45. Fallon

Ijog up the stairs and head into the rental. Panic is a tsunami in my chest. A dozen soccer players, both guys and girls, are gathered in the kitchen, sorting through take-out bags. A couple of people give us a cursory glance before returning their attention to the food. I comb through the crowd, seeking a familiar face, and stop on Liza.

“Hey, do you know if someone took my car to run an errand?”

Liza glances at me and quickly shakes her head before looking away.

Callum takes a step closer to me. “Your car’s missing?”

“You’re not welcome here,” Becca’s voice is steel against my skin.

I turn to face her, finding her arms crossed over her chest, glowering in my direction.

“Becca.” Murphy sounds nearly as exhausted as he looks.

“I was talking to him,” she says, swinging an arm out and stabbing the air in Callum’s direction.

Callum releases a dry laugh but doesn’t reply or move away from my side.

“He’s with me,” I say.

Becca’s narrowed gaze snaps to mine. “Of course, he’s with you. I keep waiting to be surprised, but you’re as predictable as a bad parody.” She shakes her head. “I’ve been waiting for you to crawl out of whatever bed you hid in so you could finally share what in the hell happened last night that got one of my girls and half the guy’s soccer team hurt.”

The shuffling of bags and food stops, and a couple more people step into the room, including Aiko, whose face is tear-stained.

“Are you fucking serious?” Callum takes a step forward, and Murphy matches him along with a half dozen other guys from the soccer team.

“I’m waiting, Hale.” Becca stamps her fists on her hips, undeterred by the posturing and tempers flaring around us.

I take a step so I’m at Callum’s side, hoping it will deter anyone from moving and glance at Aiko, but she refuses to look at me.

“You dragged my entire team into your bullshit and could have gotten someone seriously injured or, worse, arrested,” Becca says. “So unless you have a damn good excuse for what happened, consider your ass lucky I can’t remove you from the team. But know this: one more mistake, and I don’t care what your record is or how good Coach Mackenzie thinks you are, you’re done. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Is that a threat?” Callum asks.

Becca keeps her stare trained on me, refusing to acknowledge him. “Stay with him or go home, but you need to leave, too.”

No one questions her. No one objects.

I’m exhausted from caring.

“She’s your goddamn teammate,” Callum says. “Swallow your fucking pride and look at what kind of leader you’re being right now.”

“Fuck off,” is Becca’s only response.

I turn toward the stairs that lead to the basement, where the room I shared with Kelly is. Anger is a vise around my throat as I swing the door open and freeze, causing Callum to collide with my back, jarring me forward. I stumble before he catches me with a near-silent curse.

“Shit. Sorry,” I say, slapping a hand over my eyes because the apology isn’t just for Callum. It’s also for Kelly and Rafael, who are currently naked in her bed.

Relief scissors through me, but anger is even more potent. I’ve been simmering in guilt for weeks, trying to forget and deny my feelings for Corey to preserve our friendship, and now I wonder if her feelings were ever as genuine as she claimed.

“Lock a fucking door. Jesus,” Callum says.

“There isn’t one.” Despite Kelly’s irritated tone, she turns red as a tomato.

Rafael combs his fingers through his hair, looking torn between killing Callum and me and forgetting we’re here.

“I just need to grab my things,” I say, moving to the bed because there’s no way I’m sticking around long enough for them to finish.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?” Kelly asks.

“Does it matter?” I don’t mean for my answer to sound so flippant. Or maybe I do.

“Fallon, what happened?” Kelly asks.

“Becca told me to leave.” I shove my charger into my bag.

Kelly sighs. “I’ll talk to her. She was freaked out last night. We all were. We thought the cops were going to come bang down the door and arrest everyone.”

I want to tell her that if they’d hung around long enough, they’d have known everything was fine. That our fight was overshadowed by a much larger one and that Hadley had somehow retrieved the evidence of our disaster. But that reminder stays tucked behind my lips.

“She’ll get over it,” Kelly says. “Are you going home? I’m sorry, but maybe it’s for the best so everyone can cool down.”

I straighten my rumpled bedding, ensuring I don’t leave anything behind, before turning to our small ensuite. “They don’t need to cool down. They need to wake up.”

“Fallon,” she sounds like a disgruntled parent trying to appease an irrational child.

I grab my few things from the bathroom, dump them in my bag, and zip it up. “I’ll see you next Monday at practice.”

Like the others, she doesn’t object or say anything more.

Callum takes my bag when I try to walk past him, and though I want to protest, I can’t because all my energy is being spent trying to remain unfazed and not cry in front of everyone.

Callum pivots to face me when I close the bedroom door behind us. “Are you okay?” The way his throat shifts with a forced swallow tells me my only answer needs to be a yes. The question is out of obligation, and I play along, giving him a firm nod.

When we get back upstairs, the room is filled with people eating, talking, and laughing, as though I didn’t just have my heart and ego served to me on a barbecue spit.

“I need my car,” I announce, knowing they’re all listening.

Zoe turns to look at me as she unwraps a taco. “We told you where you were allowed to park.”

My eyes narrow on her, imagining myself ripping the taco from her hands and rubbing the contents in her hair. I want to nearly as badly as I want to scream at all of them and call them every name I can think of, which currently isn’t many because anger has me tunnel-visioned.

“Where are my keys?”

“Check the freezer or maybe one of the toilets,” Stacy tells me, amusement shining in her cruel eyes.

“They’re on top of the fridge,” Murphy says.

Callum shoulders past two men’s soccer players and swipes my keys off the top of the fridge before making a direct path to the front door. I remain on his heels, jogging down the stairs and getting a couple hundred feet away from the house before he spins to face me again, anger consuming his features as he looks toward the house. “What in the hell was that?”

I shake my head, so depleted that I can’t speak without crying or yelling. I want to push the last fifteen minutes out of my thoughts so they can’t stamp my heart with their arbitrary cruelness, further injuring my self-worth.

“I’m calling Corey.” He reaches for his phone.

“It will just cause more drama. My car’s in a lot a couple miles away.”

Callum stares at me like I spoke a foreign language he doesn’t understand. “We aren’t walking away from that shit. They just kicked you out of the house.”

“I was planning to leave anyway.”

He pins me with a stare before shaking his head. I don’t know if it’s because he’s considering me a coward or a fool, or which possibility hurts more.

I don’t have the energy or eloquence to explain why additional drama will only lead to bigger problems for everyone, so I start walking along the narrow road.

Callum swears but catches up to me after a few steps, positioning himself on the outside so he’ll be next to any cars that pass us.

We walk in silence for several minutes, but rather than finding peace or relief as we continue, anger and hurt bristle over my spine, and retribution steals all my thoughts. I don’t know how long we’ve walked before Callum clears his throat.

“Right here.” He points at a large yellow house with a driveway filled with cars and trucks.

“Mind if I wait outside?”

He shakes his head, likely not wanting to deal with the potential gossip and questions any more than I do.

I sit on one of the stumps that line the yard as my insulin pump blares, telling me what I already know because my heart is beating too fast, and a sense of lightness fills my head that only happens when my blood sugar drops too fast.

Eating is the very last thing I want to do right now, but once again, I’m reminded there are no breaks from chronic conditions, not even when you’re trying to flee a supremely shitty situation.

I wrestle a couple of juice boxes from my purse and gulp down the contents of the first.

I turn around as a car rolls to a stop in front of the house, trying to avoid eye contact or attention from the driver, but luck flips me the middle finger as Palmer and Mila step into view.

“We were heading to the grocery store and saw you and Callum cut through the neighborhood,” Palmer says. “It looked like you might need a ride.”

My voice and throat are too tight for words, regaling at my own personal pity party, so I merely nod and continue sipping the second juice box.

It’s quiet except for the noise of seagulls and the sea when Callum steps out of the rental. He clambers down the steps and looks at Mila and Palmer and then at me. “I texted Palmer,” he admits, squinting with what I think is remorse as he sets his bag down next to mine and leans against the tree stump beside me.

I nod. “I figured.” My voice is still too thin, my throat too tight.

“I’m shit with feelings…” Callum says. “And I’m still trying to catch up on what in the hell just happened, but Corey made it crystal clear that I was supposed to watch your back, and now I understand why.” He looks at Palmer. “They kicked her out of the house and dropped her car off at a public lot a few miles away.”

Palmer’s gaze tumbles to me, shock and confusion marring his brow. “Why in the hell did they do that?”

I glance at him, hoping he doesn’t expect a response because I don’t think I can give one right now without sobbing, and it wouldn’t be a cathartic cry but a mixture of frustration, hurt, and embarrassment that has finally reached a boiling point. I’d give my life savings in exchange for transporting myself to Lexie’s apartment right now.

“Let’s find your car and get some doughnuts,” Mila suggests.

I nod and reach for one of my bags, but Palmer grabs it before I can. He and Callum put our collective things into the trunk, and Mila walks with me to the back seat of the Audi and holds the door open for me.

Once we’re piled inside, I take a shallow breath. “Can we keep this between us?”

Palmer glances at me in the rearview mirror as he starts the car. Callum snorts with incredulity. Mila doesn’t respond.

“If you were in reverse roles, and someone just shit all over Corey, would you want him to keep it from you?” Callum asks.

I blink through my immediate no, which steals what I believe were my rational thoughts—or maybe they were selfish, born from shame and fear of making things worse. I no longer know for sure what the correct answer is, and it’s alarmingly uncomfortable.

Mila gives me a tight-lipped smile. “He’ll want to know, and he’ll want to help. Trust him.”

I try to digest her words and predict Corey’s reaction as we explore three public lots before finding my car.

I expect them to offer for me to follow them, but instead, they all get out and circle my car, waiting while I ensure it’s locked and everything is still inside.

“Let’s get doughnuts and then head to the taco truck. Text Corey and let him know we’ll pick up some lunch,” Mila says. “Food always makes bad news a little less awful.”

I’m pretty sure I’ll need more than doughnuts and tacos to ease the bruises inflicted today, but I slip into my car and feel a tickle of relief when Mila buckles into the passenger seat.