My stomach drops to my knees, face flaming hot.
Callum doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. But the heat behind his eyes is volcanic.
"Choose your next words carefully," he says, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound so angry.
Vincent scoffs. "Do you even know who I am?"
Callum rises slowly, shoulders loose, controlled. Calm.
"Your name doesn’t matter," he says, and I don’t doubt him when he adds, "All I see is a dead man."
Vincent hesitates, then straightens before he speaks to me. "I was promised a virgin, but you’re pretty enough that my offer for marriage stands. I suggest you consider it, because I can promise you the alternative isn’t pleasant."
He turns on his heel and heads for the door.
As he passes by, Tristan sticks out his foot as if it’s a reflex. He doesn’t smirk or even acknowledge that the man is close to him.
Vincent crashes to the floor.
The gasp that echoes through the room is masked by my hand clapping over my mouth. It’s exactly how Tristan trips people on the ice. Deliberate. Effortless. He’s not loud about it like Hayden, giving a play-by-play when he’s causing a ruckus. It dawns on me in this moment that this is why the three of them are such good friends. They complement each other in ways they probably don’t even understand.
I glance at Callum. He’s frowning as he watches Vincent get up and try to maintain his composure as he slinks out of the restaurant.
"Did my brother tell you I was here?" I ask
Callum blinks. "Adam knew you were here?"
I nod, confused. "If he didn’t tell you, then how did you know?"
His eyes narrow, but then he exhales. "It’s not important. We need to figure out a solution if your parents are going to keep pushing this on you. I can’t let him take you anywhere."
"I don’t think there is one," I whisper. "They’re not letting it go. Vincent’s from the Warshaw family. This has less to do with my choices and more to do with Dad wanting ties to them."
Callum reaches for my hand, tugging me gently to my feet.
"There’s always a solution, bambi. Always."
The nickname makes my chest ache, and I hate that I feel so emotional. I’m blaming it on the fact that I saw my teammate murdered in front of me, but I know it’s so much more than that.
When we get outside, Callum guides me toward his truck, his hand still wrapped around mine. Not too tight, just the right amount.
When he rubs his thumb over my knuckles, my breath catches. As we reach the truck, he stops, turning to face me.
"Keys."
I blink up at him. "What?"
"Your keys."
I hand them over.
He tosses them to Tristan.
Tristan lifts a hand in a mock wave before sliding into my car and pulling out of the lot without another word. He really does not like anyone except Winter, and I’m sure there are dark reasons behind the way he acts, but it’s kind of endearing.
"What are you doing?" I ask, half laughing, half confused.
"Tristan’s taking your car back. You’re riding with me. We’re going to figure this whole thing out."
