastian set this up for me, but even more so, I can’t understand why he did it. Sure, the time slot is later than I would’ve typically chosen, but the gesture is thoughtful in a way I never expected from him.

My boots squeak as I step onto the mat, bow in hand, tension strung tight along my spine.

There are only a few people here—two casually shooting a few lanes down and two watching me.

Killian and Drake, a couple guys from the house, are standing near the vending machines, trying and failing to look casual. I can't even be mad because I know, without a doubt, Sebastian ordered them to be here. It just means he either cares, or he's unhinged and obsessed. Maybe a little of both.

Every time I move, the guys jerk their heads, eyes following me like I'm a bomb they were assigned to babysit. But as soon as I get into a rhythm, they seem to settle and stare off into the distance.

They look bored, so maybe I'll change that.

I nock an arrow and raise it. The sound of the string tightening less than an inch from my face is almost therapeutic. With a long exhale, I shoot and the arrow slices through the air, striking the bullseye with a satisfying thud.

"Oh no," I call out dramatically. "Are you two here to kill me or just to stare until I spontaneously combust?"

Killian stays awkwardly still. Drake smirks. "Just here to keep you safe, Castle."

"From what?" I ask. "Target practice trauma?"

They exchange glances but say nothing. I give them a fake gasp and widen my eyes. "Wait, is this where I die? Oh my God, is this the scene where the girl gets taken out during archery practice?" I strike a pose like I’m drawing an invisible bow, overly dramatic.

They chuckle under their breath, probably wondering if I’ve officially lost it. Maybe I have. It's hard to tell these days. But the whole act brings a smile to my face, something I've been missing lately. When was the last time I just laughed and joked around for the fun of it?

I shoot again, hitting the bullseye and just as I lower my bow, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and slightly glance at the screen to see that it's Brogan.

I step off the turf, and answer. "Hey."

"Hey," she says softly. "Just checking in."

"Just practicing for the comp on Sunday. Sebastian got me…" I trail off before I say too much. The last thing I need is her accusing me of cozying up to him again. "Just practicing," I say, flat.

"Right," she drawls, reading me like a damn book. Her tone shifts. "I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else but Callan’s being transferred to rehab on Friday."

My heart skips. "Rehab?"

"Yeah. Just a short-term place for PT. A few days, maybe a week."

"Where?" My eyes gather with tears I refuse to let fall. The thought of Callan struggling through PT while I stand out here laughing and joking around makes me feel heartless. He was hurt because of me, and here I am, living my life while he sits in limbo.

"Same facility Evan’s in."

My stomach twists hard. "Oh."

"Speaking of Evan," she adds, "have you seen him lately?"

Guilt barrels into me like a freight train. "No," I tell her truthfully. "Things have just been so busy."

"No judgment," she says. "I haven’t been by much either. He’s still catatonic anyways. The doctors don’t know if, or when, he’ll even come out of it."

I nod, even though she can’t see me. My chest feels tight, my mind racing with all the secrets I know.

"I’ll go soon," I say quietly.

"Callan’s been asking about you," she adds, her voice softer now, like she’s unsure she should even be saying it.

I press my fingers to my forehead, my heart hammering. "Does that mean I can see him?"

She pauses for a beat before saying, "maybe wait until he’s settled in. Let him adjust a little bit."

"Right," I mutter. "Yeah. I get it."

After a long silence, I shift gears to lighten the mood because I can’t do this with her right now. It hurts too much.

"Hey, did you hear the Lords are playing in Callan’s honor tomorrow night before the big event Friday?"

"I did," she says, her voice lifting a little. "Hayes is dreading it, though. Not exactly thrilled about sitting through a Lords' game, but since they played earlier this week, he’s coming."

I laugh. "Perfect. You can be my emotional support human."

"I got you, babe. Wanna grab drinks at Legends after, like old times?"

"Hell yes," I beam. "I could use a mojito or five."

"Perfect. Let’s meet at the dorm at six and ride over together?"

"Can’t wait."

I hang up and take a deep breath, trying not to focus on all of the things Callan is going through.

No. I won't go there. This is progress. Callan has been asking about me; he's getting moved to rehab—things are looking up.

I shoot for a while longer, letting the rhythm of the bow center me. When my lane lights blink off, I exhale and roll out my shoulders. It feels good to have gotten so many shots off and I feel like I really did improve my aim a bit. The longer lanes and smaller bullseyes seem to challenge me more.

As I head down the hall toward the exit, I hear footsteps behind me, and when I turn cautiously, I see Killian and Drake.

I almost forgot they were here. "You two following me?" I smirk, resuming my pace as they fall in line behind me.

"Nah," Killian says too fast. "Just figured we’d grab something to eat. You hungry?"

I stop walking, eyeing them both. Their expressions are too casual, like they practiced being relaxed and forgot how normal people behave.

"Or we could hit a movie," Drake adds. "Something chill to kill some time."

Killian elbows Drake in the side and it's not subtle at all.

My eyes narrow. "Why are you two suddenly my social planners? Better yet, why do you need to kill time?"

They glance at each other and both shrug.

I cross my arms. "What the hell is going on?"

"Nothing," Killian says, which is exactly what someone says when it’s definitely not nothing.

They’re acting far too strange. It's like they're trying to keep me busy, or away from something.

Son of a bitch.

Sebastian and Aidric are up to something and they don’t want me anywhere near it. So much for being in this together.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I hiss. "Sebastian doesn’t want me going back to the house, does he?"

"Look, we’re just doing what we’re told," Drake mutters, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Yeah," I snap. "And failing miserably. Next time you're given orders to watch someone and keep them occupied, don't make it so damn obvious."

I spin on my heel and head toward the doors, ignoring their halfhearted attempts to slow me down.

Whatever they’re doing, I’m going to find out. And God help them if they thought they could keep me in the dark.

The second I walk into the hockey house, I notice how quiet it is. The lights are low, there's no music or rowdy laughter. More importantly, no sign of Sebastian or Aidric. Considering they are staples of the house and here anytime they don’t have class or hockey, that’s suspicious alone.

"Shit," I whisper, closing the door behind me. "Where the hell could they be?"

I head straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time, not even hesitating as I push open Sebastian’s bedroom door.

Of course it’s unlocked. The bastard can plot a covert mission like he’s James Bond but can’t be bothered to lock his own damn door. I don’t know if it’s confidence, or just stupidity, but I'm taking advantage of it.

It’s my first time in here, and I sort of expected more. This space is minimalistic and tidy, like he thinks the chaos he causes won’t touch this place if he keeps it orderly.

My gaze snags on a small box on his bookshelf with a tube of lipstick on top. That's odd. One of his whores must’ve left it behind.

There's fire in my steps as I snatch it and march into his adjoined bathroom. Without pause, I twist the top off, revealing a blistering shade of crimson. Pressing it to the spotless mirror, I scrawl out an angry, to-the-point message.

Liar!

I step back, tilt my head and admire my work. Is it a little crazy? Yes. Do I regret it? Hell no.

I put the cap back on the lipstick and toss it onto the sink.

As I'm walking out of the bathroom, still irate about this entire situation, I decide to leave just one more message.

I go back into his room, and stalk to his desk.

Yanking open a drawer, I find a notepad and tear out a page. Then, I grab a pen and write:

Thanks for the range time, asshole. Hope your secret mission was worth it.

If Sebastian wants to play stupid games, he can win stupid prizes.

The worst part isn't even the lie. It's the fact that he made me believe, for a second, that he actually gave a damn.

I walk out, close the door behind me, and return to Callan’s room with my head held high. I thought we were getting somewhere, learning to trust each other. He said we were going to figure this out together but then leaves me in the dark the first chance he gets.

Well fuck that and fuck him. If Sebastian wants to go off script and do his own thing then I will too. One thing is for damn sure though, I'm done playing games.