Page 125 of Ricochet

It worked. Right up until it didn’t.

Callum and I stand back at the edge of the parking lot, far from everyone else, while we watch one of the ambulances drive away. It’s the one that’s already wrapped up my left hand—that’s fortunately not broken—and patched up my leg. The gunshot wound is only a bad graze. They suggested I go to the hospital to get stitches, but I’ve stitched myself up plenty of times. I’ll do it when I get home. I might not be able to play the next games we have in a few weeks, but at least I shouldn’t be out for the season.

The cops have already talked to me and Callum, and they’re currently speaking to Eric who’s sitting in the back of the second ambulance getting his shoulder taken care of. They’re making sure our stories line up. We went through it a few times, so I’m not worried.

The back door of the coroner’s van slams shut, and the vehicle drives away with Coach Hill’s body. I wrap my arm around Callum’s waist and pull him to me, seeking his body heat against the early December chill.

Keeping most of my weight off my injured leg, I lean over and place a kiss against his cheek. “How are you feeling after your first kill?”

I ask the question seriously. Considering that the panic attack he had at the beginning of the school year was because he wanted to witness death again but didn’t want to do it himself, I’m wondering if I need to be worried.

But Callum turns his face to me and smiles. “Like you said, it wasourkill. I’m okay. I promise.”

“Is it something you’d want to do again?”

Admittedly, killing with him was damn satisfying, and I wouldn’t be opposed to a repeat. Preferably, without my own gunshot wound. But only if it was something he’d want.

“Probably not.” Then he shrugs and gives me a little playful grin. “But I’ll never say never.”

A low rumble vibrates through my chest. “Tease.”

A couple of the cop cars leave after someone comes over and tells us we’re free to go. The paramedics start closing up the second ambulance while Eric walks toward us, his shoulder bandaged and his arm in a sling.

I don’t plan on telling him this, but he was bait.

When I accused Coach of being a terrible shot, I wasn’t underestimating him. It was to give Eric a false sense of security. Coach was going to pick us off one by one unless I taunted him enough to show himself. In order to tip the scales, I had to balance them first. Eric had to be collateral damage.

And, no, I don’t feel guilty about it.

Hey, he’s alive, isn’t he?

“Glad you’re okay, Cal,” Eric says as he stops in front of him. He looks at me and adds a bit begrudgingly, “You too, man.”

“How’s the shoulder?” Callum asks.

“Bad. They wanted to take me to the hospital in the ambulance, but I told them I’d take myself. There’s no exit wound, so I might need surgery to get the bullet out. I should probably get my ribs checked too. I’m most likely out for the season.”

“Sorry,” Callum says, sounding sincere.

Eric shrugs with his good shoulder. “It is what it is.” He looks back at me again. “Coach said he wanted you to stop killing his friends. Sounds like there might be more of them.”

I nod. “Yeah, I caught that. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

He doesn’t balk at that. “I still feel bad for everything I did, you know. I really am sorry. We gonna be good?”

I want to say no because anyone threatening Callum isn’t something I’d normally be able to forgive. Ever. However, I feel Callum’s eyes on the side of my face, sensing his hopeful gaze.

It’s not like I can kill him. Not easily, at least. I stashed my knife inside so the cops wouldn’t find it. I’ll have to get a new gun too. It wasn’t registered, so we were able to say both of them belonged to the coach.

Slipping my arm back from around Callum’s waist under the guise of shaking the guy’s hand, I make a fist instead. I pull it back and punch him as hard as I can in his injured shoulder.

To his credit, he doesn’t scream, just lets out a loud grunt as he stumbles backward.

“Jesus, Stone!” Callum scolds, punching me in the shoulder too. Though, not nearly as hard.

“Nowwe can be good,” I tell Eric with a satisfied smirk.

Eric’s face blanches about two shades whiter than it already was when he walked up. Sweat beads across his forehead as he breathes harshly through his pain. “Okay. I deserved that.”

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