Page 83 of The Hearts We Fumble
“Cut the music,” I bark at Reed.
“On it,” he calls back.
I don’t need to look at him to know he’s already pushing through bodies to find the speaker. The bass cuts out a few seconds later, the sudden silence making the weight in my chest heavier. Conversations hush, and the buzz of attention shifts toward me.
Every instinct in my body tells me I’m in the right place. After that dirty hit Calloway pulled in our game last week, I have a feeling he’s behind this shit. He’s the type to poke the bear, thinking he’s in control—thinking he’s the predator. But I know better. You want to lure a shark? You bait them. You make them believe they have the upper hand.
And right now? Calloway thinks he does.
As if on cue, the crowd parts. There he is, standing with a few of his buddies, beer in hand like he owns the place. A smug, lazy smirk tugs at his lips.
My fists curl at my sides, but I force myself to keep cool. Phones are already out, recording. One wrong move, and this turns into a headline:Braysen’s Golden Boy No More? Kinnick’s Reputation Takes a Hit After Brawl
I grind my teeth and take a breath.
“Where is she?” My voice comes out low and steady. I’m controlling my rage.
Calloway lifts his drink, taking a slow sip, dragging this out like he’s savoring the moment. His smirk sharpens, cutting like a blade. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.” He gestures lazily to the room, eyes gleaming with something dark. “Plenty of pretty little things come and go around here. Hard to keep track of them all.”
The way he says it—the way his eyes gleam with something dark and knowing—makes my stomach churn. He’s baiting me. Not just about Myla, but Wyatt too.
“My sister.”
Calloway exhales a slow, amused breath, his eyes gleaming with something cruel. “Yeah, I remember seeing her. But keeping track of where she ended up? That’s not really my job, now, is it?”
A muscle ticks in my jaw. I faintly hear Colter behind me asking what the hell is going on, but my blood roars too loud in my ears to focus on anything but Calloway.
Calloway drawls, his smirk curving into something razor-sharp. “Last I heard, she was sprawled out on one of my buddy’s bed upstairs.” He shrugs, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. “At least, that’s how he left her.”
The words barely register before my fist collides with his jaw. The force snaps his head to the side, but the fucker barely budges, that smirk still ghosting his lips.
It doesn’t matter. I’m not done.
I grab him by the shoulder, yanking him forward before driving my knee into his gut. He grunts, stumbling back, but he’s quick—his fist slams into my ribs, knocking the breath from my lungs for half a second before adrenaline drowns out the pain.
Movement flashes in my peripheral as one of his buddies lunges at Reed. Reed takes care of it in one punch, the guy crumpling to his knees, groaning as blood gushes from what’s probably a broken nose.
Colter is in it now, too. I can hear his grunts, the familiar sound of fists connecting with flesh. Coach is going to lose his goddamn mind when he finds out I dragged three of his starters into a brawl in enemy territory.
At least we left Beckham behind. The last thing we need is him messing up his throwing hand.
But right now? I don’t give a shit about the consequences.
All I care about is Myla.
And making Calloway bleed.
Luca lands another shot to my ribs, a sharp burst of pain ripping through me, followed by a brutal jab to my jaw. I shake it off and drive my knee into his gut, causing him to double over. When he stumbles back, I seize my opening—an uppercut that sends his head snapping back, his lip splitting wide open. Blood drips from his nose, staining the floor as he drops to one knee.
Even then, the bastard has the audacity to smile.
“Zane.” A voice cuts through the chaos.
Hayes.
“Found her,” he calls out, grabbing my shoulder. “She’s okay.”
The air leaves my lungs in a sharp exhale, but I don’t turn just yet. My fist curls tighter, still itching to land another blow—to make damn sure Calloway never even thinks about looking in Myla’s direction again. And if his teammates are smart, they’ll take the message just as clearly.
