Chapter 31 - Callum

The lights of the city pass by in a blur as Stone speeds down the empty street toward his apartment. I stare out of the window without really seeing them, my vision filled with nothing but black shapes and a haze of white and yellow flares.

I still feel a bit sick to my stomach, lost memories that had gathered dust resurfacing and joining the rest of those shadows.

The scar from the cigar burn on my side stings like a phantom pain.

Coach’s laughter still rings in my ears.

How had I never seen him smoke cigars before? Maybe I had? Maybe I had seen him, but my brain somehow blocked it out.

It tends to do that.

They say repressed memories can return suddenly with a single trigger. I guess I was hoping it would never happen to me.

Stone abruptly beats his fist on the steering wheel. “Fuck!”

My head snaps to the side, and my heart leaps into my throat. “What?”

The muscles in his jaw are twitching like crazy, his hard gaze boring into the road like he can make it disappear and shorten the distance left.

“We need to get a hold of Eric.”

Hearing that come out of Stone’s mouth is the last thing I was expecting.

“Why?”

The next breath he takes is clearly forced. “I think Coach knows about me.”

Even though we’ve both put our hoodies back on and the heat is on full blast, goosebumps rise along my arms. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. “Why do you think that?”

“I think he was Eric’s source. I don’t know how he knows, but I think he’s the one who brought Eric here. I heard them in Coach’s office a few weeks ago. I assumed Eric was just trying to worm his way onto the first line to get closer to you, but now I think he was trying to get closer to the truth. Coach wouldn’t do it because it would seem suspicious.”

“He also might be worried that I remember.”

Stone nods. “If Coach was a friend of Lewis, then he also could’ve been a friend of Eric’s uncle. If I’ve been killing off all his friends, it makes sense he’d get someone to keep an eye on me. And you. He’s afraid I’m coming after him, and he’s fucking right. Call Eric.”

I take my phone out of my pocket and dial Eric’s number, putting it on speaker. It rings a few times but goes to voicemail.

“Fuck.” Stone presses a few buttons on the touchscreen display in the middle of the dashboard, and another ringing fills the car before Lacey’s voice comes through the speakers. It’s much too cheery for the situation.

“What can I do for you, baby bro?”

“I need you to trace a cell for me. Callum’s going to text you the number.”

Without waiting for more instruction than that, I send Eric’s number to the one on the display.

“Is everything okay?” Lacey asks.

“Not even a little bit,” Stone answers, his voice hard.

Lacey sighs. “Give me two minutes. And Stone? Be careful.”

“I always am.”

As soon as the call ends, Stone presses down on the accelerator, and the engine roars. Less than two minutes later, we’re pulling up outside his apartment, and his phone goes off.

He frowns as he looks down at the text. “He’s at the arena.”

“It’s past one o’clock in the morning. What the hell is he doing there?”

“No idea. I’m just gonna grab what I need, and then we’ll head over there.” He opens his door, then pauses to look back at me. “Unless you want to stay here.”

I can tell he’d rather me do that, but I shake my head. “No way.”

Inside, Stone grabs the weapons he doesn’t normally carry around with him while I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth with the toothbrush I left here a few days ago. I’ve been staying with him more often than not over the last week.

We get back to the car, and Stone drives us to campus. It takes us half the time it normally would to get there if he had been following the speed limit.

It would really suck for him to get arrested before he commits a murder.

After he parks, he leans over the center console, takes my face in his hand, and presses his lips to mine in a quick, lingering kiss.

He’s nervous, but he’s still keeping his shit together better than I am.

Entering through the back door of the stadium, we head past the locker room and down the tunnel. The sound of skates on ice reaches our ears as we approach the rink. Most of the lights are off. The stands are thrown into darkness while the rink is lit up only by the lamps directly above center ice.

Stone and I enter the bench area to see Eric skating alone. He’s in sweatpants and a hoodie, surrounded by pucks as he shoots them at the lone net. His hits are fueled by anger and force rather than accuracy. Most of the pucks bounce off the posts or fly right past the goal altogether.

“Vaughn.”

At the sound of Stone’s voice, Eric spins on his blades. His eyes widen. At least, as much as they can through the swelling around the left one. Nearly half his face is painted with splotches of black and blue and purple. Some of the bruises are yellowing around the edges, so the swelling was probably a lot worse than it is now.

Opening the gate, I step out onto the ice. It hasn’t been resurfaced yet after our game, so it’s easy to walk on.

“Who did that?”

“Coach,” Stone says.

Eric nods even though it wasn’t a question.

“Why?” I ask, trying to put all the pieces together.

“Because I told him I was done. That I wasn’t helping him anymore.” He leans on his stick and winces. “Pretty sure he cracked a couple of ribs too.”

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” I snap.

“I missed skating and came to clear my head.” He sighs and wipes at the sweat across his brow. “Not that it’s helped at all.”

“So I was right.” Stone steps up beside me, his hands balled into fists. “He was the one who suspected me and brought you here to try to find evidence.”

Again, Eric nods. “He and my uncle were friends. I thought he wanted to help me get justice.” He shakes his head and scoffs. “Once I found out the truth about Jimmy, I connected the dots. Accused Coach of a bunch of shit, and he didn’t like it.”

“Why didn’t you go to the hospital?” I ask. “Turn him in?”

“Because I’m fucking scared of him.” He shakes his head and looks away. “Fuck. I thought he was going to fucking kill me.”

Stone tenses next to me.

Leaning over, he lowers his voice and says, “You need to get out of here. Now.”

I turn to look at him. “What? Why?”

“Because there’s a reason he didn’t kill him.”

A chill sweeps across the ice and settles in my bones.

A deafening crack pierces the air. Less than a second later, one of the panes of tempered glass behind us shatters, spilling pieces out over the ice. All three of us duck, and Eric drops his stick. Stone covers my body with his, and I can feel his heart beating the same wild rhythm as mine at my back.

We wait, but another shot doesn’t come.

Instead, there’s a click over the sound system, some white noise followed by a voice that I’ve heard nearly every day for the past two years. For the first time, it reaches all the way down into that abyss, calling to the shadows. Summoning them.

“Well done, Mr. Wakefield. Too bad all your revelations came a bit too late.”

Stone stands, taking his gun out of the back waistband of his jeans. He moves around me, coming to stand in front of me, even though we can’t be sure where the shot came from. His head moves from side to side as he searches the darkened stands. One hand grips his gun, the other reaching behind him to grab onto my side, guiding us both in a slow circle.

Eric skates over to join us, standing at my back. I think it’s less an act of protection over me and more herd self-preservation. But then he and Stone share a brief glance and a nod, and I think maybe he’s trying to make up for last weekend.

Still scanning the stands, Stone shouts, his voice carrying through the arena. “Too much of a coward to show yourself?”

“It’s three against one, kid,” Coach’s booming voice says. “Not a coward. Just not stupid.”

“We’ll agree to disagree,” Stone snarls back. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I want you to stop killing my friends. And there’s only one way to stop a killer. Isn’t there, Stone?”

That chill that’s burrowed into my bones grows colder. I grip onto Stone’s hoodie and attempt to pull him back so he’s between me and Eric instead, but he refuses to budge.

Another shot rings out. This time, a pane of glass on the opposite side of the rink shatters. More glass ends up on this side of the ice than before. Assuming the same as me, Stone turns so that he’s facing that direction. In order to have hit the glass behind us, Coach must be high up in the stands, in the darkest parts of the shadows.

Where he’s always been. I just didn’t remember.

“You’re a terrible fucking shot!” Stone shouts.

“Stone.” I yank at his hoodie again, pissed at him for goading an enemy we can’t see.

“Am I?”

Do the others hear the smirk in Coach’s voice or is that just for me?

Eric leans over a little closer to us and speaks in a hushed voice. “I’m gonna try to make a run for it and get help.”

I think it’s a terrible fucking idea the moment he says it, but I’m not quick enough to stop him. Neither is Stone, not that I expected him to try.

Eric pushes his blades off the ice and speeds toward the open gate. He makes it, but as he steps one skate up into the bench, a third report explodes through the arena. Eric cries out and goes down, face forward, half his body on the ice and half off. He lies still.

“Eric!” I scream his name, but he doesn’t move.

Even though I’m worried about where he was shot, there’s no way in hell I’m leaving Stone.

“Now it’s two to one,” Stone yells, still facing the way the shots are coming, hardly fazed by what just happened. “Ready to come out or are you still a coward?”

There’s no response. Everything is quiet save for mine and Stone’s heavy breathing, the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

Stone’s eyes scour the stands across from us like a hawk’s. His knuckles are white around the grip of his gun. His jaw ticks, his face nothing but hard lines and throbbing veins.

A noise nearly as loud as the gunshots echoes through the speakers like thunder. When a high-pitched buzz follows, I know Coach has dropped his mic.

The distraction is all it takes for Stone’s focus to falter. Even if it didn’t, I’m not sure either of us could’ve anticipated the next shot that follows. The blast is louder. Closer. Stone lets out a loud grunt before his knees buckle and he’s falling to the ice. I grab onto him, try to hold him up, but it’s no use. The gun slips from his hand and slides a couple feet away.

Blood pours from Stone’s leg, turning the ice red. His jeans quickly become soaked around the wound in his thigh.

I kneel beside him, my gaze flying between him and the dropped gun.

Making a decision, I leap up and go for the weapon.

“Don’t do it, Hayes.”

I freeze a foot away.

Looking up, I see Coach Hill directly in front of me, his gun aimed at my chest, striking terror inside it. My spine snaps up straight, and I take a step back, instinctively raising my hands in the air.

Staring down the barrel of Eric’s gun, I wasn’t afraid he’d shoot me.

Coach’s gun?

Fear unleashes the shadows, and they fly free, enveloping me in a dark blanket of cold. They wrap their tendrils around my throat. It’s not in the comforting, safe way that Stone does. It’s suffocating. Terrifying.

Coach takes a step forward, and I take another one back, my joints stiff. Stone grunts as he tries to push himself across the ice toward his gun, reaching out his left hand for it, his fingers inches away. Coach gets there first. His heavy foot comes down, crunching Stone’s hand beneath his shoe. Stone lets out a pained roar.

With a laugh that has the grip around my throat tightening, Coach lifts his foot and kicks the gun away where it bounces off the boards.

Stone slumps over on the ice, cradling his hand and panting.

Turning his focus back on me, Coach slowly approaches. This time, I stand my ground.

“I was really hoping you wouldn’t remember, Callum.” His mock frown turns into a nauseating smirk. “Though, when I got the job here a couple years ago, I was almost hurt you didn’t.”

I drop my arms to my sides. Not because I’m not afraid. Because I’m so sick and tired of being afraid. And, right now, I’m a little more just sick . Nauseous. The way he’s looking at me has me close to vomiting all over the ice even though I’ve already emptied my stomach.

Raising my chin, I glare at him. “Go fuck yourself.”

“I’ve seen you in the locker room.” He steps closer, close enough to touch. He lowers his gun to run the barrel up my side over the scar he left. “I’ve seen my marks on you.” Lifting the weapon again, he uses it to brush a sweaty strand of hair off my face. “You still kind of do it for me.”

Yup. I’m definitely about to puke all over him.

Bile rises in my throat, and I want to crawl out of my fucking skin.

“Get the fuck away from him, you nasty fuck!” Stone shouts, his voice strained and desperate. He’s fighting harder than ever to make it to his feet, but between his leg, his crushed hand, and his own blood slicking the ice, he goes nowhere.

“Stay down, Wakefield,” Coach says calmly without looking back at him. “I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

Selfishly, I might be glad he’s going to kill me first. I hate that for Stone, but…I don’t want my last memory to be of him dying. It’s selfish, but it’s my last remaining solace.

“Go ahead and kill me,” I tell him as he moves his gun down to my jaw in a revolting caress that turns my stomach. “It won’t be any worse than what you’ve already done to me.”

He takes two steps back, his gun aimed at my chest and that fake frown returning. “So quick to forget me again.”

I shake my head. “You’ve already been erased.”

When I look at Stone for what I expect to be the last time, I see the tears in his eyes first. It’s those tears that make me want to fight.

Then I see the knife in his hand.

And that’s when I know I will fight this time.

What comes next happens within a few blinks of an eye, half a dozen heartbeats.

Stone hurls the knife at our coach, and I throw myself down onto the ice. His knife spins through the air before the blade is embedded in Coach’s arm. The gun goes off before tumbling out of his grip. The bullet hits another pane of glass, raining down more onto the rink.

“Stone!”

It’s Eric. He’s crawled back out from the bench, leaving a trail of blood from his shoulder. He slides Stone’s gun toward him across the ice while I scramble for Coach’s. They’re in our hands at the same time.

Our first shots peal through the air simultaneously. They strike their mark, each shot to Coach’s chest knocking him back.

We don’t stop.

We shoot until the clips are empty and there are at least a dozen holes littering the front of Coach Hill’s body, soaking his clothes, painting them and the ice beneath him scarlet. He stares down at himself, lips parted, blood dripping down his chin.

He falls to his knees.

Then collapses.

The arena goes silent except for the ringing in my ears. Blood pools beneath Coach’s crumpled body, turning the loose ice to crimson slush and glistening beneath the arena lights.

I let the gun slip from my fingers. I’m fucking shaking, but I don’t let that stop me from scurrying across the ice to get to Stone. The second I’ve reached him, I take his face in my hands and crash my mouth to his. He fists the front of my hoodie with his uninjured hand and whimpers against my lips.

Pressing his forehead against mine, his voice breaks on a sob. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

I shake my head. “Never.”

He gives me one more swift, soft kiss. We stay like that for a bit, catching our breath, coming down from the adrenaline. Eric is still nearby, but right now, it’s just me and Stone and the relief of being alive. Together.

Lowering his voice to a whisper just for us, he asks, “Don’t you want to admire our kill?”

I almost laugh.

For so long, I thought I’d never have what it takes to kill someone, and maybe in any other circumstance I wouldn’t have it in me. But this one? This kill? It was easy. I can feel it—that feeling that comes with death. But this time, there’s something else there too that’s even more potent.

I got rid of some of those shadows tonight. Turned them into butterflies.

Glancing back at the coach’s body, I return my gaze to Stone just as quickly. “It’s beautiful. But not as beautiful as you.”

Stone smiles, his eyes still wet.

“I hate to interrupt.” Eric leans against the boards in front of the bench. He holds his shoulder, blood dripping between his fingers. “Shouldn’t we come up with a story?”

Stone and I share a look. We both know this isn’t something we can cover up by dumping a body in a lake. There’s so much blood on the ice. Red paint spilled and brushed on a blank, white canvas.

He peers over at Eric. “How far from the truth are you willing to go?”

“However far you tell me. I’ll follow your lead.”

“Actually,” I say. “I have an idea.”