Page 182 of Puck Prince

“Love is not a man who comes in and hurts women and children to get what he wants. Love is not watching your child cry while you make bad choices with bad men all because you’re trying to fill a void. Love is not a coward who takes advantage of a woman and then spends all his time making sure she’s terrified.”

I know she’s not talking about me. She’s talking about our mom. About her ex. And Callie’s.

“I guess I don’t know how to love, then,” I choke out.

Summer smiles. “Yes, you do. You’re amazing at it. Nicky and I wouldn’t be where we are if it weren’t for you. Callie wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you. You’re not bad at loving other people. It’s loving yourself that you need to work on. Because that’s what helps you unconditionally love the ones who need you.”

53

CALLIE

“Alright, you damn lip gloss. If you’re going to call yourself Fearless, do your fucking job and get me through this day.”

Yes, I’m talking to my own reflection in the car mirror and it’s totally normal. Actually, I’m talking to the bright red lip stain I haven’t worn since my first day working with the Scythes, but that’s normal, too.

I’m doing whatever it takes to walk into the arena with my head held high and without black tear tracks down my cheeks.

For the first, Fearless better help me. For the second, I’m wearing waterproof mascara because “not crying” was not an option. There hasn’t been a single day since Owen broke up with me that I haven’t sobbed over my morning coffee.

That is also normal, I’ve decided. Because the alternative is too damn depressing.

I walk into the arena with my Owen blinders on. I keep my eyes focused on where I need to go. People smile and wave, and I greet them quickly and keep moving. One of the cleaning ladieseven gives me a hug. People are being sweet, but I am on a mission.

My directive: get to my office without being stopped by Uncle Randy or seen by Owen. Waterproof or not, I don’t know if this mascara can handle a face-to-face meeting.

If it’s not already clear, I haven’t been doing great.

The keys to my new place have been hanging on the keyring in Kennedy’s apartment since I got home from the hospital. I don’t touch them. I don’t look at them.

Well, maybe I look at them. I might stop and stare at them longingly from time to time, but again—normal, not at all red flag behavior.

I know I should move out and start over, but there is a part of me that can’t stand the thought of the memories in that place. I was so excited. Not just to finally have my own place, but also, my mind was starting to roam down that winding yellow brick road to the future. A future with bottles drying by the sink and a nursery full of stuffed toys and a mobile hanging above a crib. Everything would smell like cotton and powder with tiny outfits hanging in the closet.

And maybe… just maybe, there would be someone else to share all of it with.

But obviously, that was a sugar-rimmed, silver-lined thought in a world where everything is bitter and the clouds are just gray.

I put my hand on my stomach as I round the last corner before my office. I’m sure I have RBF that could kill, but good. I’m in the home stretch now. No more interruptions. Plus, a scowl isexactly the expression you’resupposedto wear with this shade of stain.

The air leaves my lungs in a small shriek when I’m suddenly tugged to the side steps before reaching the training room. Sheer panic and fear dump into my veins, making my pulse race fast enough that I’m sure my heart will stop altogether.

I expect to see Spencer.

Or maybe Owen. Both have a history of yanking me into the shadows, but with very different results.

The very last person I’m expecting is?—

“Summer?”

The figure in front of me, dressed in black yoga pants and an oversized Scythes hoodie lifts their sunglasses.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. But I have to talk to you.” Summer wrestles with her hood and her zipper, and I realize the bulge under her jacket is Nicky. He’s strapped into his carrier, sleeping soundly.

“Summer, you shouldn’t be here.” I glance around to see if anyone else is nearby, but we appear to be alone. Then again, I thought I was alone five seconds ago.

“And Summer wasn’t here. I’m a ghost.” She waves her hand in front of her face like she’s John Cena. “One janitor might have seen me, but he looked about a hundred and thirteen years old. I don’t think he can hear a thing.”

“Summer, seriously. Owen would flip if he knew you were here.”

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