Page 9

CHAPTER 8

As I step onto the field, a knot tightens in my stomach. Callan stands in my lane, right in front of the target I pay good money to practice on.

My fingers tighten around the handle of my case before I let it drop to the ground. Picking up my pace, I rush to him with fire in my veins.

The second I reach him, I grab the back of his shirt and jerk him backward. “What the hell are you doing here?” I grit out, heat crawling up my neck.

“About damn time,” he hums, glancing at his smartwatch before tipping his chin toward Benson, the archer in the lane beside mine. “Your friend over there says you’re never late. So what gives?”

“That’s none of your business,” I snap, eyes scanning the area. There are no obvious eavesdroppers, but Benson keeps glancing our way, clearly trying to read the situation.

I take a step closer. “Answer my damn question. Why the hell are you here?”

Callan straightens, shoulders taut, and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his stone-washed jeans. “It’s Monday, Avery. Day three. Why don’t we have our rock yet?”

My pulse spikes. I glance toward the clubhouse before lowering my voice. “It’s in my bag. I’m taking care of it tonight.”

“The clock is ticking. The sooner you get it done, the sooner this is over.”

“Good,” I say sharply. “Does that mean you’ll stop showing up everywhere I go?”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Maybe.” He shrugs. “Guess we’ll just have to see how this all plays out.”

“No!” I stammer. “We had a deal. I bury that box…” Callan tenses, and I glance around before lowering my voice again. “I bury that box, and you guys leave me the hell alone.”

“And bring us the rock,” he adds smoothly.

“I know, Callan,” I say, deliberately stressing his name. “What’s so special about that rock anyway? Why does it matter so much to you?”

“It’s symbolic. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

“Does it have anything to do with…Evan?”

His expression hardens. “You really need to quit bringing him up, Avery. It doesn’t do anyone any good.”

“He fell from a cliff, Callan. And rumor has it, he might not make it.”

That gets his attention. His posture stiffens, and his expression turns serious. “Where’d you hear that? Someone actually said he might not survive?”

I nod, watching him carefully as I respond. “That’s what everyone’s saying. This wasn’t just a fall down a hill. I heard they think someone pushed him.”

For a split second, I think I see elation etched on his face. He doesn’t want Evan to wake up, just like they said in the locker room.

“Well, it wasn’t me,” he says firmly, just like each time it’s brought up.

Oddly enough, I think I’m starting to believe him. But there is clearly something going on here.

“For your family’s sake,” I murmur, “I sure hope not.”

His fingers trace around his mouth as he stares past me, lost in thought. Then, after a sharp breath, his gaze snaps back to me. “Let me know if you hear anything else.”

I scoff. “Umm, no. Why would I do that? Just because you say you didn’t push him doesn’t mean you don’t know who did. I’m not protecting you assholes, or getting involved.”

“Like it or not, you already are.”

My head shakes, my pulse kicking into high gear. They better not try to pin this shit on me.

“The hell I am. I told you I’d keep quiet about what I heard and burn that damn box to prove it. But that’s where it ends. If someone hurt Evan on purpose, I want justice for him. I won’t say anything, but I sure as hell won’t stand in the way of an investigation.”

Callan chews his bottom lip, his expression darkening. “Go get your shit,” he orders. “We’re leaving.”

“What?” I huff. “No. I have a competition coming up. I need to practice.”

His gaze flicks to my target, scanning the bullseye covered in holes. Then, he looks back at me, unimpressed. “You don’t need practice. Now, go get your shit. We’re leaving.”

I shake my head. “You’ve lost your mind,” I mumble, turning toward my case, determined to do what I came here to do.

This is getting ridiculous. Ever since I went into that locker room, Callan continues to drag me away from my responsibilities.

I barely take two steps before he moves in front of me, blocking my path. A firm grip clamps around my wrist. “Unless you want me to make a scene,” he grits out, “I’d strongly suggest you get your ass in that clubhouse and grab your bag. Right fucking now.”

Something evil simmers in his eyes, sending a chill racing down my spine. But I’m not going. I call his bluff and jerk my wrist free from his grip, just as I spot Benson approaching.

Callan follows my gaze, his head turning toward Benson, who slows his steps. “Is there a problem here?” His eyes flick to my wrist that Callan has back in his grip.

I quickly yank it away again, forcing a tight smile. “No problem here. We’re good.”

Benson doesn’t look convinced, but before he can press further, Callan seethes, “Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?” He steps toward Benson, tension radiating from him.

I reach out, trying to pull him back, but I miss by an inch.

Benson isn’t a cowardly guy. In fact, he’s got almost the same muscle and build as Callan, which says a lot. So it doesn’t surprise me when he steps up, squaring his shoulders.

“Avery’s a good friend of mine,” he growls. “So when I see a guy getting rough with her, it becomes my business.”

Callan smirks, tilting his head. “Oh yeah? And what the hell are you gonna do about it?”

“Put your hands on her again,” he warns, “and you’ll find out.”

They’re practically nose to nose, tension crackling, so I don’t hesitate to jump between them with my arms stretched out to create space.

“Both of you, stop it.” I turn to Benson first. “I’m fine, really. Callan and I have known each other since high school. He’s an asshole, but he really is harmless.”

It’s a lie I’m willing to tell to stop them from throwing down right here. Still, it’s comforting knowing Benson has my back.

Callan exhales sharply and takes a step back, cooling off. “I’d never put my hands on a girl, and she knows that,” he says. “In fact, she was just leaving with me. Weren’t you, Avery?”

I want this to end. I want out of this moment. But I really don’t want to go with Callan. If he tries to force me, I know Benson will take him on without hesitation. And I don’t want that.

No one should get hurt because of me.

So I force the words out, choking back every ounce of resistance. "That’s right."

The second I say it, Callan’s lips curl into a smug smile and I fucking hate it.

Benson studies me, searching for any sign of hesitation, but I give him nothing. “You’re sure?”

I force a nod. “I’m sure.”

He exhales, reluctant but unwilling to push further. “All right then. I’m around if you need me. Otherwise, I guess I’ll see you Thursday night when I pick you up.” He turns to leave, but not before the two of them share one last scathing glance.

Satisfied, Callan smirks and reaches down to grab my case. He flings it over his shoulder as we head toward the clubhouse.

“What’s happening Thursday night?” he asks like it’s any of his damn business.

“That’s not your concern. I do have a life, you know?”

I reach for the door, but Callan beats me to it, pulling it open before I can.In a normal situation, I might take it as an act of kindness. But I know better with him. He’s not being polite; he’s just displaying an act of dominance.

I don’t even thank him. I just step inside, still fuming that I have to leave with him at all.

“Meet me in the parking lot,” he calls as I walk away.

I flip him the middle finger over my shoulder because, fuck him .

By the time I make it outside, he’s waiting by the passenger side of a sleek black SUV with the door open. As I approach, he closes the space between us, slipping my bag off my back before I can react. My instinct is to snap at him for touching my things, but when he simply sets it on the floorboard inside, I let it go.

Getting into the car, I try to breathe and calm that storm within me that has me wanting to take another bite out of Callan’s flesh. He starts driving, but the urge doesn’t go away, in fact, I think it gets even worse because I really needed to practice today.

“What’s with the pissy attitude?” he asks, as if I should be happy right now.

“Seriously?” I scoff. “You just pulled me away from my practice, and for what?”

Callan shrugs. “You said it yourself, you never miss. So practice is a waste of time. Besides, we have more important things to do.”

“Like what?” I huff, annoyance seeping into my tone. “We don’t hang out, Callan. We’re not friends.”

He claps a hand to his chest, mock-wounded. “Ouch.”

“Stop pretending you feel pain,” I mutter as I sink deeper into my seat. I look out the window and realize we’re driving into the city. My stomach knots with unease. “Where the hell are we going?”

He glances over, lips curling into a smug grin. “We’re going to the hospital to get an update on Evan.”

“What?” My breath catches. “No! I don’t wanna go there. I don’t wanna see him, Callan. I can’t go to the hospital.”

“You are,” he says smoothly. “We’re gonna walk into that hospital hand in hand like a happy couple checking in on their good friend. And you’re not gonna make it look suspicious at all.”

Panic claws at my chest. Callan doesn’t know I hate hospitals, and I’m not about to tell him. Instead, I force myself to breathe and not spiral.

But suddenly, it feels like all the air has been sucked from my lungs. Panic grips me as I shoot upright, my spine rigid. A wave of dizziness crashes over me, leaving me lightheaded and disoriented.

"Callan," I gasp, swallowing thickly, my throat tightening like a vise. "I can’t breathe."

Suddenly, he whips the steering wheel left, and my body slams into the door with a jolt. Before I can recover, the car jerks to a stop, tires howling against the pavement.

He slams it into park and rips off his seat belt, the metal buckle smashing into the door with a loud thud. Then, before I can even process what’s happening, his hands are on me. Both palms grip my shoulders, and I’m being shaken.

“Jesus Christ, Avery,” he snaps. “Get it the fuck together.”

I gasp, tears at the edges of my vision threatening to spill. But I won’t let them. Instead, I force them back, swallowing the lump in my throat as I meet his gaze head-on.

My voice rises, matching his intensity, shaking with adrenaline. “Why the hell are you yelling at me when I’m over here panicking and barely able to breathe?”

"Because," he roars, his grip like iron. "This is happening, whether you fucking like it or not. You need to wrap your head around one thing, right now… we call the shots. We are in control. And the sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be."

Finally, his grip loosens, and he shoves me away as he drops back into his seat. His head falls against the headrest, eyes squeezing shut as he drags in slow breaths.

I don’t say anything else. There’s nothing left to say.