Chapter 11 - Callum

While the rest of the team stopped at the restaurant inside the hotel to grab dinner, I headed up to the third floor alone. I don’t know what happened to Stone, but I don’t feel like dealing with more silent hostility and scowls from my own teammates.

Why the fuck can’t I get my shit together?

Even when Stone is offering to just let me hate him for the sake of the game, I can’t go back to how things used to be.

Too much has changed, and not for the best.

Even if I think I might hate Stone a little less.

I can’t fucking get my head on right because I’m too thrown off by everything that’s happened between us.

Instead of dinner, I stopped at the vending machine and got a couple bags of chips and a candy bar. They’re all left abandoned on the small desk as I flop down onto the bed. I’m starving, yet I have no appetite. Stone’s welcome to the bag of Funyuns whenever he gets in.

Not that I got them for him.

My phone rings, and I fish it out of my pocket. I almost don’t answer it. I already know my aunt is probably concerned. I don’t usually play such shit games. She worries too much, and I’m not even her kid. But if I don’t answer, she’ll only worry more.

“Hey, Rosie.”

“Hey, kiddo. Caught the game.”

I easily catch the cautious undertone in her voice.

My aunt Roseanne is a kind woman who I still wish to this day could have taken me in after my mother died. I would’ve hated being a burden to her for ten years instead of two, but I would’ve gladly lived every second of my life trying to repay her rather than every one of those seconds I lived in fear.

“Yeah,” I mutter, throwing my arm over my face. “It wasn’t my best game.”

“Is everything going okay with school?”

“Everything’s fine. It was just first game jitters. I’ll shake it off.”

“Okay.” She goes quiet for a moment. “You know if you need anything—”

“I know. And you know you worry too much.”

She laughs quietly. “So you keep telling me. I can’t help it, Cal. You’re my only nephew.”

“How are Rich and the kids?” I ask, trying to remind her that she has children of her own she should be worrying about instead. I get off the bed and start pacing the room, suddenly feeling too anxious to stay still.

“All good. Rich has some vacation time coming up, so we were thinking of taking a trip before Theo gets too busy with his college applications. He’s thinking about Lynwood, you know.”

“Yeah, he told me.” Moving over to the window, I brush back the curtain, looking out at the twinkling city lights and the black expanse of the ocean in the distance. “If that’s what he decides, I’m looking forward to showing him around campus and stuff.”

“I bet he’d love that.” She falls silent again, and I’m sure there’s more she wants to say. Instead, she says, “You’re probably exhausted. I’ll let you go so you can get some rest. Good luck tomorrow. Take care of yourself, okay, Cal?”

“I am. I promise. You too.”

After we hang up, I return my phone to my pocket. As my gaze drifts back up to the window, my eyes catch on Stone who’s leaning against the side of the building just below. I tilt forward, seeing him talking to someone with his cell pressed to his ear. He hangs up, then pulls another phone out of the bag he’s carrying.

Why does he have two phones?

Maybe it’s only curiosity that pulls at me as I watch Stone start walking away from the hotel, or maybe it’s something else entirely. Whatever it is has me moving across the room with long strides, throwing open the door, and rushing out into the hall. I take the stairs down, knowing it’ll be quicker than waiting for the elevator.

Once I’m in the lobby, I slow my pace, not wanting to attract attention. As I’m passing by the front desk, Coach Hill walks in from the side door. I keep moving.

“Hayes!” Coach calls, causing me to stop in my tracks and grit my teeth. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Schooling my features, I turn around. “Just need some fresh air, Coach.”

He grunts disapprovingly. “Early practice in the morning. Might want to get some rest.”

“I won’t be long.”

He nods, his face set in hard lines. “See that you’re not. You have a position on the team to keep.”

Can’t say I didn’t see that coming.

“Yes, sir.”

Turning around, I continue to the front doors of the hotel and push my way through. A late night chill soaks right into my spine, and I shove my hands in the pocket of my hoodie. There’s a faint hint of smoke in the air that sends goosebumps up and down my arms as much as the cold does. Heading left in the direction I saw Stone take off, I keep an eye out for him. I have no idea what my plan was. I can’t exactly walk down every street until I find him.

I decide to keep heading straight in the same direction, sticking to the sidewalk along the street. It’s already late, so there are only a few cars driving past.

After about five minutes of speed walking, I see him up ahead. He’s little more than a dark silhouette in a black hoodie like mine, a backpack strapped to his back.

Where the fuck is he going?

I’m too fucking curious, so I continue following him. I slow down to keep a good distance between us, sticking to the shadows. There aren’t really any other people walking the streets this late, so if he spots me, it’s game over.

But I can’t head back. I have to know where he’s going and what he’s up to.

It’s definitely more than simple curiosity.

Fifteen minutes pass, and I manage to remain undetected as I follow him around corners and down side streets. When he heads down a narrow path between two buildings, I hang back, knowing my steps would echo. Sure enough, as Stone disappears and I make my pass, my footsteps reverberate off the walls. I swear I hear two echoes. But when I peer back, there’s no one there.

Once on the other side of the buildings, I look to the left, then the right. I spot him, heading straight for the beach.

What the…

Once more, I follow after him.

There’s a small grove of trees beside an empty picnic area. I choose one of them and tuck myself behind the thick trunk as I watch Stone heading across the pebbled beach toward the lone dock. There’s no one around save for a single figure standing at the end, leaning against the railing and staring out over the water.

It’s slightly cloudy out, the thin, wispy clouds currently veiling the third quarter moon. Other than the two dim, yellow lamps standing over the picnic area, the lights from the city in the distance, and the stars up above, it’s dark. Everything is thrown into shadows. Including Stone and whoever the man he’s meeting.

At first, I think maybe it’s some kind of drug deal. That maybe Stone is chasing something to take the edge off from our first loss. That what looks like a hug is a slip into a pocket, an exchange of money.

Except the stranger appears to run his hand down Stone’s chest.

My jaw clenches.

So, it’s possible the thought that he was leaving to hook up had occurred to me, and now I’m hating myself for following him.

Is he looking at him like he looks at me?

Is he seeing him too?

Is this because I told him to stop and now he’s done with me?

He apologized, but then he spent the past week avoiding me. I didn’t think he was upset with me until our confrontation in the hotel room before the game. It threw me off even worse. I was an idiot for thinking he wasn’t angry about it.

I don’t want to watch whatever is going to happen on that dock, but I also can’t bring myself to look away.

I have to know.

Then maybe I can move the fuck on and forget anything even happened.

So I stay. A few minutes turn into ten. Stone removed his hoodie, which was enough for me to nearly crack a few teeth, but they’re still just out there talking. I hear their deep voices carry, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Every now and then, the other guy laughs, loud and slightly obnoxious.

I’ve never been jealous like this in my entire life.

But as I stand behind this tree, watching and listening and waiting, my envy grows. Something inside me cracks. The air turns a little thicker.

All those sketches I’ve done, the ones tucked safely inside my secret book, come flooding back to me.

Then they’re replaced by new images. Ones of a different face. A face I can’t make out clearly from where I stand, one shrouded in darkness, only briefly lit by distant lights and stars.

The context doesn’t change. There’s still blood.

So much blood.

Even more blood than before.

I realize my chest is rising and falling too quickly, yet I can hardly breathe. If I can’t get my shit together, they’re going to hear me from all the way out on the dock.

Closing my eyes, I think back to my last panic attack, when Stone’s face was inches from mine. His rain-washed eyes only on me. His thumbs softly stroking my cheeks. I force myself to breathe in sync with the Stone in my mind.

When I open my eyes again, the panic has calmed, but it still lingers around the edges.

The reflection of the stars across the surface of the water twinkle like little diamonds lost to the sea. The clouds above drift to the east, revealing the gleaming light of the silver moon.

There’s a flash of something else silver like another reflection from the sky to the earth.

It’s in Stone’s hand. Shimmering and sharp.

Then it’s gone, embedded to the hilt inside the other man’s abdomen.

My hand flies to my mouth.

Because…isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? Isn’t that what a normal person would be doing? Stifling a scream? Except…there isn’t one. There’s no trace of a scream lodged in my throat. No noise being muffled by my hand.

I’m not screaming. I’m not afraid.

I should be. I should be running. Calling the police.

But I have zero desire to do any of that.

Instead, my feet move. First one step, then a second. There’s a couple more trees between me and the dock, and I’m still cloaked in shadow. But, fuck , I want to get closer. I want to see exactly what’s happening. See the damage. Smell the blood. I want to witness the life leaving the man’s eyes beneath the silver glow of the moon.

Whatever panic attack I was on the verge of before has vanished, replaced by a wave of calm.

I may not be able to see clearly, but…

Even the silhouette of death is breathtaking.

Stone is breathtaking.

I watch, forcing myself to remain hidden, as Stone’s arm twists before he yanks the knife out of the guy. It’s not shining anymore, covered in dark blood. The stranger slumps, and Stone takes a step back, letting him crumble to the dock. He tilts his head back, staring up at the stars. His chest rises with a slow, deep breath. He lets it out as though he’s purging his demons.

I can’t fucking look away.

But I do. Just for a moment to sweep my gaze across the deserted beach. No one’s around. No one else saw.

I feel relief.

Turning my eyes back to the dock, I’m well aware that this relief—this undeniable, powerful calm that’s washed over me— is the last thing I should be feeling. However, I don’t care. Not when it feels so damn good. It’s been shot straight into my veins like a drug, and I might already be addicted. Like I’ll never have another care in the world if I can just hold onto it.

Stone wipes the knife on his shirt that’s probably already painted with blood anyway. He sets it aside before hefting the man beneath his limp arms. Dragging him to the side of the dock, he hoists him higher. Adrenaline probably helps give him the surge of strength he needs to force all that dead weight up and over the railing.

The body goes over.

It falls.

And splashes into the water below.

Then everything goes quiet, quieter than before. The waves from the splash ripple onto the pebbled shore. Stone stands at the edge of the dock, looking down, then back up to the stars. Like maybe he’s feeling everything I am right now too.

It’s as though I’m out there on the dock with him. Sharing in the beauty of this moment he’s created with his hands, crafted with a knife.

A god of death. An artist in his own way.

A beautiful, breathtaking reaper.

I don’t know how much longer I have before he starts heading back. So I take one last breath—breathing in the death and the beauty that I’ve wanted to experience again for the past five years. The kind I’ve considered bringing into existence myself but have been too scared to do it, those dark ruminations always leading to a panic attack. But, now, I breathe it in deep, trap it in my lungs, hoping to hold it in forever.

After one last glance at Stone, I turn to head back. I think I even keep holding my breath until I make it to the street. But even after I let it out, it’s still there. That moment.

I choose a different path back to the hotel just in case Stone isn’t too far behind. The return walk doesn’t seem to take as long, my mind too busy replaying the scene on the dock over and over again.

As soon as I’m back in our hotel room, I strip down to my boxers, grab my travel sketch pad out of my bag, and crawl under the covers. I shouldn’t do it, but I do. It’s a quick sketch, a reference for a more detailed one I’ll do later. I’ll have to fill in some blanks left by shadow, but my head is pretty full of ideas.

Once it’s finished, I rip out the page. I fold it into a tiny square like I did that night five years ago and tuck it beneath my pillow. Since I don’t know when Stone will be returning, I turn off the light next to my bed and lie down on my side facing the door. I don’t want him to know I’m awake when he comes in. I don’t want anything to shatter this exquisite feeling.

I’m not even close to falling asleep when I hear a key slide into the door nearly half an hour later. But I close my eyes and pretend to be.

The bathroom light turns on, and the door shuts. The water for the shower runs for about ten minutes. I’m so high off the night that I feel no shame for imagining Stone on the other side of the wall. Naked and wet.

Maybe with a little of that man’s blood swirling down the drain.

My cock is hard by the time he comes out in his boxers. But I only get a peek before I remember my eyes are supposed to be closed.

The room falls into darkness again when he turns the bathroom light off. His steps are light on the carpet as he crosses the room. Behind me, the mattress groans quietly when he sits. There’s a crinkle from the bag of chips when he picks up the Funyuns I left on his bed. A pause. Then he opens it, and I hear a crunch.

It’s just a bag of chips, but it’s more too.

A thank you.

I’m lying mere feet away from a murderer, and I feel none of what I should be feeling.

Instead, I feel… safe .

I had been a bit worried I’d have those nightmares during this trip. But, that night, I sleep better than I have in weeks.