CHAPTER 9

CALLIE

I felt my stomach drop so hard that maybe it fell to the floor. "What?" The word came out like a squeak. A mouse caught in a trap kind of squeaky.

Dad crossed his arms over his chest, and even in his faded college t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, he looked intimidating. His hazel eyes…the same ones I inherited were doing that thing where they saw right through every lie I had ever told since I was five.

"The boy," he repeated, slower this time, like I was hard of hearing. "I saw someone in the yard, Callie. Don't insult my intelligence by pretending you were just 'getting air' at two in the morning."

My mind raced like a race car.

Think, think, think!

Nathan. I could say Nathan. That my ex-boyfriend was trying to apologize. That was believable, right? Except Dad knew Nathan cheated on me. He would probably march downstairs right now and call Nathan's father to threaten legal action for trespassing.

"I—" My throat was drier than the Sahara. "Dad, it's not—"

"Is he treating you right?" Dad cut me off, and the question was so unexpected I actually stumbled backward a step. He reached out to steady me, his hand warm on my shoulder. "Because if he's not, if he's pressuring you or making you sneak around—"

"No!" I said too quickly, too loud. I lowered my voice to a frantic whisper. "No, Dad, it's not like that. He's… he's good. Really good."

When I told the lie, I felt so bad. It was not because Dante wasn't good, he was incredible, mind-blowing, life-ruining good…but because I was lying to the one person who would never lie to me.

Dad studied me for a long moment, his jaw working like he was chewing something. Finally, he sighed, a sound so heavy with disappointment it made my chest physically ache.

"You know your mother and I don't have rules because we want to control you," he said quietly. "We have them because we love you. Because we've made mistakes, and we don't want you to—"

"I know," I interrupted, unable to hear the rest. The guilt was already suffocating me. "I know, Dad. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Another long pause. Then: "Do I know him? This boy?"

My heart stopped. Completely flatlined. If hearts could literally stop beating from pure panic, mine would be a useless lump of muscle in my chest right now.

"No," I lied, and it burned. "He's… he's from school. You don't know him."

Dad's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. "Okay. But Callie? Next time you want to see someone, use the front door. During reasonable hours. Like a person who wasn't raised by wolves."

"Yes, sir," I mumbled, staring at my toes.

He leaned forward and kissed my forehead, the same way he'd done since I was little. "I love you, princess. Even when you make incredibly stupid decisions."

"Love you too, Dad."

He squeezed my shoulder once more, then turned and walked back to his room. I heard the door close with a soft click, and I finally allowed myself to breathe.

Holy. Shit.

I slipped back into my room and closed the door, my hands shaking so badly I could barely turn the lock. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a text.

Dante: Did he see me?

I grabbed the phone and typed back with trembling fingers.

Me: No. But he knows someone was here. Thinks it's a boyfriend from school.

Dante: Are you okay?

Me: Define okay.

Dante: Did he ground you?

Me: No. Just… disappointed dad speech. It's way worse than being grounded.

Dante: I'm sorry, Sunshine. This is my fault.

Me: No, it's mine. I should've made you leave sooner.

Dante: Worth it.

I stared at those two words, my heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it had no business doing at 2:17 in the morning after nearly giving me a heart attack.

Me: You're insane.

Dante: Only for you. Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow.

Me: Tomorrow.

I plugged my phone in and collapsed face-first onto my bed, which still smelled like him. Spice and mint and something darker, something that made my thighs clench together despite the bone-deep exhaustion I was feeling in my bones.

This was dangerous. This whole thing was a ticking time bomb wrapped in six-foot-four inches of pure temptation. But as I drifted off to sleep, the memory of his mouth on me, his hands holding me like I was something precious and filthy all at once, I couldn't bring myself to regret it.

Not even a little bit.

I woke up to sunlight streaming through my curtains and the smell of bacon wafting up from downstairs. For one blissful, disoriented second, I forgot about everything. Then it all came crashing back.

Dante. The window. Dad.

I groaned and buried my face in my pillow, which definitely still smelled like him. I needed to wash my sheets before Mom came in here and started asking questions.

My phone buzzed. I grabbed it, expecting another text from Dante, but it was from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey Callie. It's Brielle. We need to talk.

I sat up so fast my head spun. Brielle? Since when did Brielle Voss have my number? And why the hell would she want to talk to me after what happened with Nathan?

My fingers hovered over the screen, debating whether to block her immediately or see what she wanted. Curiosity won.

Me: How did you get my number?

Brielle: Nathan gave it to me. Look, I know you hate me. I don't blame you. But there's something you need to know about him. Can we meet? Coffee? Today?

I stared at the text, my brain struggling to process it. This had to be a trap. Some kind of sick joke. Brielle didn't do genuine. She did manipulation and cruelty. Basically.

Me: Why would I ever want to meet you?

Brielle: Because Nathan's been texting me nonstop since we hooked up. He's obsessed. And now he's asking about you. About who you've been seeing. I thought you should know.

Ice flooded my veins. Nathan was asking about me? About who I'd been seeing?

Me: What did you tell him?

Brielle: Nothing. I don't know anything. But he's acting crazy. Like, stalker-level crazy. Just… be careful, okay?

The message felt wrong. Everything about it felt wrong. Brielle Voss didn't warn people. She destroyed them. But what if she was telling the truth? What if Nathan had somehow found out about Dante?

No. That was impossible. We'd been so careful. Mostly.

I typed back.

Me: If this is some kind of game—

Brielle: It's not. I'm a bitch, but I'm not a psycho. Meet me at Common Grounds at noon. Or don't. Your choice.

I dropped the phone onto my comforter and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. This was exactly what I didn't need. More complications. More lies. More chances for everything to explode in my face.

"Callie!" Mom's voice sounded up the stairs. "Breakfast!"

I dragged myself out of bed, threw on a clean t-shirt and shorts, and headed downstairs. Mom was at the stove, flipping pancakes carefully. Dad sat at the table with his coffee and newspaper. Except nothing was normal anymore.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Mom said cheerfully, sliding a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of me as I sat down. "You look exhausted. Bad dreams again?"

"Something like that," I mumbled, drowning my pancakes in syrup.

Dad glanced up from his paper, his eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second before returning to the sports section. It seemed the issue of last night, he was still thinking about it.

"Jake, did you call Dante back about the poker night next week?" Mom asked casually, and I choked on my orange juice.

Dad looked up again, this time at Mom. "Not yet. Why?"

"He texted me this morning asking if we needed anything from the store. Said he was heading out early."

My heart hammered against my ribs. Dante texted my mom casually and normally, like he hadn't been between my thighs a few hours ago.

"That's nice of him," I managed to say, my voice only slightly strangled.

Mom smiled. "He's always been so thoughtful. I swear, that man is perfect husband material. I don't understand why he can't find a nice girl to settle down with."

Dad made a noncommittal grunt. I focused very intently on cutting my pancakes into tiny, tiny pieces.

"Maybe he's already found someone," Mom continued, completely oblivious to the way my fork clattered against my plate. "He's been in such a good mood lately."

"Marinette," Dad said, a warning in his tone. "Let the man live his life."

"I'm just saying!" Mom protested. "He deserves happiness.”