Page 4 of Shadow Dance

Frowning, I stare at the half-open closet door. “What?”

“In San Clemente,” he says, reappearing. “You said you can’t really walk, so I got us one with a pool and a hot tub facing the water. You won’t even have to leave; you’ll love it.”

“Oh.” This doesn’t delight me the way it should. For one thing, he was going to go anyway. This is a business trip, so he’ll be busy … as usual. Bit also, I’m willing to bet his stupid friends are going to be there. “Where are Griffin and Mac staying?”

He shrugs, rifling through the mess of shit on his nightstand. “I don’t know. A hotel, I guess.” After a while, he seems to remember I’m there, because he glances over his shoulder at me. “What? I thought you’d be happy.”

“I … am.”

He snorts. “Yeah, I can tell.”

“I’m just really bummed right now, Callum,” I say quietly. “This injury is really going to derail my plans.”

“That’s why I’m getting you out of town for a few days.” Opening a drawer, he grabs something and slides it into his pocket.

I rub my face, wondering how we got here. We used to be on the same page, emotionally, but now it’s like there’s a glass wall between us. We see each other, but we can’t connect. “Thank you,” I say eventually, not wanting to seem ungrateful.

“You don’t sound thankful,” he teases, but there’s an edge to his voice.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I cry, worn out by this conversation. By this whole damnday. Is it too much to ask for him to just stop andlisten? To sympathize? “I’ve had a shit day?—”

“Yeah, I got it, Maeve,” Callum says, slamming the drawer so hard the lamp wobbles.

I freeze, watching as he turns around to look at me. His face is flushed, a sure sign he’s pissed off. Is he really that upset I don’t feel like goingon a road trip with him? Is he this clueless? “What is your problem?”

He scoffs, rubbing his nose. “My problem’s that you’ve been bitching nonstop and nothing I say seems to be helping. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Are you serious right now?” I huff in disbelief. “This is not about you, Callum! I can’t dance because I have asprained ankleand it really, really hurts!” I point to the bruised, swollen mess.

“Yeah, that sucks, but there’s nothing you can do about it at this point,” he says, throwing his hands up. “It happened, so you can either stay here and have a fucking pity party or you can come with me to get your mind off it. You might actually have some fun. Rememberfun? We used to have it all the time.”

I stare at him, stunned. He usually doesn’t get this shitty and rude unless we’re hardcore arguing and I didn’t think we were.

Something about my expression must get through to him, because his face falls. Sighing, he pushes his hand through his hair and comes to my side of the bed. He squats beside me, gently squeezing my hand. “Look, I’m sorry baby. I know you’re in pain. I just hate seeing you like this, you know? It’s frustrating. But we’ll do whatever you want, okay? Let me know what you decide.”

My heart flutters anxiously, but I nod, preferring this version of Callum to the one of ten seconds ago. He’s always been a passionate person, but lately his emotions shift so unpredictably, from one extreme to another, that I never know what to expect.

He presses a kiss to my lips before straightening up. “I’m meeting Uncle Dario down at the club, but I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” I whisper, nodding again.

He leaves, and a moment later his car growls to life. I stare at the wall, listening to him and the guys peel out of the driveway like sixteen-year-olds with new licenses. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m being negative and whiny, and I should just get over myself. Maybe I should go to San Clemente.

Or maybe I should just go home to Boston. I could use some girl time with Bria, maybe even an ice cream date with Liam. And there’s nothing like Sunday Mass and brunch with the Kelly family. The images float around like happy bubbles, buoyant and bright.

But then reality sets in, popping them all. I open my eyes with a small, humorless laugh. I can’t go home now—it hasn’t even been six months. What would I say—that it didn’t work out? That everyone was right? Because that’s what they’d all think.

Things have been weird with my parents since I moved out here. They don’t like that I gave up my career for a guy, even though it wasn’t even like that. They just don’t like Callum, period, and that hurts. It feels like in rejecting him they’re rejecting a part of me. I know how he comes off, but they don’t know him like I do. They don’t see his sweet side or his silly side, and they don’t even try.

Whatever. San Clemente it is. Groaning, I grab my crutches and hobble over to the walk-in closet. Kneeling on the hardwood floor, I dig around my purses and bags until I find my favorite weekender. We won’t be gone for too long, so it’s perfect.

“Oof,” I mutter, pulling it toward me. It’s heavy, like I forgot something in there. I haven’t used it since the last time I flew to Boston, last Christmas, and I can’t imagine what I would’ve left in it. Unzipping the bag, I peer inside. At first, I’m not sure what I’m looking at, so I pull out one of the small, plastic-wrapped packages for a better look.

My mouth goes dry. I’m fairly sure this is cocaine. There are maybe ten or twelve packages inside the bag, all wrapped in brown paper and clear plastic. Zipping the bag shut, I shove it back into the corner and scramble out of the closet.

Callum likes to party, and I’ve long feared his drug use could become problematic, but this isn’t that. This is evidence that he’s still dealing, even though he said, when he left the East Coast, that he was done with all that.

I feel stupid for believing him. It’s not like I’m an innocent, naïve little flower. I come from one of the biggest crime families in Boston. My dad and brothers don’t run drugs, but they’ve got their hands inplentyof other things, so I grew up around that life. It’s not a life I really wanted for myself, though, and Callum knows that. He’s always known that. I put up with his dealing when we were younger because it always seemed like something he did on the side. He always had other stuff going on: sports and academics in high school and college, interning at his father’s corporate office afterward. When he moved out here, it was to help run his uncle’s club. He was going to be a promoter, he said.

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