Page 13 of Puck Princess

“Summer? As in Owen’s sister, Summer? Why are you trying to call her…eight times? Jesus, Callie. What’s going on?”

I consider trying to lie, but as was just laid out for me, my track record with the truth lately has been spotty. And Kennedy knowssomething is up. I’m even easier to read than usual these days. Pregnancy brain must be kicking in because I’m very off my game.

She pokes me in the shoulder. “Callie?”

I don’t want to spill it all. I can’t. Some of it isn’t mine to spill, but I can tell Kennedy something. Part of me even wants to. I’m tired of being the only one who knows the truth.

“Your dad fired me because he saw Miles Solomon being inappropriate with me in the training room, but I lied and said that I came onto him.”

She blinks at me for several long, drawn out seconds before she swats my bicep. “Why in the hell would you do that, Cal?”

I massage my arm. “Because if I told the truth, Owen would’ve found out and tried to kill him.”

I watch as she puts the pieces together, her mouth falling open. “Which, let me guess: Owen still found out and then tonight, in front of a live audience, he tried to kill Miles.”

“That about sums it up, yeah.”

“God.” She shakes her head in disgust. “I knew something was off with him. He’s always had kind of that creep thing going on, you know?”

More than you know.

“Anyway, I almost got crushed by your wardrobe earlier tonight, but Owen came over to save me?—”

“Wait, the Facebook Marketplace one? I had to hire five college guys to bring that upstairs for me. You should be a pancake!”

“I almost was. You need to secure it to the wall before I have this baby,” I warn her. “But that’s not the point. The point is that Owen found out about Miles and it's complicated, but I need to talk to Summer. Preferable before she talks to Miles.”

“Too late for that.” Kennedy pops a chip in her mouth.

I stare at her, my heart sinking. “Why?”

“Because I saw them together.”

“Where?”

“At Pour Boys. She and Miles were sitting at the bar.”

And she isn’t answering her phone.

No, no, no.

“What were they doing?”

“Their taxes,” she answers dryly. “I don’t know! They were just having a beer and talking.”

I drop my half-eaten wing on the counter and lunge for my shoes and my keys.

“Callie, what has gotten into you? Is it the garlic on the pita chips? I heard garlic can fuck you up when you’re pregnant.”

“It’s not the garlic. It’s… I gotta go.”

I have no time to explain. Before she can ask any more questions, I bolt out of the apartment and down the stairs.

This can’t happen.

This won’t end well.

As I am literally running to my car, I shoot off a string of texts to Owen.

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