CHAPTER 11

CALLIE

Sophie and Madison let go of me so fast I almost fell again. Brielle stepped back, her eyes wide. Jenna released my hair. I turned, my vision blurry with tears, and my heart nearly stopped.

Dante.

He was standing at the end of the alley, a shopping bag in one hand, his car keys in the other. He must have been heading to his car after shopping. His grey eyes swept over the scene, taking everything in. Me on the ground. The coffee stain on my shirt. My bruised cheek. Brielle and her friends looking guilty as hell. His jaw clenched so tight I heard his teeth grind together.

"Mr. Cross!" Brielle said, her voice suddenly all sweet and innocent. She knew who he was. Everyone knew who Dante Cross was. "We were just... we were just talking and Callie fell—"

"Talking," Dante repeated, his voice flat. He looked at me again, and something in his eyes made my chest hurt. It was worry. Raw, intense worry. "Is that what this looks like to you? Talking?"

"Yes! I mean, she tripped and—"

"Stop lying." Dante's voice cut through the air like a knife. He dropped his shopping bag and walked toward us, his steps slow and deliberate. "I saw everything. I've been standing here for the past two minutes watching you assault her."

Brielle's face went pale. "Assault? No, Mr. Cross, you don't understand—"

"Get. Out."

The two words were so cold, so final, that all four girls flinched. Sophie was the first to run, practically tripping over her own feet to get away. Madison and Jenna followed quickly.

Brielle stayed for a second longer, her grey eyes flashing with anger. "This isn't over," she hissed at me, then she turned and ran too.

The alley was suddenly quiet except for my ragged breathing and the distant sound of traffic. Dante stood there for a moment, his fists clenched at his sides, watching to make sure they were really gone.

Then he turned to me.

"Callie," he said softly, and the gentleness in his voice after all that coldness made the tears come faster. He knelt down beside me, his hands hovering like he wanted to touch me but wasn't sure where I was hurt. "Sunshine, are you okay?"

I shook my head. I wasn't okay. Nothing was okay.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

I nodded and tried to push myself up, but my arms were shaking too much. Dante carefully slipped an arm around my waist and helped me to my feet. I leaned against him, my legs wobbly like a baby deer.

"My phone," I mumbled, pointing at the dumpster.

"I'll get it." He kept one arm around me to steady me while he bent down and reached under the dumpster. He pulled out my phone, the screen cracked but still working. "Here."

"Thanks," I whispered.

He studied my face, his eyes moving over the bruise forming on my cheek, the cut on my lip from where I'd bitten it. His expression was so angry I thought he might march after Brielle and her friends.

"We need to get you to a hospital," he said.

"No!" I said quickly. "No hospital. They'll call my parents. My dad will—"

"Your dad needs to know what happened."

"No, he doesn't!" My voice cracked. "Please, Dante. Please don't tell him. He'll make a huge deal out of it and then everyone will know and it'll be worse. Please."

Dante's jaw worked like he was trying to swallow down about a million arguments. Finally, he nodded. "Fine. But we're at least going back to my place so I can clean you up properly."

I didn't argue. I couldn't. I was too tired, too hurt, too overwhelmed.

He helped me to his car, which was parked just down the street. The shopping bag he'd dropped earlier was still in the alley, forgotten. He opened the passenger door for me and I slid in, my whole body aching. The drive to his house was quiet. He kept glancing over at me like he was making sure I was still breathing. My hands were shaking in my lap, so I squeezed them together to make them stop.

When we got to his place, he helped me inside and sat me down on his fancy leather couch. Then he disappeared into what I assumed was the bathroom and came back with a first aid kit.

"This might sting," he warned, kneeling in front of me with a cotton ball soaked in something that smelled like alcohol.

"It's okay," I said.

He dabbed at the cut on my lip, his touch so gentle it made my eyes water again. "I should have gotten there sooner," he said quietly. "I was in the store when I got a weird feeling. Something told me to leave. When I walked out and saw them surrounding you..."

"You saved me," I whispered.

"I should have done more than scare them off." His voice was dark, angry at himself. "I should have—"

"You did enough." I reached out and touched his hand, making him look at me. "Thank you."

His grey eyes softened. He set down the cotton ball and cupped my face carefully, avoiding the bruise. "I can't stand seeing you hurt."

"I'm okay now."

"You're not okay." His thumb brushed across my cheekbone. "And I need you to tell me the truth. Why were you meeting Brielle? What did she want?"

I bit my lip, then winced because it hurt. "She texted me. Said Nathan was acting crazy, asking about me. I thought... I thought maybe she actually wanted to help."

"And you believed her?"

"I was stupid," I admitted. "I just wanted to know what Nathan was saying. If he knew... if he suspected..."

"About us," Dante finished.

"Yeah."

We sat in silence for a moment. His hands were still on my face, warm and steady. I leaned into his touch, letting my eyes close.

"You're not going back to school tomorrow," he said suddenly.

My eyes flew open. "What? I have to. I have a test in—"

"I don't care. You're not going anywhere near those girls until I figure out what to do about them."

"Dante, you can't just—"

"Watch me." His voice left no room for argument. "I'm calling the school. I know the principal. Those girls will be dealt with."

"But they'll know you helped me. They'll ask questions. Why would Dante Cross care about some random college student getting beat up?"

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. Then: "Because you're not some random college student."

My heart did that stupid fluttery thing again.

"You're Jake's daughter," he continued, and I felt a weird twinge of disappointment. Of course. That's why he cared. Because of my dad. "And Jake is my best friend. If something happened to you, he'd never forgive me."

"Right," I said quietly. "Because of my dad."

"Callie—"

"It's fine." I pulled back from his touch, ignoring the hurt that flashed across his face. "You're right. My dad would be upset if something happened to me."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His hands fell to his sides. The air between us felt heavy, loaded with all the things we weren't saying.

Finally, he stood up. "You should rest. I'll make you some tea."

"I don't want tea."

"Then what do you want?"

You, I thought. I want you to tell me that last night meant something. That I'm not just some stupid mistake you're trying to fix because you feel guilty.

But I didn't say any of that. Instead, I said, "I want to go home."

Dante's expression darkened. "Not yet. Your parents will see the bruises and ask questions."

"I'll tell them I fell."

"They won't believe that."

"Then I'll tell them the truth!" My voice rose, surprising both of us. "I'll tell them Brielle and her friends beat me up because Nathan can't let go! I'll tell them everything except—" I stopped myself just in time.

"Except what?" Dante asked quietly, taking a step closer.

"Nothing."

"Callie."

"It's nothing!"

"Except the part about us," he said, and it wasn't a question. "You'll tell them everything except what's happening between us."

I looked away, my cheeks burning. "There is no 'us.'"

"Isn't there?"

"You said I was a mistake!"

"And I apologized for that!"

"With a kiss!" I shot back. "You apologized with a kiss and some pretty words, but you never actually said what this is! What are we doing, Dante? Because I'm so confused I can't think straight anymore!"

He was right in front of me now, so close I had to tilt my head back to look at him. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his grey eyes intense.

"You want to know what we're doing?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yes!"

"We're falling," he said simply. "We're falling and I don't know how to stop it."

My breath caught in my throat. "Falling?"

"For each other." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm falling for you, Callie. Hard and fast and completely out of control. And it terrifies me because you're Jake's daughter and I'm fifteen years older than you and this is wrong in so many ways—"

"But it doesn't feel wrong," I whispered.

"No," he agreed. "It doesn't."

We stood there, frozen in the moment, the weight of his confession hanging between us. My heart was racing so fast I thought it might explode. He was falling for me. Dante Cross was falling for me.

Then his phone rang.

The sharp sound shattered the moment. Dante cursed under his breath and pulled his phone from his pocket. His expression changed immediately when he saw the caller ID.

"It's your dad," he said, showing me the screen.

My blood turned to ice. "Don't answer it."

"I have to. If I don't, he'll get suspicious." Dante took a deep breath and answered. "Hey, Jake."

I couldn't hear what my dad was saying, but I watched Dante's face carefully, trying to read his expression.

"Yeah, I'm home," Dante said. "Just got back from the store. Why?"

More talking from my dad's end.

"Callie?" Dante's eyes met mine. "No, I haven't seen her. Why? Is something wrong?"

My stomach dropped. Dad was looking for me.

"She said she was going to the library," Dante said, lying smoothly. Too smoothly. Like he'd done this before. "Have you tried calling her?"

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

"Her phone's going straight to voicemail?" Dante's eyebrows rose. "That's strange. Maybe it died."

I looked down at my phone. Three missed calls from Dad. Two from Mom. And about a dozen texts asking where I was.

How had I not heard any of them?

"I'm sure she's fine, Jake," Dante was saying. "She probably just lost track of time studying. You know how she gets."

But Dad wasn't buying it. I could tell by the way Dante's expression shifted, became more serious.

"Alright, yeah. I'll keep an eye out," Dante said. "If I hear from her, I'll have her call you immediately."

A pause.

"Jake, I'm sure everything's fine—"

Another pause, longer this time.

Dante's face went pale. "What do you mean someone called you?"

My heart stopped beating. Someone called my dad?

"Who called you?" Dante demanded, his voice sharp now. "What did they say?"

The silence that followed was deafening. I watched Dante's expression shift from concerned to horrified to absolutely murderous. His free hand clenched into a fist so tight his knuckles turned white.

"I'm on my way," he said finally, his voice deadly calm. He hung up without waiting for a response.

"What?" I asked, my voice small. "What did my dad say?"

Dante looked at me, and the expression in his eyes made my blood run cold.

"Someone sent your father pictures," he said slowly.

"Pictures of you in the alley. With Brielle and her friends. Someone told him his daughter was being attacked behind Common Grounds."

The room started spinning. "Who? Who would—"

"I don't know. But we need to go. Now. Your dad's on his way to the coffee shop right now, and if he finds you're not there..." Dante ran a hand through his hair, looking more stressed than I'd ever seen him. "Callie, if he realizes you're here with me—"

"He'll ask why I came to you instead of going home," I finished, my voice barely above a whisper.

We stared at each other, the full weight of our situation crashing down on us. This wasn't just about sneaking around anymore. This wasn't just stolen kisses and secret touches. This was about to blow up in our faces in the worst possible way.

"What do we do?" I asked.

Dante's jaw clenched. "I'll take you to the coffee shop. We'll say I found you there, helped you, and was about to drive you home when Jake called. It's not a perfect story, but it's better than the alternative."

"Okay," I said, even though nothing about this was okay.

We rushed to his car. The drive back to Common Grounds took only five minutes, but it felt like hours. My mind was racing, trying to figure out who would take pictures and send them to my dad. Brielle? One of her friends? Nathan?

When we pulled into the parking lot, my dad's truck was already there.

"Shit," Dante muttered. "He's early."

Before I could respond, my dad appeared from behind the building, his face full of anger. He saw Dante's car and stopped dead in his tracks. Then his eyes found me in the passenger seat, saw my bruised face, and his expression transformed into something I had never seen before. It was pure, protective anger.

He stalked toward the car. Dante got out first, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. I shrank into the seat, hoping that I would just disappear.

"Jake, before you say anything—"

"What the hell happened to my daughter?" Dad's voice was low, dangerous. "And why is she in your car?”