Page 165 of Puck Prince

Damn. So close.

“But the girl in the bathroom is still back there.” She chews on her bottom lip. “Is that… Is that woman Callie?”

This woman really does follow her sports gossip. I ignore the question. “Thank you.”

I make my way to the locked bathroom and knock. “Callie? It’s me.”

I hear her shuffle on the other side of the door. My skin is itching to touch her, to see her and know she’s okay.

“Is he gone?” she asks through the closed door. Her voice is broken and trembling.

That would be a much easier question to answer if I knew whohewas. But the hallway is empty, so I make some assumptions.

“I’m alone. Open up, Cal.”

There’s a pause and then, slowly, like she still isn’t sure she’s safe, the bolt unlatches. I push the door open and walk in to find Callie backed against the far wall.

Her arms are wrapped around her chest, and she’s sobbing. There are black tear tracks down her cheeks, and she’s gasping for air in gulps. She’s having a panic attack.

“Callie…”

The sound of my voice sends her eyes snapping to mine. Finally, they focus in on me.

Her expression splits open. The relief in her eyes shifts something fundamental in my chest. For weeks, I’ve wanted to take care of her.

Now,I have to.

She throws herself at me, her arms cinching around my neck like she’s afraid someone is going to drag her away. Her entire body is shaking.

“It’s okay,” I hush her.

“He was here,” she sobs into my neck. “I saw him.”

“He’s gone now.” I rock her in my arms. “Everyone is gone. It’s just you and me.”

“Not him. He’s never gone. He’ll never be gone. He won’t go away.” She breaks down in my arms, and I hold her even tighter.

Whoever he is, he better hope we never cross paths. Because I’ll destroy him. When I’m done, there won’t be anything left.

But right now, what matters is Callie. I have to get her out of here.

I scoop her up in my arms and head for the door. “Just hang onto me. I got you.”

“Where are we going?” she asks as she settles her cheek against my shoulder.

“Home. I’m taking you home.”

47

CALLIE

“I’m sorry,” I sob into Owen’s neck.

This isn’t like me. I don’t cry and fall apart.

The night Owen and I met, I was borderline ready to freeze to death in my underwear on the balcony rather than let him help me.

Now, he’s carrying me to his car because I’m crying too hard to walk.

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