Page 118 of Ricochet

Callum leans into me, acting as my anchor. “No. Coach says his pneumonia’s pretty bad.”

He knows it’s a lie too.

“Damn,” Jesse says. “Looks like I’m going to be finishing up that project by myself.”

While we wait to start the next game, I let my eyes roam across the bar in an attempt to ground myself. A few of our teammates are at other pool tables or sitting at booths. Coach’s laughter rings out over the steady thumping of music and draws my attention toward the bar.

The cloud of smoke swirling around him thickens as he puffs on a cigar.

Wait.

A cigar?

Something cold slithers down my spine.

I remember Callum’s scar.

I remember that Eric wasn’t working alone.

I remember the conversation I overheard between Eric and Coach in his office.

It all comes rushing back to me.

“Callum?”

My eyes are still locked on Coach, but I see Callum turn his face toward me in my periphery.

“Yeah?”

“Did you know Coach smokes cigars?”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Coach doesn’t smoke.” But then he follows my gaze. “Huh. I’ve never seen him…”

His words trail off as he stares ahead with his brows drawn.

Coach laughs again.

The sound travels across the bar, and another chill sweeps between us both this time.

I turn to Callum to see his face is as white as a sheet. His lips are parted, but no breath comes out. He’s completely still, frozen like a statue. He doesn’t even blink, his eyes held hostage by the thing that’s conjuring memories in his mind.

The din of the bar fades, replaced by the pounding of my heart in my ears.

“Callum?”

He moves now, his hand reaching across to rub at his side. Right over the old scar.

The cigar burn.

“I need some air,” he says, choking on whatever poison is in his lungs right now.

He leans his pool cue against the bar table, but it slides and nearly falls to the floor before I catch it. I hand both his and mine off to Jesse and then follow Callum around the pool table toward the back door of the bar.

“Hey,” Nate says. “He alright?”

“He’s fine,” I call back. “You guys play a game.”

Callum is stumbling, walking quicker than his feet want to carry him right now. He crashes into the back door, throwing it open. By the time I chase him out into the dark alley, he’s already bent over on the other side, one hand on the wall of the opposite building and spewing vomit on the ground.

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