Page 100 of 4 Hints You Love Your Best Friend

Me: Help. Parking lot. Barrel House.

chapterforty

Callahan

After I send that desperate text, I find a section of privacy and crouch by the building’s back corner. I drop my head into my hands. Squeeze my eyes shut and focus on my chest rising and falling, forcing more air into my lungs. Scuffling registers. Boots running on gravel.

“Where is he?” one of my brothers calls. The concern sounds like E.

“Why can’t I fucking see him?” The growly swear is definitely Des.

“Shit. He’s here. Jesus, Cal. What happened?” Lennon’s hipster shoes show up in my vision.

“Out of the way.” Desmond’s boots replace Lennon’s. He crouches in front of me and lifts my chin. “You okay?”

I shake my head.

“I think it’s a panic attack,” Lennon says.

Desmond’s expression gets extra intense. “You having trouble breathing?”

I nod.

“We got you, okay? Focus on my face. Nothing to worry about except that right now.”

“Look at the ugly ink on his neck,” E says, but his voice doesn’t hold its usual humor.

I do as I’m told. Focus on the subpar lion on Desmond’s neck until I breathe easier and the suffocating heat is less intense, then I sit my ass on the gravel.

The screech of tires cuts through the air. More running and cursing carries over.

Jake is suddenly standing over us, breathing hard. “What’s wrong with Cal?”

Des is still crouched in front of me. E is gnawing his lip, looking upset.

Lennon isn’t faring much better, but he points at my face. “He’s having a panic attack.”

Jake’s focus darts between each of us. “Since when does he have panic attacks?”

“Since ten minutes ago,” I manage. Or maybe since I visited my tree house the other day. Suppressing my emotions and interfering in people’s lives isn’t doing me any favors.

Jake squats beside Desmond and plants his hand on my shoulder. “How are you doing now?”

Breathing doesn’t take as much effort. I’m still shaky but more in control. “Physically, better. Mentally is a shitshow, but not because of the panic stuff.”

Jake watches me carefully, concern in his searching eyes. “You okay to talk this out? Or do you need time?”

I massage my brow. Time would be great, but I don’t have that luxury. I finally stand, maneuvering so people coming in and out of the Barrel can’t see us. “I did something I shouldn’t have.”

“Oh, here we fucking go.” Lennon is already seething, pointing at my face. “You meddled, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Fucking knew you wouldn’t stop.” The skin around his beard reddens. “With Jolene, I assume?”

I slump. “Yeah.”

“Told you that shit would bite you in the ass. But you just had to—”

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