Page 26

CHAPTER 25

“Thanks for coming with me,” I say to Benson, glancing over as he crams a fistful of popcorn into his mouth.

He nods, speaking as he chews. “No problem. There’s actually someone playing tonight I wanted to see.”

My brows arch, a slow smirk tugging at my lips. “Oh yeah? And who might that be?”

He swallows and wipes his hand on his jeans. “A man never kisses and tells.”

“Oooh, so now there’s kissing involved?”

His mouth twists into a tight-lipped smile, but his flushed cheeks give him away. He shrugs, eyes glancing toward the ice, then back to me. “Maybe.”

I nudge him with my knee. “Give me the details, dammit.”

He shakes his head slowly, and with a pop of his lips, he says, “Nope.”

The Lords’ team comes skating onto the ice, but my eyes stay fixed to one player. The one who glides out there like this arena was built just for him.

Callan.

Then Aidric comes into view, and my eyes stay on him far longer than they should. I tell myself it’s just familiarity. I’ve spent more time around Callan, Aidric, and Sebastian than I ever wanted to. Enough to notice things I never intended to.

Sebastian isn't playing, but he’s here. I see him. He’s standing off the ice wearing his jersey, cheering on his team like his heart is out there skating with them.

“Hmm,” Benson hums. “Seems I’m not the only one keeping secrets.”

I look at him, then down in my lap, only now realizing that I was practically levitating off my seat with my palms pressed to the armrests and a stupidly wide grin on my face.

I settle, then scoff. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Just be careful,” he says, voice dipping low. “I’ve heard some not-so-great things about those guys.”

“You’re telling me,” I mutter.

A beat of silence stretches between us as we watch the players skate into formation. The puck drops, and right when the game has my attention, Benson cuts through it.

“So,” he says casually, “which one do you have your eyes on?”

I could tell him it’s Callan that’s been making my heart forget its rhythm for the last forty-eight hours. I could admit I’ve been watching Aidric and Sebastian just as closely, though for different reasons. Instead, I take the safe route.

“All of them.”

It’s better than the other lie, which would have been none of them. At least this one gives him room to tease and keep the mood light.

“Well, damn,” he croons. “Save some for me.”

I laugh.

The conversation shifts to archery and the upcoming competition in three weeks. I admit I haven’t been practicing as much as I should, then toss in a casual lie about school being the reason. He buys it, or at least, he doesn’t press.

The game resumes, and a strange sense of déjà vu washes over me. Callan barrels into an opposing player, slamming him hard against the glass right in front of us. The crowd erupts, but all I can hear is the thud in my chest.

Callan looks up, and his eyes find mine like he knew exactly where to look.

For a split second, I’m back at the game at our arena when the Lords played the Devils. I remember the way Callan’s stare sliced clean through me, cold and cutting. It felt like a warning. Like he somehow knew I was going to walk into that locker room afterward and my world would flip upside down.

But this time, there’s no ice in his gaze. This time, it’s something else entirely. Lust, maybe. Or a genuine happiness that I’m here. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but whatever it is, I prefer this look over every other one he’s given me before.

He skates away, slipping back into the game, but my eyes follow him. I can’t help but wonder if I’m in his head the same way he’s in mine.

I don’t know what’s happening to me.

All I know is, I haven’t felt these strange flutters in my stomach in a very long time, and I’m not sure if that excites me or terrifies me.

Before long, the red light flashes and the final buzzer sounds, announcing the Lords’ 4–1 win. Not that I ever doubted it because the game wasn’t even close.

The thought of sticking around to congratulate the guys crosses my mind, but we’re not there yet. We don’t use manners or trade pleasantries, and we sure as hell don’t offer congratulations. Callan, yeah…maybe. But the other two, hell no.

Once we’re outside, Benson offers to drop me off at Legends but says he won’t be sticking around because apparently he has plans. He doesn’t share the details, and I don’t bother asking. I’ve learned that Benson prefers to lead a quiet life, which I can respect.

On the drive over, I pull out my phone to text Brogan a quick heads-up that I’m on my way, but a message from Liam catches my eye.

Liam: Haven’t talked in a while. Hope all is well. Just wanted to let you know Evan was moved to a long-term rehabilitation center couple days ago. Still no change.

I know I should go visit Evan, show that I care. Truth is, I don’t. I don’t want to see him like that. I might not want him to ever speak again, but that doesn’t mean my heart isn’t heavy for him and his family.

I send a quick text back with a simple thank you for the update and a smile emoji, then shift to Brogan.

Me: Be there soon.

She responds.

Brogan: We got tables in the back corner. Hurry up.

Benson pulls up right in front of Legends. There’s a crowd gathered outside, probably waiting for tables or just trying to get in. I’m not surprised. The place is always packed after a Devils’ home game.

I step out of the car, and the cool night air slides up my jean skirt, making me shiver. My white sneakers hit the pavement with a soft thud as I close the door behind me.

I pull my oversized black-and-white checkered flannel tight across my chest, fingers bunching the fabric over my white crop top. It smells faintly like popcorn and that pine-scented Christmas tree air freshener hanging from Benson’s rearview mirror.

A quick wave and a thanks later, I’m weaving around bodies out front, slipping through a cloud of smoke as I push through the doors of Legends. The minute I step inside, I’m thrust into pulsing music, pressed bodies, and the scent of alcohol and worn leather. It’s overwhelming, but familiar and alive.

I spot Brogan standing tall near the back, one hand raised in the air and a wide smile etched across her face. Her mouth moves, saying something, but I’m too far away to hear over the noise and I’ve never been good at lip reading.

It takes a minute to get to her as I dodge elbows and sidestep around people, but eventually, I make it there.

Without missing a beat, she pulls out the chair beside her, saved just for me.

“You made it!” she gushes, clapping her hands together in front of her like she’s been holding in the excitement. “And I got you this.”

She slides a blackberry mojito in front of me, condensation clinging to the glass. It’s the same drink she’s holding—the same one we get every time we come here.

“Thanks, babe,” I quip, wrapping my lips around the straw and taking a sip. It’s delicious, one of my absolute favorites. I lower the drink and glance at her. “So, how was the game?”

I already know they lost, but it’s an easy lead-in for her to ask how Callan’s game went, and I can’t wait to tell her the Lords won. Not to boast over the Devils’ loss because that really sucks, but to celebrate her brother’s win.

Never in a million years did I think I’d be giddy over Callan’s team winning a game. Nonetheless, here I am, buzzing like it’s my own victory.

“Not great,” she says, a frown tugging at her lips. “But I heard the Lords won, that’s awesome. Did you get a chance to talk to Callan?”

“Nah,” I drawl, leaning back a little. “It was packed, he was busy, and I was just too damn excited to get here to you.” My shoulders do a little happy dance as I take another sip.

Brogan throws her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. “I’ve missed you, Ave.”

“I’ve missed you too,” I say honestly.

For the longest time, Brogan and I were inseparable. Then we came here, and even though we room together, life got busy. She joined the cheer squad and started dating Hayes. I buried myself in schoolwork and archery. And now, I’ve been thrust into a life of debauchery with three misfits in a secret society.

Crazy how fast things change.

Brogan drops her arms, eyes snapping toward the entrance. “Oh shit,” she murmurs.

I follow her gaze and immediately see why her expression’s gone pale.

Moving through the crowd like a storm rolling in, is Callan. He’s standing tall, shoulders squared, and jaw tight.

“I can only assume he’s here for you,” Brogan says, eyes locked on him.

This is bad, and we both know it.

The Lords and the Devils don’t play nice. Callan showing up here, of all places, is more than just bold; it’s a slap in the face.

I’m the first to push my chair back, Brogan a step behind. But before we can reach him, he’s spotted.

“Man, shut the fuck up,” Callan grumbles, brushing past Finch, one of Hayes’s closest friends.

You’d think Hayes would step in and call off his guys, given that he’s dating Brogan, but that’s not how it works with them.

Despite Brogan and Hayes’s relationship, Callan can’t stand Hayes. And even if it’s never been said aloud, I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual.

They don’t fight, but they don’t defend each other either.

When I see two more guys step up to Callan, looking like they’re ready to throw down, I move faster.

Callan might have a build that makes people think twice, and sure, he’s strong-willed and relentless. But tonight, he’s alone with no backup and one man, even him, doesn't stand a chance against a couple dozen looking for a fight.

I’m being tossed in every direction as bodies press. But I shove, curse, and refuse to stop until I’m standing right in front of Callan.

He’s mid-verbal takedown, ripping into one of the Devils’ players, spitting words you don’t come back from.

I reach up and grab his face, forcing him to look at me. “Callan! Callan, just shut the fuck up!” I say sternly when his mouth just keeps running.

“Put your money where your mouth is, fucker,” he spits over my shoulder, venom aimed at one of the Devils. “You talk a big game, but where’s the fucking proof? Sure as hell isn’t on the ice because your team lost. Again.”

Damn. He’s ruthless.

If he keeps going like this, he’s going to get his ass handed to him. And, honestly, I wouldn’t blame these guys one bit.

Suddenly, I’m yanked back by the arm and shoved hard to the side. My balance slips, heels scraping against the floor as I stumble. When I look up, I see a guy with a twisted expression wearing a Devils jersey.

“This doesn’t concern you,” he snarls. “Get the hell outta the fucking way.”

Before I can react, or even steady myself, a fist comes out of nowhere, cutting through the air and landing square against the guy’s nose.

His head snaps back, blood already framing his nostrils.

Callan’s arm snakes around my waist, pulling me behind him in one swift motion. “You okay?” he asks, breathless.

I nod quickly, the words you need to leave already forming on my tongue. But he turns before I can speak, eyes snapping back to the guy he just knocked out.

He draws his foot back and slams it forward, straight into the guy’s ribs.

My head spins. Fists start flying, bodies crashing into each other.

But all I can focus on is getting Callan the hell out of here before this turns into something we can’t undo.

I grab him by the waist with both hands and pull hard, panic rising in my throat.

He’s fucked if he doesn’t run right now.

“Please, Callan,” I beg, voice cracking through the noise. “Just leave. I’ll go with you.”

That does it. Something inside him shifts abruptly, and in one fluid motion, he spins around, grabs my hand, and yanks me toward the door.

Without a shred of hesitation in our steps, we get out as fast as we can.

Still gripping my hand tightly, Callan uses his other one to shove one of the doors open.

The night air hits me like a slap in the face, but it feels so good against my hot skin.

I keep moving, eager to put as much distance between us and those doors as possible before the manhunt comes out behind us. But Callan pulls me back.

Suddenly, he’s in front of me, scanning me head to toe like he’s expecting to find blood or bruises. He brushes my hair aside, eyes darting over my face, then down my arms. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, voice urgent, almost desperate.

“I’m fine,” I say on a sharp exhale. “But we need to go, Callan. You can inspect me later.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he quips.

Leave it to him to crack a joke while we’re practically running for our lives.

I tug on his arm, and this time he follows, tangling our fingers together. We make it to the end of the sidewalk before I realize I have no idea where we’re going, where he parked, or even if he drove at all. So I let him take the lead.

“This way,” he says, pulling me left as he digs into his jeans pocket for his keys. “I’m in the mini-mart lot.”

Makes sense. The parking lot at Legends is always a nightmare, and the mini-mart is closed for the night.

The lights on his SUV flash, and we pick up the pace. Callan rounds the car, still holding my hand, and pulls the passenger door open for me.

Once I slide inside, he closes it without a word.

Seconds later, he’s in the driver’s seat bringing the engine to life.

I shoot a quick text to Brogan, letting her know Callan and I are all right. She responds immediately.

Brogan: Thank goodness! I was worried sick. Don’t worry. Everyone’s getting shit-faced and forgot Callan ever came here. And the guy he knocked out started running his mouth and got his ass kicked by someone else right after you guys left. He deserved it, though. Text me later to tell me your plans. I’m likely staying with Hayes tonight.

I send her back a response, letting her know I’ll likely just go home, and to be safe. Then, I turn my attention to Callan.

“Why did you go to Legends?” I ask, cutting straight to the only question that matters.

“To find you,” he spits out like it’s the most natural thing in the world to show up where I am. Like walking into enemy territory for me is just what he does.

“You went to a bar crawling with your rivals…just to find me ?” I shake my head, disbelief tightening in my chest. “Why, Callan?”

“It’s a bar, Avery. Everyone is welcome. The Devils don’t own that place.”

“Come on,” I grumble, turning toward him. “You know damn well that was a ballsy move. You knew it before you walked through those doors.”

I pause, giving him a look. “What would you do if one of the Devils showed up at The Effin Bar?”

The Effin Bar is home turf for the Lords after home games. Everyone knows that and it’s an unspoken rule not to cross enemy lines.

“I’d fuck ’em up,” he says without missing a beat.

“ See ,” I drawl, lifting a brow. “And what makes you think the Devils would feel any differently?”

He flashes me a look, all teeth and trouble. “Do I look fucked up?”

I let out an audible sigh, slumping slightly in the seat. There’s just no getting through to him. “Forget it.”

“All right, all right,” he concedes. “It was a bad move.”

He glances over at me, something softer slipping into his tone.

“But you came to my game and left without saying hi, or goodbye. So yeah, I figured I’d come check on you. Make sure you hadn’t been kidnapped by some Devil scumbag.” He scoffs. “Still don’t get why you and my sister hang out with those douchebags anyway.”

I nod slowly, just long enough to be smug about it. “Interesting.”

His brow lifts. “Why’s that?”

“Ohhhh…just because you were jealous.” I tilt my head. “Or maybe possessive is the word I’m looking for. No,” I say, a small grin tugging at my lips. “Jealous works.”

“The fuck I am,” he grumbles, that playful glint in his eye. “Not so sure about you, though. Shall we pretend you weren’t watching me the whole damn game?”

He’s not wrong, I was watching him. The way his body moved with precision. How he glided across the ice so effortlessly. And don’t get me started on how well he handled that puck. Seems he has a knack for controlling things.

“I was watching two teams compete,” I say, point-blank. “Same as everyone else.”

He smirks, tossing me a quick glance. “Is that so?”

“Yep,” I quip, casual as ever.

We pull up to my dorm, and I’m surprised by the tiny flicker of disappointment rising in my chest. I was actually looking forward to cutting loose tonight, spending time with Brogan, letting myself breathe for once.

“Plans for the rest of the night?” he asks, voice low and lazy. But there’s something behind it, like he’s wondering if I’ll ask him to come up.

And maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but I think he’d say yes.

“Seems my plans took a sudden turn, thanks to you,” I say, lifting a brow, a smirk curling my lips.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, shoulders rising in a shrug before relaxing again, “I really did go there to see you. And…maybe I knew my presence would turn some heads.”

“You went there for trouble,” I deadpan.

“If you're trouble,” he says with a grin, “then yeah…I guess I did.”

“Wow,” I laugh. “Real fuckin’ smooth, Callan.”

I shake my head, slow and deliberate. “Shut the car off. You’re coming up to my room with me.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “I am?”

“You are,” I say flatly. “Since you ruined my night, you’re now officially my company. I’m not about to spend my Saturday alone in a dorm room.”

“Someone’s bossy,” he teases, but doesn’t question it further. He cuts the engine, grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and climbs out.