Page 174 of Puck Prince

I’m ready to drag my broken body up the stairs when the nurse rests a hand on my arm. “She’s waking up.”

50

CALLIE

“Let’s get out of here.” Spencer throws his arm around me and gives me his perfectly lopsided smile.

The rest of the team is all around us, bumping fists and chests, talking about getting blasted at the pub. But his dark eyes are locked on me.

He never touches me in front of people, and I lean into it, grateful for the scrap of attention.

Except, suddenly, the world around us falls away, and we’re in the closet in my office.

The walls close in on us, and Spencer is shoving me deeper into the closet. His dark eyes are burning now, filled with a rage I don’t understand.

I shove against his chest, but it’s like punching a brick wall. “Spencer, stop. I don’t want this.”

“I didn’t want it like this, either,” he snarls. “But you made it hard, Callie.”

I close my eyes, a scream rising in my throat.

When I open them, I’m alone. Sitting on the bathroom floor of Rendezbrew.

There’s a knock on the door, and my heart crashes against my chest.Owen.

It’s Owen. I know it is. I texted him, and he’s here. He came to save me.

I throw the door open and scream.

Spencer shoves his way into the bathroom and throws me against the wall. My head cracks against the hard tile. Lights burst behind my closed lids.

My body hurts all over. My head, my face, my joints. I’m achy and my mouth tastes like blood.

I can’t move.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t get out.

“Owen.” His name bubbles out of my mouth like I’m underwater. “Owen!”

I wake up screaming. “Get away from me!”

Strong, warm hands band around my arms, restraining me. I struggle uselessly against them, calling for Owen—for anyone—to help.

But I know those hands. And I know that smell. The undeniable, comfortably familiar scent of Owen.

My mind slows, and memories come back to me in flashes.

Owen in the driver’s seat next to me. The crunch of metal. The sight of his bloodied face looking down at me.

“Callie?”

His name coaxes my eyes open. I blink against the bright light, and he’s there again. Owen is looking down at me, but he isn’t bloody or hurt. He isn’t Spencer.

A pitiful sob works out of my chest at the sheer relief of seeing him here.

“Owen?” I try to reach for him, but there’s an IV in my arm.

---