Chapter 30 - Stone

It’s been nearly a week since Eric broke into my apartment, and we haven’t seen him since. Coach told the team that he came down with pneumonia, which I am entirely positive is a crock of shit.

I almost hope it’s not. I almost hope he’s on his fucking deathbed.

The only reason I add almost is because of Callum.

That boy really does have me wrapped around his finger if I’m not praying for Eric’s certain demise because it would upset him.

However, I’m not going to complain that he’s been absent. Or that I haven’t had a knock on my door from the cops. Still, it’d probably be a good idea if I laid low for a bit. Callum agrees.

He’s also been wearing the marks I gave him that day proudly. I offered to cover them with makeup the first couple of days, but he refused, which presented some problems for me. Every time I saw them, I remembered when I gave them to him, and my cock wanted to sink into him. Obviously, I couldn’t do that in class.

I’ll admit I love marking him, putting my stamp on him for everyone to see. I think it also helps that he gets off on it, that he loves them as much as I do.

When they started fading and turning yellow around the edges, he begged me to freshen them up while we were in my bed and my cock was deep in his ass.

Of course, I obliged.

I’m not sure which one of us I should blame for me currently being distracted while we’re supposed to be suiting up for our second game against New Hampshire. My eyes keep landing on those deep purple marks, and all I want to do is rip off his pads.

But this is a big game. It’s our last one before winter break until after Christmas. We also lost to these assholes yesterday, so we’re all out for blood.

We take the ice for the first period, and I win the face-off, passing the puck off to Nate. It goes back and forth across the red line so many times I start to get dizzy. Fitz blocks as many shots to the net as the other team’s goalie does. New Hampshire gets away with too many legal checks on our guys, and every time we retaliate, we fuck up and get penalties called. They’ve already had two power plays and scored on one of them.

The first period ends with us down zero to one.

In the locker room, Coach is fuming. He looks about ready to end our lives.

“You ladies can fucking do better than that! Fitz is the only one out there actually doing his goddamn job.”

I’ll give him that. Fitz has definitely improved since the start of the season.

Coach picks up someone’s stray glove off the floor and hurls it across the room, not giving a fuck if he hits anyone. Heads duck, but it still hits one of the third-line defensemen.

“What have I always told you? Play dirty when you can get away with it, but always play smart. You fucks aren’t doing either.”

Coach has always been wound a bit tight, especially during games. Even more when we’re losing. However, something has definitely crawled up his ass. More than usual. His rage is a bit surprising.

Not that he’s got anything on mine.

Glancing at Callum, I see a small smirk playing on his lips, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

Toward the end of the second period, I get tripped by the opposing left winger’s skate and go down on the ice. Hard. I’m not used to taking a fall like that, but I shake it off quickly. Callum skates over and helps me to my feet, his brow furrowed, as number eighteen gets sent to the penalty box, giving us a power play for the remaining two minutes of the period.

Nate gets control of the puck in our defensive zone and feeds it to Callum. Callum shoots it to me, and then we’re racing up the rink. I pass it back, and he sends it flying with a slap shot into the back of the net. The lamp lights up, and we end the second period tied one to one.

Seconds into the third, Callum is chasing after number eighteen, his blades spraying up ice. When he catches up to him, he throws his shoulder into the other winger’s, crunching him into the boards with a force hard enough to make him crumple to the ice.

It’s just barely a legal check.

He steals the puck and passes it to Nate who makes a shot past the other team’s goalie, putting us in the lead.

As the first line heads off the ice, I skate up next to Callum. “Look at you playing dirty and smart.”

“Just trying to teach you a thing or two.”

Spinning on my blades, I skate backwards in front of him. “Are you saying that was for me?” I smirk as though I don’t already know it was in retaliation for the asshole tripping me.

He shrugs, attempting to conceal a grin. “Fucker deserved it. But at least I didn’t get thrown in the sin bin. See? You can do both.”

Callum has always relied a little more on speed and defensiveness rather than assertiveness on the ice. Not that he’s not capable of both. But the fact that he so easily resorted to an act of aggression for me makes me love him even more.

As we enter through the gate, Coach slaps Callum across the shoulder. “Attaboy, Hayes.”

We take a seat on the bench as Brooks’s line goes out for the next puck drop. They manage to hold our lead.

When the clock runs out, the Monarchs win it.

Since this was our last game for the next few weeks and we walked away with a win, some of the team decided to go out and celebrate. Even though I would’ve rather taken Callum back to my place so we could play dirty together, he wanted to come. And of course I couldn’t say no.

It was a home game, so a bunch of us met up at a bar some of them come to when we have a few days off from practice and games. We’re all pretty beat from weeks of going nonstop, so it’s mostly a chill atmosphere.

Jesse showed up too, which I wasn’t thrilled about. However, I’ve mostly gotten over the initial impression I got from him. Callum told me they’re more like brothers than anything else.

I guess I’ll try not to kill him.

Even our coach and assistant coach are here, sitting at the bar with beers and shrouded by clouds of smoke.

After Jesse grabs himself a beer, he joins me, Callum, Nate, and Brooks at one of the pool tables in the back. He slumps down on a stool with a heavy sigh.

Callum grins as he leans on his cue stick. “How’d your game go?”

Lynwood’s basketball team had a game tonight as well.

“I’m here without any of my teammates to drink my sorrows away.” Jesse takes a long swallow, then gives his friend a pointed look. “How do you think it went?”

Callum chuckles. “Sorry, man.”

“Whatever,” he says with a shrug. “Congrats on your win though.”

“Thanks.” Callum peers back to watch Brooks scratch the cue ball after sinking the 8-ball in a corner pocket. He laughs. “You lose.”

“Fucking fuck,” Brooks grumbles.

“Rack them up, bitches,” I tell him and Nate.

Nate rolls his eyes and smacks Brooks in the back of the head. He continues muttering curses as he starts racking the balls.

Leaning back against the nearest bar table we’ve claimed, Callum picks up his beer bottle and takes a sip. I sidle up beside him and put my arm around his waist. I’ve gradually been testing what level of public displays of affection he’s comfortable with, but he hasn’t minded so far. I’m probably safe as long as I don’t openly grope him. Even though the temptation is difficult to resist.

“You guys still haven’t heard from Eric?” Jesse asks.

I grip Callum’s hip as my anger comes rolling in like a tidal wave. Even just hearing his name has me at risk of capsizing.

Callum leans into me, acting as my anchor. “No. Coach says his pneumonia’s pretty bad.”

He knows it’s a lie too.

“Damn,” Jesse says. “Looks like I’m going to be finishing up that project by myself.”

While we wait to start the next game, I let my eyes roam across the bar in an attempt to ground myself. A few of our teammates are at other pool tables or sitting at booths. Coach’s laughter rings out over the steady thumping of music and draws my attention toward the bar.

The cloud of smoke swirling around him thickens as he puffs on a cigar.

Wait.

A cigar?

Something cold slithers down my spine.

I remember Callum’s scar.

I remember that Eric wasn’t working alone.

I remember the conversation I overheard between Eric and Coach in his office.

It all comes rushing back to me.

“Callum?”

My eyes are still locked on Coach, but I see Callum turn his face toward me in my periphery.

“Yeah?”

“Did you know Coach smokes cigars?”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Coach doesn’t smoke.” But then he follows my gaze. “Huh. I’ve never seen him…”

His words trail off as he stares ahead with his brows drawn.

Coach laughs again.

The sound travels across the bar, and another chill sweeps between us both this time.

I turn to Callum to see his face is as white as a sheet. His lips are parted, but no breath comes out. He’s completely still, frozen like a statue. He doesn’t even blink, his eyes held hostage by the thing that’s conjuring memories in his mind.

The din of the bar fades, replaced by the pounding of my heart in my ears.

“Callum?”

He moves now, his hand reaching across to rub at his side. Right over the old scar.

The cigar burn.

“I need some air,” he says, choking on whatever poison is in his lungs right now.

He leans his pool cue against the bar table, but it slides and nearly falls to the floor before I catch it. I hand both his and mine off to Jesse and then follow Callum around the pool table toward the back door of the bar.

“Hey,” Nate says. “He alright?”

“He’s fine,” I call back. “You guys play a game.”

Callum is stumbling, walking quicker than his feet want to carry him right now. He crashes into the back door, throwing it open. By the time I chase him out into the dark alley, he’s already bent over on the other side, one hand on the wall of the opposite building and spewing vomit on the ground.

I slowly approach behind him and place my hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

He continues puking until he’s got nothing left, coughing it all up. When he’s finished, he stays like that for a while, his body shaking.

“Callum, talk to me. Please.”

Somehow, I keep my voice calm and quiet for his sake. But I’m seriously freaking the fuck out over here, terrified that what I’m thinking could be true.

If it is, the walls of that fucking bar are about to be bathed in blood.

Standing straight, he wipes his mouth with the long sleeve of his shirt. He sniffs and turns to me. The glow from the single bulb over the bar’s backdoor is dim, but it’s enough to see the greenish hue in his face.

When he speaks, his voice is raw and wrecked. “It wasn’t just Lewis.”

The fucking world comes caving in.

Everything turns black.

“He had friends.” Callum’s chin trembles as he glances away. “Sometimes they’d wear masks or put a blindfold on me. The times they didn’t, it was like…I was conditioned not to see them. I never remembered their faces.”

Callum isn’t the only one shaking now. I’m vibrating with the potential energy of violence and murder.

His gaze meets mine again, red and wet. His voice catches on a sob. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

And just like that, some of that energy fades away. The black at the edges of my vision turns to gray. I don’t always have my priorities straight, but when it comes to Callum, I have to. I have to know he’s okay before giving into anything else.

“Come here,” I say, stepping forward and wrapping my hand around the back of his neck to pull him to me. I hold him tight as he wraps his arms around me, fisting my shirt, clinging to me.

I’m not upset with him for keeping it from me. If he wasn’t ready to tell me, then he wasn’t ready.

He’s not crying, but his body is still trembling in my arms, his breaths shaky. I give him a couple minutes as I simply hold him, hoping to stave off any possibility of an impending panic attack.

As he seems to calm after a while, my rage returns to me.

I was wrong when I thought there was no one left to kill for him. Now that I know there is, my beast has never fought harder to claw its way out of its cage, not even when Eric broke into my apartment. This is different. This is closer to how I felt the night my sister was attacked. Except worse.

Every muscle in my body is taut, stretched to the limit.

I want to rip out someone’s heart.

Before I can squeeze the back of Callum’s neck too hard, I ease my hold on him. He tilts back so we’re face to face, but he keeps his grip on my shirt.

“I need you to tell me something now.” There’s an echo to my voice, like it’s both the protector and the beast. I wonder if Callum can hear it too.

He swallows.

“Coach?”

His chest rises with a slow, deep, shuddering breath. His brows dip even lower. He nods.

Time to rip out a heart.

I crush my mouth to his. I don’t give a fuck what he was doing a few minutes ago, but it’s only a quick enough kiss for me to grab his arms and pull them away from me.

Spinning around, I march back to the door of the bar.

“Stone!”

Callum catches up, stepping in front of me with both hands on my chest. However, all that potential energy has turned kinetic, and I don’t stop. He walks backwards as I move forward, like I’m ready to barrel right through him. He’s a blur. The only thing that’s clear is what’s going to happen on the other side of that door.

“Don’t fucking lose it again. You can’t do this here!”

That manages to stop me.

I stare at him, his face coming back into focus. I glance down at his arm where that cut is hidden by the sleeve of his shirt.

I can’t lose it again.

Meeting his gaze, I give him what he wants this time. I’ll be patient.

“But I can do it?”

His jaw ticks, and I see an easy determination cross his face. “Fuck yes.”