Page 27 of Ricochet

Stone: Anytime.

That’s it. I’m determined for that to be the only and last nice thing I say to him.

I toss my phone onto the bed and look back down at the sketch of Stone’s forest eyes. I decide not to rip out the page. At least not for now.

They’re justeyes.

Eyes that have seen me.

Eyes that I now hope haven’t seen beyond the hurt, scared boy.

Because if those eyes saw the truth, would I ever get to see them again?

As I step through theopen doorway of the two-story house, my ears are greeted by Beartooth blasting through the surround sound system, bass thumping so hard I feel it in my chest.

I don’t go to many parties. Between hockey and classes and counting the notches on the handle of my favorite knife, I have enough going on as it is. But when Nate asked me to come, I knew it’d be a good idea to hang with the team off the ice.

And maybe use it as an opportunity to make sure Callum really is okay.

He came to class today, and I returned his lab manual to him. But he was quiet. Which isn’t completely out of character, but…it was a different kind of quiet. He didn’t even make a point to remind me how much he hates me.

A few of the guys from the team are standing just within the entrance, red plastic cups in their hands. They all give me nods as I step inside.

“You guys know where Nate is?” I ask over the poundingmusic. Not so much because it’s Nate I want to see. I figure Callum is probably with him.

“Last time I saw him, he was in the kitchen,” Ben, one of our second-line defensemen, answers.

“Thanks.”

I head through the house, passing the living room where the large sectional is crowded with people. Most of them are chatting, nursing their drinks, and laughing. A few of them are sitting on laps. Or straddling them, grinding, and making out. There are a couple guys going at each other’s mouths, locked in a tongue battle.

My eyes scan every face for Callum’s.

Nate and Brooks share this place with a couple other guys who aren’t on the hockey team, so there are a lot of people here I’ve never seen. But it’s not like I’ve had much time to form a social life since I’ve moved here.

Entering the kitchen, I immediately spot Callum standing by the island that’s piled high with red cups and bottles of liquor. He’s holding a cup of his own while he talks with Nate.

Nate says something, and Callum laughs.

A strange mix of things strikes me in the chest when I hear that sound.

First, there’s relief. Callum is at ease, laughing, having fun. Maybe it’s all a distraction, but at least right now, he’s okay.

Second, there’s something that feels a lot like jealousy.

Whenever he’s around me, he’s tense and on edge, shooting daggers with his eyes every chance he gets. Never showing even a hint of a genuine smile like the one that’s on his face now, the one that’s brightening up the room.

I consider turning around and leaving. Not because of this unfamiliar jealousy that’s suddenly causing my insides to itch, making me want to cut off the ears of everyone else in the room who gets to hear Callum’s laughter.

I’ve seen what I came here to see. He’s okay.

“Yo, Wakefield!”

Nate spots me before I can make a run for it. I walk across the kitchen toward them, trying to ignore the way Callum’s face falls the moment his eyes are on me.

Why the fuck does that bother me so much all of a sudden?

I’ve never been the jealous type. I’ve been in several relationships, with both men and women, and a few of those were even open ones. My last one was more a friends-with-benefits kind of situation with my roommate, and it never upset me when he hooked up with other people.

---