The Dead Man at My Wedding

Right as I was about to recite my wedding vows, my gaze cut through the sea of guests and slammed into a pair of aggressively dark eyes.

The man who had died alongside my soul two years ago sat in the shadows, staring dead at me.

Hot tears spilled over my cheeks before my brain could even process the shock.

Violent tremors wracked my spine.

His long fingers carelessly swirled his glass. His deep, freezing gaze scraped over every inch of my wedding dress before finally locking onto my lips. A possessive, chilling smirk twisted his mouth.

He downed the hard liquor in one shot.

His Adam's apple bobbed roughly, as if he were swallowing my very blood.

"In this life, I will remain faithful to you," I choked out, the vows fracturing in my tight throat. "Through separation and death, no matter"

The words died on my tongue.

Those vows were supposed to be for him.

Nolan gently wiped the tears from my face and leaned down to press his lips against mine.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced back at the shadows.

Empty.

Chapter 1

I was still in college when I met Callum.

A guy snatched my phone right outside the subway exit. I sprinted after him, my heels clicking frantically against the pavement.

I slammed hard onto the rough asphalt, the heel of my shoe snapping clean off.

A piercing agony shot through my ankle, and blood beaded on my scraped knees.

I sat there in the dirt, pathetic and helpless. The sting of frustration burned my eyes, and thick tears spilled over my lashes, splashing onto the ground.

A blast of cold air, heavy with raw masculine energy, whipped past my shoulder.

A tall, imposing figure shot forward like a black panther locking onto its prey.

The wind caught his dark hoodie, tracing the explosive power of his broad shoulders and narrow waist.

Someone else chuckled, pulling me to my feet. "Hey, don't cry. That's our squad leader. With him on it, your phone's as good as back."

I caught sight of the badge on his jackethe was from the police academy next door. His name was Wyatt.

Barely a minute later, the guy in the black hoodie marched back, shoving the thief forward with my phone in his hand.

"Thirty-nine seconds. You shaved off your sprint time again, Callum?" Wyatt checked his watch before glaring down at the thief. "Tough luck, man. You tried to outrun the top guy in our academy."

The thief shrank back, too terrified to even lift his head.

The man named Callum didn't say a word. He strode straight toward me, radiating a dangerous, ice-cold dominance. He towered over me, thrusting his rough, large hand out to return the phone.

I braced myself against a nearby tree, trying to stand. "Thank"

Another violent spike of pain ripped through my ankle.

My knees buckled.

I nearly ate the pavement again, but he caught me.

His muscular arms clamped around me like iron vises, and I crashed hard into his rock-solid chest.

An overwhelming rush of pure masculinitya sharp mix of mint and gunpowderswallowed me whole.

Even through the thin fabric of his clothes, his blistering body heat and the violent, steady thud of his heartbeat branded into my skin.

Callum released me just as quickly. He stepped back, instantly putting distance between us.

The thief stared at us, utterly clueless. "So, are we still going to the precinct? I gave the phone back."

Wyatt instantly hooked an arm around his neck in a chokehold, dragging him down the street. "Callum, you're on babysitting duty. Remember, the girl's got two busted ankles!" he tossed over his shoulder.

Heat flared in my cheeks. I was dying of embarrassment. "It's fine, I can walk."

I took one step and hissed through my teeth at the sharp spike of pain.

"Don't push it," his deep voice rumbled.

Before I could argue, the world tilted.

He scooped me right off my feet.

My arms instinctively flew up, wrapping around his neck, only to jerk back in panic a second later.

The bright streetlights carved out the sharp, flawless line of his jaw, vanishing into the collar of his hoodie. I leaned against his broad shoulder, feeling the powerful flex and coil of his bicep with every stride he took.

A violent shiver of absolute safety ripped through me.

He never glanced down, but I didn't miss the rigid clenching of his jawline, or the way his prominent Adam's apple gave a stiff, unnatural bob.

Slowly, quietly, I slipped my hand down and gripped the fabric of his sleeve.

Callum didn't react. It was as if he hadn't noticed at all.

After we finished filing the police report, he carried me back to campus. Peyton was already waiting at the front gates, rambling out a string of frantic thank-yous.

Callum gave a single, tight nod. He turned on his heel and walked away.

I don't know where the sudden rush of liquid courage came from, but I yelled out, "Can I get your number?"

His heavy footsteps faltered for a fraction of a second. But he didn't stop. With his back still turned to me, he just lifted a hand in a lazy wave.

The streetlights stretched his shadow out long and solitary across the empty street. He looked like a lone wolf disappearing into the night, needing no one to watch him go.

Chapter 2

My university set up a mixer with the police academy. I tackled the sign-up sheet like it was a final exam, hyping up my profile until I sounded like an absolute saint. Naturally, I got in.

I scanned the crowd of cadets on the other side of the room. My stomach sank. No Callum.

All the energy drained right out of me. A few guys came over to ask for a dance, but I brushed them off.

People were swaying and grinding in the center of the dance floor while I just stared blankly at the wall.

Suddenly, a voice shouted near the entrance. "Callum? Didn't think you'd actually show."

I shot up from my chair. There he was, talking to someone by the double doors.

"Finished training early. Just came to sign in," he said, his voice flat.

The guy across from him was Wyatt. Wyatt let out a laugh. "You bastard. Vance told you to come be the face of the academy, and you're just doing a flyby?"

Callum didn't bother replying. He scribbled his name on the clipboard and turned to leave.

"Callum!" The name ripped out of my throat before I could stop it.

He paused, throwing a sharp glance over his shoulder.

Those pitch-black eyes locked onto mine.

I forced myself to walk over, my fingernails digging heavily into my palms. "Do you want to dance?"

Wyatt instantly started hooting. "Oh man! If it isn't Callum's destined true love!"

Callum's brow furrowed slightly as he pulled my name from his memory. "Vada?"

I nodded a little too eagerly. "I I haven't danced with anyone tonight yet. Would you"

He stared at me in total silence for a heavy second. "I don't dance."

My chest tightened, dropping like a stone. "Right. Okay," I choked out, my throat suddenly desert-dry.

Wyatt shot me a look of pure pity. I managed to force a stiff, unnatural smile.

Callum's piercing, pitch-black eyes stared heavily into mine. Suddenly, he stepped into my space, closing the distance between us by a half-step.

His deep, gravelly voice rumbled right above my head. "But, if you want, I can buy you a hot coffee."

Gripping the steaming cup of latte, I felt like I was floating.

Callum was never much of a talker, but tonight the silence between us felt dangerously thick. He barely said a word.

The mixer in the hall was winding down. A few stragglers began trickling out the front doors. Our university shuttle bus idled right by the curb, the driver stepping out to light a cigarette.

"How are you getting back?" Callum asked.

I gripped the paper cup tighter. "We have to take the shuttle. They're doing roll call."

He gave a curt nod, glancing at the tactical watch on his wrist. "I'm heading out."

A violent spike of panic hit my chest.

It felt like if he walked away right now, he would never look back.

My mouth moved faster than my brain. "Callum."

He stopped and slowly turned around. One dark eyebrow ticked up, waiting.

I twisted the fabric of my dress so hard my knuckles turned white, desperately pulling an excuse out of thin air. "I'm supposed to bring back a prospect from this mixer. Could you do me a favor?"

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, Callum spoke. "Maybe I'm reading too much into this. But I need to make one thing crystal clear to you. Barring any accidents, I am never getting into a relationship in this lifetime. I'm never getting married, and I'm never having kids."

I froze, my boots practically glued to the concrete.

I didn't know how long I stood there until the bus driver crushed his cigarette out and yelled, "Boarding!"

The shout snapped me out of it. I stumbled backward, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a messy rush. "Right. Okay. Thanks for the coffee. Bye."

He looked down at me, his expression unreadable. "Goodbye."

I was dumped before I even got to date him.

Peyton dragged me out to a bar the next night, swearing she was going to set me up with some guys. She and her friends hit the dance floor, leaving me slouched in a booth, staring at the flashing neon lights.

My brain ruthlessly looped Callum's words.

Never getting into a relationship.

Without even realizing it, I downed an entire Long Island Iced Tea.

Whoever said alcohol numbed the pain was a liar. It just made my chest burn worse.

By the time the club finally emptied out, Peyton was dragging me through a dark alley shortcut to get back to campus. I leaned heavily against her, slurring pure nonsense into her ear.

Halfway down the alley, my stomach heaved. I shoved away from her and crouched by a rusted dumpster, ready to throw up.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream ripped from Peyton's throat right behind me.

Chapter 3

I whipped around.

I launched myself like a maniac, slamming right into the guy dragging Peyton away. "Let her go, you piece of shit!"

I didn't even budge him. Instead, he shoved me hard. I crashed onto the dirty asphalt.

My faux fur coat slipped off my shoulders, exposing my flimsy camisole to the freezing air.

He dropped Peyton and stalked toward me. His meaty fist grabbed my arm, yanking me to my feet while his other hand viciously ripped the coat the rest of the way off. "Loyal little bitch, aren't you? Guess you'll take her place."

I slapped him so hard my palm stung.

He hissed, his thick fingers instantly closing around my throat.

Peyton threw herself at him, desperately clawing at his arm. "Help!"

Out on the main street, the post-club crowd was a roaring wall of noise. Not a single soul could hear us down this pitch-black alley.

Air vanished from my lungs.

Black spots exploded in my vision, multiplying, swallowing the faint streetlights.

Suddenly, the crushing grip vanished.

A solid iron fist tore through the air, smashing into the creep's cheekbone with a sickening crunch.

Callum pinned him to the dirty ground like an enraged beast.

His knuckles rained down mercilessly, brutally obliterating the guy until the freak passed out in a bloody heap.

I slid down the brick wall, clutching my bruised throat and hacking violently.

Then, I collapsed into someone's solid chest. So incredibly warm.

Callum's flawless face filled my blurry vision, his dark brows pulled tight. "Are you hurt?"

Alcohol was a goddamn miracle worker. It actually conjured Callum out of thin air. I definitely needed to drink more. If I couldn't have him in reality, hallucinating him wasn't half bad.

When I just stared at him, he waved his large hand in front of my face. "Are you coherent?"

I lunged and clamped both hands around his thick wrist. Under the flicking amber streetlight, one of his dark eyebrows ticked up in a silent question.

"Peyton, did you spike my drink with acid?" I slurred, giggling into the dark. "My hallucination is trying to hand me a tissue. Fucking hilarious. Ha!"

Peyton hauled herself up against the wall, gasping for air. "Are you brain-dead? That is literally Callum!"

I reached out. I pinched Callum's hard cheek.

Burning hot.

He didn't even flinch, just stared me down with those bottomless black eyes.

It was actually him. Not a trip.

The tears hit me instantly.

I threw my arms around his broad shoulders, clinging to him for dear life. "I was just about to get over you," I sobbed into his chest. "Why are you here? I hate you, Callum."

His entire body turned to stone.

Another familiar silhouette popped out from the shadows behind him. "Well, damn! If it isn't Callum's destined true love!" It was Wyatt. "Talk about fate! We just got off duty. I was wondering why he suddenly ditched the main street and booked it down this alley. Playing the hero, huh?"

Wyatt kept running his mouth. "You've got some freaky hearing, man. Said you heard someone crying, and bam, here we are. Is that some kind of telepathic soulmate connection? Hilarious."

Callum's jaw locked hard. "If you have time to run your mouth, go find her coat."

Wyatt smacked his forehead and actually started looking around. A minute later, he groaned. "It's in the gutter. Totally soaked in dirty sludge. Unwearable."

A bitter gust of wind ripped through the alley. I violently shivered, instinctively curling tighter into Callum's solid chest.

"Well, what now?" Wyatt asked.

Callum clenched his jaw.

He ripped off his heavy black jacketthick with his potent, raw masculine scentand aggressively wrapped it around my shivering frame.

His blistering body heat instantly swallowed me whole, a territorial shield blocking out every single dangerous stare in the world. I was sealed tight, with only my eyes peeking out to lock onto his.

Chapter 4

He looked down at me. "Can you walk?"

The dim amber light pooled in his dark eyes. I swore the rigid, untouchable guy was actually looking at me with a fraction of patience.

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. "My legs hurt," I slurred, the words tumbling out heavy and pathetic. "It feels like ants are biting me. Can you carry me?"

Peyton finally snapped out of her shock. She planted her hands on her hips, panting. "You have zero brain cells when you're drunk. Ants aren't biting you, your legs are just asleep from crouching in the dirt!"

The words blurred together. I didn't care. I just buried my face in Callum's jacket, using his collar to wipe my messy tears.

The hot tears stung my cheeks, waking up the dull, throbbing pain where that creep had slapped me.

The imposing man standing over me went completely still for a second. He didn't say a word.

Without warning, he hooked an arm under my knees and scooped me off the dirty asphalt.

He carried me out of that suffocating alley, weaving through the loud, pulsing crowd outside the club.

His powerful arms held me effortlessly, yet he was a walking fortress of ice.

I stared at his sharp profile without blinking. He deliberately turned his face away.

The harsh streetlights caught the long, thick curve of his eyelashes, casting sharp shadows against his hard cheekbones.

My stomach violently lurched. I clamped a hand over my mouth.

Callum instantly felt the shift in my weight. "You're gonna hurl?" His deep voice was low, lacking its usual harsh edge.

I aggressively wiped at a fresh wave of tears. "Not anymore."

He glanced down. "You're crying again."

A pathetic sob ripped out of my throat. "It hurts. Everything just hurts so bad."

His pitch-black eyes dropped to the swelling red handprint on my cheek.

A dangerous shadow crossed his gaze. "We'll get it cleaned up at the hospital. You'll be fine."

I shook my head frantically against his chest. "No. That's not what hurts. My chest feels like it's being ripped open."

Callum stared at me, his sharp brows pulling together in silent confusion. Blame the intoxicating night air. Blame the cheap tequila. But looking into those bottomless eyes, I swore I saw a flicker of actual warmth.

The suffocating tightness in my throat erupted.

I tightly gripped the collar of his shirt, my knuckles turning white, and just broke down.

"Callum," I choked out, the words messy and desperate. "I just figured out how to actually like someone, and you hit me with the 'I'm never dating anyone' speech. But a lifetime is so damn long. Can't you just give me one chance? Please? Can you?"

I stared up at him, stripped of my dignity.

But his sculpted face remained entirely blank, locked in stone. He didn't even look at me anymore. His cold gaze shifted outward, staring blankly at the cars speeding past on the midnight street.

The biting wind sliced through the air. There wasn't a single star in the pitch-black sky.

My stiff fingers slowly, numbly uncurled from his collar.

"Peyton was right," I whispered, the fight completely draining out of me. "I'm just trashed tonight. I'm sorry."

When I finally opened my eyes, I was staring at the ceiling of my dorm room. Blinding sunlight stabbed through the glass.

I blindly fumbled for my phone. It was already 11:00 AM.

I tried to speak, but my throat felt like I had swallowed a mouthful of crushed glass. "Peyton? You here?"

Peyton aggressively yanked the curtains back, flooding the room with more agonizing light. She shoved a cup of warm honey water into my hands.

"Drink it. You're dehydrated."

A jackhammer was mercilessly pounding inside my skull. My cheek throbbed, and as the bright light hit me, I looked down at my arms. They were covered in ugly, mottled purple-and-blue bruises.

I stared at the bruises, my alcohol-fried brain struggling to connect the dots. "Did I refuse to pay for my drinks last night? Did you beat my ass?"

Peyton planted her hands on her hips, giving me a deadpan glare. "I didn't beat your ass. We got jumped by some creep in an alley, you idiot."

She climbed onto the edge of my mattress and violently shook my shoulders.

"Princess, do not tell me you blacked out and forgot everything that happened."

The shaking sent a fresh wave of nausea through me. I collapsed flat onto my back, staring blankly at the ceiling tiles.

"Last night? A creep?"

Jagged fragments of memory violently crashed into my brain.

A massive hand ripping at my coat. The blinding streetlights. And then me, pathetic and sobbing, buried deep inside Callum's chest.

I slammed both hands over my face, wanting the ground to swallow me whole. "Tell me this is a nightmare."

Chapter 5

Peyton wasn't about to let me off the hook. She ruthlessly yanked my hands away from my face and methodically laid out the damage.

"Last night" she started.

Wyatt's girlfriend had summoned him, so Callum hailed a cab to take us to the ER. I had spent the entire ride quietly sobbing. The cab driver kept shooting us highly suspicious glares in the rearview mirror. It got so bad that Callum actually had to flash his police academy ID just to prove he wasn't kidnapping us.

When the ER doc started cleaning up my scraped knees and arms, I clung to Callum like a lifeline, sobbing until I was physically hyperventilating.

Eventually, Callum just took the iodine swabs from the doctor. He carefully, methodically disinfected every single scrape himself.

The doctor thought the whole thing was hilarious. He smirked at Callum and joked about his "little girlfriend" being a bit high-maintenance. Before Callum could even open his mouth, I burst into fresh, violent tears and bawled out that I didn't deserve to be his girlfriend.

By the time he finally dumped us back at the dorms, it was pushing 4:00 AM.

Apparently, I had locked my fingers into Callum's sleeve in a death grip, flat-out refusing to let go.

"If you walk away right now, you're never coming back! I know it! Once you leave, we're done forever!"

Callum just stood there in absolute silence. He looked down at me, letting me yank on his jacket like a maniac.

I stared up at him, scrubbing aggressively at my tear-soaked face. Then, completely out of nowhere, I dropped my hands. I choked on a sob, my voice suddenly dead serious. "Just go. If you don't want to date, fine. I'll just date you by myself in my head. It's fine. It's totally fine."

The campus security guard was practically stepping out of his booth to see what the commotion was. Peyton, dying of secondhand embarrassment, physically dragged me through the gates. I kept rambling pure nonsense, snapping my neck back to look at him every three steps, wailing at the top of my lungs.

Callum never said a single word. He just stood there under the streetlights, watching us until the shadows swallowed us completely.

Peyton was currently doing a flawless impression of my meltdown. "Is it a crime to like someone?! Why should I shut up, Peyton?! Waaaaah!"

I grabbed my pillow and smothered my face, seriously considering suffocating myself. My social life was officially dead and buried.

Peyton ruthlessly ripped the pillow away and shoved my phone directly into my face.

"You were muttering to yourself and aggressively texting someone all night. You better check your logs before you find out you confessed your undying love to one of our professors."

A cold sweat broke over my skin. I snatched the phone and bolted upright.

My message app was totally emptyexcept for one unread notification from an unfamiliar contact.

It just said: Yes. What the hell?

I opened the chat log and scrolled all the way to the top. The beginning was just a string of unhinged, drunken gibberishme complaining about the pain, then suddenly whining about being scared.

And whoever was on the other end had actually humored me with insane patience. The replies were painfully brief, but they were there. He hadn't ghosted me.

I scrolled further down. That's where I started getting aggressive.

Do you believe in fate?

Let's roll the dice. 1C3 I win, and you belong to me; 4C6 you win, and I never bother you again.

Total radio silence from the other end.

Nearly twenty agonizing minutes passed before a new message popped up. His response was just a digital dice roll.

It landed on a four.

He won. By my own rules, we were officially done.

And yet, right below that, my drunk ass had sent a cheering sticker with absolute, delusional confidence: It's a 3! I win.

He didn't say anything after that. Radio silence all night.

Until 8:00 AM this morning, while I was dead to the world, a final message came through.

He said: Yes. Yes, you win. Yes, maybe we can give this a shot.

Chapter 6

I was a shameless, half-blind drunk. And he had actually gone along with it. A sharp sting hit the back of my eyes.

Peyton was vibrating with so much excitement she practically screamed. "Vada, you are a goddamn legend! Were you even drunk? How are you so much smoother wasted than sober?"

I shook my head. A suffocating tightness gripped my chest, trapping the words in my throat.

When I crawled out of bed to wash up, my gaze slammed into the heavy black jacket draped over the back of my chair. More jagged fragments from last night pierced my brain.

The way I had shivered violently in Callum's arms.

The way he had stripped off his jacket and aggressively wrapped me in it.

The way I had clutched his collar, sobbing, while he stared down at me with those bottomless, obsidian eyes.

I ruthlessly cut the thought off. I needed to avoid him. For a few days, at least.

Behind me, Peyton picked up her ringing phone. "Hello? Yes, officer. Got it. We'll be there in about thirty minutes."

She strolled up behind me, catching my eye in the bathroom mirror. "Oh, forgot to tell you. Last night, Callum asked if we wanted to file a police report. I figured we couldn't just let that creep walk, so I told him absolutely."

Foaming cleanser stung my eyelids. I frantically splashed cold water on my face as Peyton made her grand announcement.

"So, get dressed. We're heading to the precinct to nail a predator, and you're gonna see your man!"

I inhaled sharply. Water violently burned down my windpipe. I doubled over the sink, hacking until I couldn't breathe. What started as choking morphed into a harsh, rattling cough from the biting cold I'd caught last night.

Peyton slapped a glass of water on the counter, popped open a blister pack, and shoved a capsule into my palm. "Cold meds. From Callum. The ER doc wouldn't prescribe anything because you didn't have a fever, but Callum said you'd spike one eventually. Gotta say, the guy's basically a psychic."

I gripped the tiny capsule, my mind completely blanking out.

Callum was already at the precinct when we walked in. Even from the back, his broad shoulders and commanding posture made him impossible to ignore.

I had pulled a baseball cap low over my eyes and strapped a surgical mask to my face. I hovered entirely behind Peyton, desperately trying to evaporate into the background.

Luckily, Callum didn't even glance my way. He stood at the front desk, his low voice steady as he gave the officer a rundown of the assault. I stared at his back, a heavy knot pulling tight in my chest. Unable to handle the suffocating air, I muttered an excuse about needing water and bolted for the hallway.

The water cooler bubbled loudly. I held the flimsy paper cup under the spout, my brain buzzing with static.

A large, rough hand suddenly reached over my shoulder and snapped the lever back. "It's overflowing."

The deep, gravelly voice sent a violent shockwave down my spine.

I jerked my head up.

My gaze collided with Callum's pitch-black eyes.

"You've been dodging me all morning. Why?" He paused for a heavy second, as if grinding the words around in his mouth. "I thought you said you wanted to seize the day."

My fingers flinched. Boiling water sloshed over the rim.

Before it could scorch my skin, Callum's lightning-fast reflexes kicked in. His large hand clamped over mine, steadying the cup with an iron grip.

He let the silence stretch for a suffocating moment. "I've heard people speak their truth when they're drunk," he rumbled, his blistering heat soaking into my skin. "And I've heard they talk complete garbage. Which one were you last night?"

The unhinged garbage I spouted last night. Searing heat flooded my ears. I kept my head down, too paralyzed to look him in the eye.

Callum studied my pathetic silence. Taking it as an answer, a cold, harsh smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Got it. I'll treat last night as a joke."

He released my hand and turned to walk away.

I snapped my head up, the words ripping out of my throat before I could stop them. "It wasn't a joke."

He froze.

Chapter 7

Heat flushed my cheeks. My voice violently shook, but I forced the words past my tight throat. "It wasn't a joke. It was the truth. I was just too much of a coward to say it sober."

Callum stared down at me. His chiseled face was entirely unreadable, silently waiting for me to finish. My stomach twisted into violent knots, my fingernails digging into my palms.

"Last night I was out of line. I'm sorry. It felt like I backed you into a corner and forced a yes out of you. You don't have to play along with my drunk rambling. You should just"

"I'm twenty," Callum cut in, his deep voice slicing through my frantic panic.

I blinked, completely thrown off. "What?"

His pitch-black eyes locked onto mine. "Meaning, I'm a grown man. I know exactly what I'm doing."

A massive rush of adrenaline hit my bloodstream. The floor felt like it was dissolving under my boots. "Are you saying"

Callum shoved his large hands deep into his jacket pockets. His sharp jawline flexed tight. "I'm saying, we can give this a shot. I'm just trying to figure out how to do this without getting you hurt in the crossfire."

Absolute euphoria exploded in my chest.

I threw all caution to the wind, lunging forward and wrapping both arms tight around his solid bicep. "I won't! I swear, I won't get hurt!"

A low, deep rumble vibrated in his chest. He watched me practically vibrate out of my skin before pulling one hand from his pocket. His rough fingers gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His dark eyes shifted as if a heavy thought weighed on his tongue, but he kept his mouth shut.

Callum and I were officially a thing. Just the thought of it had me grinning like a total idiot at the ceiling.

Peyton finally snapped. She shoved me hard into my desk chair and started aggressively throwing makeup palettes at my chest. "Put on a face, go find your man, and get out of my room."

I clutched a mascara tube, kicking my feet. "The police academy has strict curfews. I can only sneak over to see him at night."

Peyton snatched the mascara away and violently slammed a pen into my hand. "Then finish your damn essay! It's due tomorrow!"

Turns out, you actually could balance a relationship and a GPA. Callum's training schedule was brutal, so our dates mostly consisted of taking over a corner table in the campus library. Calling it a date was a stretchwe mostly just sat in silence, buried in our own textbooks.

He was hyper-focused, his dark eyes tracking across the pages with lethal precision. Me? I had zero self-control. Halfway through a paragraph, I dropped my highlighter, rested my chin on my folded arms, and shamelessly stared at him.

Look at this masterpiece of a man. Sharp, disciplined, built like a brick wall, and entirely mine. The fact that this guy was actually my boyfriend felt like a fever dream.

Most of the time, he just ignored my intense staring and kept writing. But every once in a while, the silent tension would snap. Without even looking up from his notes, his large, calloused hand would reach across the table, completely covering my eyes, and forcefully turn my head back toward my own books.

Whenever he pulled that move, I instantly hijacked his arm, trapping his massive hand between both of mine. He shot me a sharp, warning glare. I just batted my eyelashes and mouthed, Keeping your hands warm!

He didn't say a word. He didn't pull away, either. Instead, he simply opened his fingers and swallowed my entire hand in his blistering, dominant grip. A fierce, electric heat shot straight from his fingertips and seared right into my chest. His body temperature was always so damn high.

Peyton was absolutely convinced I was way more obsessed with Callum than he was with me.

"Rule number one of dating," she lectured me one night, pointing a makeup brush at my face. "The guy has to like you more than you like him. That's the only way you don't end up miserable. Got it?"

I twisted my fingers into my blanket. "But even if I'm the one who's completely gone for him, I'm still happy. Like, ridiculously happy."

Peyton threw her hands in the air and collapsed flat onto her mattress with a massive groan. "You are totally a lost cause."

I couldn't help it. I just buried my face in my pillow and smiled.

Chapter 8

Callum's love was quiet. Reserved. Not loud and obnoxious like mine. He wasn't the type to make split-second decisions, but the second he locked onto a target, he saw it through to the absolute end. His word was iron. That was just the kind of man he was.

Every rare, microscopic slip of affection he showed me, I wanted to hoard like stolen cash. I wanted to lock it all away where no one else could ever see it. Just me and Callum, entirely shut out from the rest of the world.

Over a rare holiday weekend, he took me on a trip. A flight out of the freezing Northeast, a layover, and a grinding ride on a long-haul bus brought us deep into the sweltering South. The Greyhound tore past endless, sprawling fields of unfamiliar green crops. Tobacco, Callum told me. Having lived in the concrete jungle my whole life, I spent the entire ride practically glued to the glass.

He gave up the window seat without a single complaint. I spent hours staring at the blur of the landscape, and he spent hours staring at me.

The sun set over the highway, and I eventually passed out against his solid shoulder. When I finally blinked awake, a razor-thin crescent moon hung heavy outside the tinted window. The dark silhouettes of the Appalachian mountains ripped past, but the moon stayed pinned to the sky. I stared up at it and made a silent, stupid wish. Let this last forever. Let him stay.

I shifted my gaze back to Callum. He was actually asleep. But his guard was still uphis sharp dark brows were pulled into a tight, hard knot, fighting whatever demons were bleeding into his dreams. I slowly lifted my hand, lightly tracing the space between his brows. With a face carved this flawlessly, it felt like an actual crime to let him stress over anything. I didn't want him to hurt. Not even a fraction of an inch.

The bus jerked to a stop at a toll booth.

Callum's pitch-black eyes snapped open.

I completely froze, my hand still hovering an inch from his face, caught red-handed. He blinked slowly, the harsh, lethal edge in his eyes temporarily dulled by sleep. Heat rushed up my neck. I offered a painfully awkward, guilty smile and started to pull back into my seat.

But before I could move, his rough, calloused hand shot out and violently clamped the back of my head.

He dragged me down and crashed his mouth against mine.

His lips were blistering hot and aggressive, hitting me like a dormant volcano that had finally shattered wide open. Just as he tilted his head to deepen the absolute, predatory dominance of the kiss, the harsh overhead light from the row behind us flicked on. He stopped dead, ripping his mouth away from mine. His broad chest heaved heavily as he forced his breathing to slow.

My face was practically on fire. I yanked the hood of my jacket all the way over my head and zipped it up to my nose, leaving only my wide eyes exposed to the freezing AC.

His large hands cupped the sides of my hood, forcefully turning my head back to face him. "If you're getting flustered over this," his deep, gravelly voice rumbled in the dark, "how are you going to handle meeting the parents?"

Meeting the parents?

My stomach dropped into my shoes. A cold sweat instantly broke out on my palms. "Are you kidding me? Why didn't you give me a heads-up? I'm entirely unprepared for this."

A dark, amused glint flashed in his eyes. "What exactly do you need to prepare?"

"I don't know!" I panicked, desperately twisting the zipper of my jacket. "Like, standard etiquette? How to not make a total fool of myself so they actually like me? I've never done this before, Callum. I need a game plan."

Callum stared at me. A faint, real smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before completely vanishing into his usual stone-cold mask. "It's not my parents."

I blinked, the panic stalling out in my tight throat. "What?"

"My parents are dead," he stated, his voice terrifyingly flat. "The person I'm taking you to meet is an old family friend."

Sitting in the pitch-black bus, staring out at the middle of nowhere, he dropped that absolute bomb with the exact same tone he'd use to read a grocery list. I stared at him, a sharp ache cracking right down the middle of my chest.

Callum held my gaze. "Did I scare you off?"

I reached out and grabbed his large, rough hand, violently lacing my fingers tight through his. I stared straight into his dark eyes. "If they're not here to do it, then I guess I'll just have to love you twice as hard to make up for the gap."

Callum didn't say another word. He just stared at me, the muscle in his jaw ticking tight. I pulled his palm up and pressed it flat against my hot cheek, desperately trying to bleed some warmth back into his freezing skin.

"If you had told me sooner," I whispered into the quiet dark, "I would have started aggressively loving you a lot earlier."

He pulled his hand free, only to instantly wrap both of his massive arms around me, burying my face into the solid, heavy wall of his chest. Over his shoulder, I caught sight of the crescent moon through the smudged window again.

Let this last forever. I prayed to whatever was listening in the dark. Please, just let this last.

Chapter 9

Victor was surprisingly warm. Despite carrying the distinct, heavy aura of a high-ranking official, he spoke to us with the same easy gentleness Id expect from my own father.

As the dinner started winding down, he actually raised his shot glass directly to me.

I scrambled to grab my own glass, aggressively topping it off with clear liquor before leaning across the table to clink it against his.

Callums large hand shot out to stop me, but he was a second too late.

I threw my head back and downed the burning liquor in one brutal gulp.

His dark eyes instantly narrowed, flashing a sharp, silent reprimand.

Victor just chuckled. "After all these years, Callum finally has someone by his side. Someone who lets him live a normal, grounded life. Thank you, Vada."

Callum lowered his gaze, his jaw ticking tight. He didn't say a word.

A sudden, stinging heat rushed to my eyesprobably the cheap burn of the alcohol kicking in. "Don't thank me," I blurted out, waving a hand. "If anything, I owe him for actually giving me a shot. You probably didn't know this, Victor, but I totally hunted him down. I chased him first. Ha!"

A rare, stiff awkwardness visibly hit Callums broad shoulders. "She gets like this when she drinks," he muttered, aggressively rubbing the back of his neck.

Victor looked between my flushed face and Callums rigid posture, bursting into a booming laugh.

Dinner dragged on for hours. Most of it consisted of Victor dropping absolute gold mines of embarrassing childhood stories about Callum. I sat there soaking it all in, mentally sketching out a picture of a bite-sized Callum.

He had to have been exactly the samestupidly handsome, completely unbothered, and stone-cold. Nobody else had a clue about the blistering, absolute heat this man buried beneath that icy exterior.

By the time we finally wrapped up and said our goodbyes to Victor, it was pitch black outside. Callum and I took a slow, quiet walk back to our motel. The central courtyard was lined with massive terracotta pots overflowing with some bizarre, tropical flowers I didn't recognize.

It was surreal. Back up North, everything was freezing to death, but down here, things were still blooming. Callum effortlessly dragged a heavy patio chair over and pressed me down by my shoulders so I could actually take it all in.

A wild thought hit my alcohol-soaked brain. I yanked his rough hand toward me. "Has anyone ever told you that you're exactly like a rose?"

One dark eyebrow ticked up. "A rose."

"Oh, totally," I nodded aggressively. "First glance? Drop-dead gorgeous. But the second someone actually tries to reach out and grab you, they get their hands ripped to shreds by the thorns."

His dark eyes locked onto mine. A flicker of something heavy crossed his face. "I'm sorry."

I immediately threw my arms around his waist, burying my hot face into the crook of his neck. "Don't apologize. I wasn't finished," I mumbled against his warm skin. "Callum, the thing is when you actually decide to let someone in, you rip every single one of your own thorns out with your bare hands. And then, there's nothing left but the good stuff. Ha! Look at me, dropping poetry."

Callum didn't say a word. The heavy, muscular arms wrapped around my back just flexed, crushing me a fraction tighter against his solid chest.

I wriggled upward, fighting gravity just to press my lips right against his ear. "Callum, I am so completely in love with you," I slurred quietly. "Thank you for actually letting me in. You have no idea how ridiculously happy you make me."

The second we unlocked the motel room door, the illusion shattered. The guy had booked a standard twin room. Two painfully separated single beds. A goddamn demilitarized zone right down the middle of the carpet.

I shot him a withering, deadpan glare. He deliberately turned his face away, refusing to meet my eyes as he dropped our bags.

I aggressively scrubbed my face in the bathroom, but by the time I crawled under my thin blanket, my blood was practically boiling. Just across the gap, Callum was lying flat on his back. His breathing was already evening out into a slow, rhythmic drawl. He was actually going to sleep.

Are you kidding me? How does a man just shut his eyes in a situation like this? Was I seriously that zero-threat to him?

Screw this. I kicked off my sheets, marched directly across the freezing carpet, and crawled straight onto his narrow mattress.

His pitch-black eyes snapped open in the dark.

The thin sliver of moonlight slicing through the blinds caught the rigid confusion instantly locking his sharp features.

I didn't even blink. I ruthlessly shoved his heavy comforter aside and slid right against his scorching, hard body. "Oh wow," I deadpanned, keeping my voice entirely flat. "Would you look at that? Haven't sleepwalked in years. Guess tonight was the night."

Callum stared at me in total, deafening silence. A heavy muscle ticked in his jaw. Without a single word, he threw the covers back, swung his long legs over the edge, and walked straight over to my abandoned, freezing bed. He laid down and pulled the sheets up.

Absolute frustration exploded in my chest.

I bolted upright, stormed right back across the gap, and threw my entire body weight directly on top of him. I wrapped my arms and legs around his massive frame like a literal octopus, aggressively trapping him beneath the blanket.

"Am I really that repulsive?" I hissed into the dark, my face hovering inches from his. "Literally every other guy on the planet wants to have his hands all over his girlfriend. Why are you acting like I'm radioactive?!"

Chapter 10

Callum's jaw clenched tight, a muscle violently ticking under his skin as he deliberately jerked his gaze away from me. "Get off."

My throat tightened, but I dug my heels in. "No."

His chest rose and fell in a heavy, controlled breath. "The AC is blasting. You're going to freeze."

I didn't even hesitate. I dove straight under his heavy comforter and latched onto his thick, muscular bicep like a koala. As pure, rigid shock finally cracked his stone-cold expression, I flashed him the sweetest, most innocent smile I could muster. "Problem solved. Now I won't freeze."

Callum stared at me, looking entirely violently unwilling to engage in this conversation.

I patted his rigid arm, trying to sound comforting. "Relax, big guy. It's not like I can actually overpower you. If I cross a line and assault a police cadet, you can just bust out the handcuffs and tie me up."

A rough, fractured exhale punched out of his nose. He closed his eyes, his voice dropping an octave. "Go to sleep."

I had no idea how the hell he was supposed to sleep, because my brain was absolutely short-circuiting. On this suffocatingly narrow twin bed, I could feel the violent tension coiled tight in his rock-solid thighs. His blistering breath scraped raw against the shell of my ear, and his massive, heavy arm rested dead across my waist. I was entirely swallowed by his potent, raw masculine scent, burning up so badly I didn't dare twitch a single muscle.

I was terrified of crushing him. But I was even more terrified that if I let go, hed slip out of the bed and ghost me the second I closed my eyes. Since sleep was completely off the table, I just shamelessly studied his face in the dark. The streetlights filtering through the blinds caught the ridiculous, unfair length of his thick eyelashes and the sharp, flawless cut of his jawline. I genuinely didn't understand how a guy could be built like this.

I didn't know how much time had passed, but a series of muffled, rhythmic thumps suddenly started vibrating through the cheap drywall from the room next door. Followed by a sharp, unmistakable gasp.

It took my brain exactly two seconds to process the sound. Pure, searing heat exploded across my face. I furiously shrank down, trying to bury myself completely under the sheets.

But the mattress was too damn small. In my panic, my bare, freezing foot accidentally dragged right against his burning calf. I frantically jerked my leg back, terrified of shocking him with the cold. My circulation was total garbage in the winter; my feet were basically blocks of ice right now. Before I could retreat entirely, his pitch-black eyes snapped open in the dark.

Callum ripped his arm out from under me and violently rolled onto his side.

But instead of shoving me away, he trapped my freezing feet flush against the blistering heat of his lower legs. It felt like stepping into a hot springbut I knew exactly how agonizingly cold my skin must feel against his. I immediately tried to thrash my way out, but his heavy legs clamped down, pinning me completely in place.

"Stop moving," he rasped, his voice impossibly thick and gravelly.

I squeezed my eyes shut, burying my burning face straight into the pillow. The air in the room suddenly turned dangerously thick and suffocating. Unable to handle the unbearable tension, I cracked one eye open to sneak a peek at him. Callum lay completely paralyzed, staring blankly at the popcorn ceiling like he was fighting for his actual life.

So I wasn't the only one mentally short-circuiting.

As the rhythmic noises next door finally died down and the night dragged on, a dangerous, reckless idea sparked in my head. I shifted closer, my lips hovering mere inches from his ear. "Do you know the difference between a peck and a real kiss?"

Callums jaw locked. He didn't answer. Instead, his muscles visibly tensed as he smoothly, deliberately slid an inch toward the edge of the mattress, putting agonizing space between us.

Like hell I was letting him retreat. I reached out and clamped my hand right over his broad shoulder. "Move one more inch, and I'm climbing directly on top of you," I threatened.

The guy was losing his goddamn mind. He shot me a dark, heavily suppressed glare. "What exactly do you want, Vada?"

A deeply inappropriate, borderline unhinged response immediately flashed through my brain. I was actually horrified by my own shamelessness. I dropped my forehead right into the crook of his neck, my shoulders violently shaking as I tried to muffle my laughter against his hot skin.

Once I finally got a grip, I lifted my head, forcing my face into a mask of total innocence. "I don't want anything. I'm just asking a simple question. Do you know the difference between a peck and a kiss?"

Callum stayed dead silent. Outside the frosted window, the wind started violently thrashing the branches of the trees.

I slowly, deliberately dragged my body back into his space, closing the gap. "Since you're not answering, I'll assume you don't know," I whispered, dropping my gaze to his mouth. "Let me educate you."

I leaned down and pressed my lips right against the hard corner of his mouth.

His pitch-black eyes snapped wide open, locking onto mine with absolute, stunned intensity. Heat flared across my cheeks, but I forced myself to hold my ground. "Don't stare at me like that. This is an educational tutorial."

I propped myself up on my elbows, squeezed my eyes shut, and mentally braced myself. But Callum was an absolute brick wall. He didn't move a single muscle to cooperate. I blindly pressed my mouth against his, clumsily mashing our lips together in a messy, chaotic assault. A thin layer of nervous sweat broke out on my forehead, but I still couldn't figure out how to actually pull this off.

Pure frustration spiked in my chest. I ripped my face away, snapping my eyes open to glare directly down at him. "Why are you being so difficult?"

A low, dark rumble of amusement vibrated up from his chest. He was actually laughing at me.

Chapter 11

The world violently tilted.

His large frame completely blocked out my vision. Those pitch-black eyes pulled me in like a vicious undertow, completely ripping away whatever rational thought I had left. I was going to drown in him.

Callum leaned down. He wasn't rushed. He didn't force it. He took complete control, his blistering lips parting mine with a slow, agonizingly patient dominance that instantly liquefied my knees.

By the time he finally broke the kiss, my soul had practically left my body. I clung desperately to his heavy biceps, my chest heaving violently as I dragged in jagged breaths of air.

Callum's large, calloused hand slipped into my hair, gently stroking the back of my head like he was calming a stray cat. He pressed his hot lips against my forehead. "Go to sleep," he rumbled.

On the last day of our trip, Callum announced he had somewhere to be and told me to wait at the motel. He practically interrogated me on safety protocols, drilling it into my head to keep my guard up if I stepped outside. We had been glued together this entire trip. The sudden separation anxiety hit me hard.

I grabbed the hem of his black t-shirt, my voice dropping into a pathetic mumble. "Where are you going? Can I come with you?"

He stopped, the heavy muscle in his back tensing. He didn't say anything.

I pushed my luck. "I'll just wait by the gate. I won't bother you, I swear. I just want to stay with you."

Callum's jaw locked for a fraction of a second. "Fine."

We took a cab across town. When it finally pulled up to the curb, he grabbed my hand and led me out, stopping directly in front of a high-end florist. The storefront was packed with rows of pristine flowers. Callum walked in and came out a few minutes later, holding a massive, flawlessly wrapped bouquet of white lilies. He didn't say a word, just laced his rough fingers through mine and kept walking.

Thats when it clicked. He was dressed in solid black from head to toe.

Our next stop was the gates of the State Law Enforcement Memorial Cemetery. It was heavily secured, requiring actual clearance just to pass the front gates. Callum flashed his academy ID and cleared the checkpoint. The guard nodded, buzzing the heavy iron gates open.

It hit me exactly what Callum was doing here. I looked down at my feet, a hard knot forming in my stomach. Bright cherry-red leather boots. Too loud. Too disrespectful.

Callum took a few strides, realized I wasn't glued to his side, and stopped. He turned around, one dark eyebrow ticking up in a silent question.

"Give me a sec," I muttered. "I'm taking my boots off."

His brows crashed together in pure confusion. "It's freezing. And the pathways are paved with crushed gravel. You'll tear your feet up."

I had already unzipped the leather and shoved the red boots directly into my backpack. I flashed him a goofy grin. "I'm not cold. Let's go."

The security guard at the gate chuckled. "Little lady, the heroes resting in there really don't care about a dress code."

Callum stared at my freezing feet. Realization washed over his sharp features, a heavy, unreadable shadow crossing his dark eyes. He set the bouquet down on the concrete.

"They'd just be happy you came," he said, his voice terrifyingly quiet.

He dropped to one knee right there on the pavement.

He unzipped my backpack, pulled out the bright red boots, and firmly gripped my freezing ankle. He rested my foot against his muscular thigh, sliding the boot back on before methodically lacing it up. He treated the simple task with absolute, lethal focus.

The guard stood off to the side, smiling quietly to himself.

My face burned violently hot. I stared down at Callum's long, calloused fingers working the laces, my brain flashing back to the very first night we met. He had looked exactly like this, gripping my bruised ankle and aggressively spraying first-aid antiseptic over my scrapes.

He finished the last knot. Callum stood up, his large hand gently resting on the top of my head for a second.

We walked down the crushed gravel path, winding through rows of towering evergreens until we stopped in front of a heavy granite headstone.

It was a joint grave. His parents. Both killed in the line of duty over fourteen years ago, when Callum was only six.

Usually, a memorial stone like this had a line engraved at the very bottom. Beloved parents of followed by the names of the surviving children.

But the polished granite was completely blank at the base.

Callum's name wasn't on it.

Chapter 12

The memorial grounds were immaculately kept. No dead leaves, no overgrown grass. Callum pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and slowly, methodically wiped the dust off the engraved portraits on the granite.

The man and woman in the photos had bright, clear smiles. Looking closely, I could trace the sharp, flawless angles of Callum's jawline right back to them.

Callum straightened up. He struck a match, the harsh scrape cutting through the quiet air, and lit two white memorial candles. He handed one to me. I took it carefully, bowing my head in a silent, respectful prayer. When I finished, I just stood there holding the glass, waiting for him.

He stayed perfectly still, his head bowed low. He didn't move a muscle for a long time. Probably having a silent conversation with them in his head.

My gaze drifted back to their smiling faces. Callum knelt to set his candle down on the granite base. I followed his lead, crouching beside him. As I tilted my glass to secure it, a heavy drop of scalding liquid wax slipped over the edge and splattered directly onto the back of my hand.

A sharp hiss escaped my teeth.

Before I could even flinch, Callum moved.

His lightning-fast reflexes kicked in.

He clamped his large hand around my wrist like a vice, aggressively twisted the cap off a water bottle with his teeth, and flooded my blistering skin with ice-cold water.

The sting faded in seconds. I instantly felt stupid for making a scene over nothing.

But Callum wasn't looking at me. His pitch-black eyes were completely zoned out, staring blankly at my wet hand.

"Callum?" I whispered softly. "Where'd you go?"

A faint ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Just remembered something. When I was a kid, I burned my hand exactly like that. My mom did exactly what I just did. Ripped the cap off, poured the water."

He said it so casually, like it was just a random Tuesday thought. But a suffocating ache suddenly clamped down on my chest. I wanted to throw my arms around him and never let go. If a microscopic detail like a water bottle was branded this deeply into his brain, how many millions of times had he aggressively replayed every single shattered memory of his parents over the last fourteen years?

Callum and I were two years apart, but our birthdays were literally one day away from each other. Later that week, I asked him what he usually did to celebrate.

"I stopped celebrating when I turned seven," he stated, his voice flat.

I practically launched myself off the couch. "Are you kidding me? Unacceptable."

We were walking across a crowded pedestrian bridge. His massive hand instantly shot out, clamping around my waist to steady me. "Watch your step," he rumbled, sounding entirely exhausted by my existence.

I aggressively laced my fingers through his, practically vibrating with excitement. "Let's do a joint party. On your actual birthday. Please?"

The heavy muscle in his jaw ticked. He hesitated for a long second, but finally, he gave a curt nod.

His birthday fell on a Saturday. I booked a massive Airbnb, dragged Peyton and Wyatt into the chaos, and invited a bunch of guys from Callum's squad. We completely trashed the kitchen, chopping vegetables, blasting music, and yelling over each other.

Callum had texted me earlier. Vance held me back at the academy. Going to be late. Don't wait for me.

Peyton was aggressively flipping steaks in a skillet while barking orders at Callum's buddies to wash the lettuce. "Why did Vance only hold Callum back?" she yelled over the sizzling grease.

One of the cadets laughed. "Callum's post-grad placement is causing a massive fight with the brass. Vance is probably trying to talk him out of it."

The heavy kitchen knife in my hand stalled out on the cutting board. "What fight?"

The cadets exchanged uneasy looks. Wyatt immediately realized he'd stepped on a landmine. "Wait, Callum didn't tell you?"

Peyton caught the instant shift in my posture. "Don't play games, Wyatt. Spit it out." She aggressively aimed her spatula at him like a weapon. "Talk, or nobody eats."

Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, it's not a huge deal. Callum wants to request a transfer down South to the border. Vance thinks he's throwing away a fast-track career at Quantico. He wants him in D.C."

My tight shoulders dropped a fraction. "He's from the South. It makes sense he'd want to go back."

Another cadet shifted uncomfortably, dropping the absolute bomb. "Yeah, but Callum requested the DEA. He wants to go deep undercover in narcotics."

The roaring noise of the kitchen instantly vanished, sucked into a terrifying vacuum that left nothing but a deafening ring in my ears as the horrifying reality of what that meant violently crashed into my brain.

A blinding spike of agony ripped through my hand.

The heavy steel blade slipped.

It sliced clean into my finger.

Thick, bright crimson blood violently welled up, dripping steadily down and staining the pale green cabbage leaves in a sick, mocking contrast.

Peyton slammed the spatula down, screaming my name. "Vada! Are you out of your mind?!"

The cadets froze, sensing the lethal drop in the room's temperature, and scattered like roaches to hunt down a first-aid kit.

Chapter 13

A few minutes later, Wyatt popped his head back into the kitchen. "No first-aid kit. We're hitting the pharmacy down the block." He bolted before Peyton could physically assault him.

Peyton snatched the knife away, shooting me a look of pure exasperation. "How do you almost amputate your finger chopping cabbage? Get out. Go sit on the couch. I'm doing this."

I collapsed onto the living room sofa, aggressively pressing a wad of paper towels against the deep gash. The bright crimson soaked right through the white paper in seconds. I grabbed another fistful, biting down on my lip as I clamped down hard.

The heavy front door clicked open. My head snapped up.

Callum stood in the doorway, gripping a white plastic pharmacy bag. He shoved the door shut and strode in. "Ran into the guys outside. They went to grab the cake," he stated, his voice flat.

I stared at him. A massive, suffocating knot jammed in my throat, blocking the million frantic questions screaming in my head.

Callum crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed my wrist. His pitch-black eyes dropped to the blood-soaked towels. A violent muscle ticked in his jaw. "How exactly did you manage this?" his voice dropped into a harsh, razor-sharp reprimand.

I kept my head down, staring dead at the floorboards. I didn't say a word.

He ripped open a sterile gauze pad and uncapped a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Right before he pressed it into the open wound, his large hands stalled. "This is going to burn."

I gave a stiff nod. "Do it."

A flash of pure surprise crossed his sharp features. Yeah, I was usually a massive baby. I'd whine for hours over a papercut. I refused to look up, deliberately dodging his heavy gaze.

The alcohol-soaked cotton slammed into the raw cut.

A violent, electric shock of pure agony ripped up my arm.

My entire body jerked.

Callum pulled a roll of medical tape from the bag. "Keep it dry. When you shower, wrap it in a plastic bag or a glove," he ordered, his tone absolute.

I nodded again.

He methodically wrapped the white tape around my finger, pulling it tight. "It needs a fresh dressing tomorrow. I'll tell Peyton to handle it."

Another numb nod.

He probably thought I was just going into shock from the blood. His deep, gravelly voice unexpectedly softened. "It bled heavy, but the cut isn't deep. It'll seal up in a few days."

Hot, heavy drops of moisture broke past my eyelashes. They crashed silently onto my dark jeans, instantly vanishing into the fabric.

Callum's movements completely stopped. His rough fingers reached up, forcefully sweeping my messy bangs out of my eyes. A dead, suffocating silence dropped over us.

"Why are you crying?"

I aggressively scrubbed the back of my uninjured hand across my wet cheeks, fighting a brutal war to steady my shaking voice. "Callum. Are you requesting a transfer down South to go deep undercover for the DEA?"

His sharp jaw locked. He didn't answer the question. Instead, his dark eyes narrowed. "Is that why you put a knife through your hand?"

The dam violently shattered. I couldn't stop the tears.

Callum's calloused thumb swiped across my cheekbone, catching the moisture. But the tears just kept coming, hot and fast, pooling directly into his large palm. He abandoned the medical tape. His massive arms hooked around my waist, forcefully dragging me forward until my face was buried dead center in his solid chest. I choked on a sob, my tears rapidly bleeding through his dark shirt.

The steady, heavy thud of his heartbeat picked up pace against my ear. His chest heaved. "I was going to tell you later," he finally rasped.

That was it. A point-blank confession.

Narcotics. Deep undercover operations. The absolute frontline of a brutal, endless war. It was a meat grindera career built entirely on walking a razor's edge between blood, cartel violence, and a violent, unmarked death.

I clamped both arms around his thick waist in a death grip, sobbing until my lungs literally stopped pulling in oxygen.

"Vada," his voice was a low, rough vibration against my skull. "Do you have something you want to say to me?"

I couldn't force a single syllable out of my burning throat.

Jagged puzzle pieces violently crashed together in my brain. The polished granite headstone at the memorial cemetery. The blank space where a surviving son's name was supposed to be carved. It wasn't an oversightit was a calculated, desperate protocol to protect him from cartel retaliation.

Barring any accidents, I am never getting into a relationship in this lifetime. I'm never getting married, and I'm never having kids. Victor's heavy words at dinner. Callum finally has someone by his side. Someone who lets him live a normal life. Every single red flag, every wall he had built, finally shattered into razor-sharp clarity.

Chapter 14

I finally understood. This was his endgame all along.

Not just a beat cop. He was signing up to be a ghostthe kind of operative forced to sever every single social tie. That was why he had locked himself away from any kind of human connection, committing to a martyr's path long before I ever met him. I was just the reckless anomaly that smashed through his barricades. I had absolutely no right, no standing whatsoever, to demand he abandon his mission. We had laid out the terms a long time ago. Seize the day. That was it. Just a handful of days.

I choked back a sob, desperately biting down on my lip to muffle the sound. If I stayed quiet, I could pretend my chest wasn't being ripped wide open.

Callum slowly pulled me back a fraction of an inch, his dark eyes dropping to my face. I violently jerked my head away, refusing to meet his heavy gaze. My face was a total, pathetic mess, and I couldn't let him see it. But he leaned down, pressing a blistering, gentle kiss directly against my tear-soaked eyelid.

"I'm sorry," he rasped.

The vibration in his deep voice felt like pure, jagged agony.

The front door suddenly clicked open. The guys barged in, shaking off the heavy rain and loudly cursing the storm.

Callum released me. I kept my head down, instantly side-stepping his massive frame and speed-walking straight into the bathroom.

The second the door clicked shut, my knees gave out.

I slid down the cold wood, burying my face deep into my knees. I wrapped my arms over my head, violently and silently breaking down.

I didn't know it then, but just inches away on the other side of that door, Callum stood completely paralyzed, staring dead at my distorted shadow against the frosted glass.

I violently splashed cold water on my face using my one good hand. I dragged a paper towel over my skin, glaring at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were completely bloodshot, and the tip of my nose was bright red, but at least I wasn't hyperventilating anymore. I forcefully slapped my own cheeks. Get a grip, Vada. No more crying. You look pathetic.

I shoved the door open and immediately plastered a massive, bright smile onto my face. "Smells amazing! Peyton, your culinary skills are actually leveling up."

The entire squad caught the memo. Not a single one of them mentioned my violently red eyes. They just seamlessly pivoted to hyping up Peyton's cooking.

Peyton carried the last platter past me. She paused, her mouth opening like she wanted to say something heavy, but she swallowed it down. Instead, she just reached out and gently ruffled the top of my hair.

"Happy birthday, Vada. Just be happy," she murmured.

The guys crowded around the coffee table, aggressively lighting the candles on the massive cake. Someone had folded two cheap paper crowns, violently shoving one onto my head and the other onto Callum's. Someone else roughly shoved my shoulder from behind, sending me crashing right back into Callum's solid chest.

His heavy arm instantly hooked around my shoulders, anchoring me tightly against his side.

Peyton leveled her Polaroid camera at us. "Look at me!"

I forced my face into a massive, blinding grin right as the harsh flash exploded. Today was Callum's 21st birthday.

"Make a wish, birthday duo!" Wyatt yelled.

Someone killed the living room lights. The only thing left was the flickering orange glow of the candles. I peeked at Callum through my lashes. His pitch-black eyes were actually shut tight, the candlelight casting long, sharp shadows from his thick eyelashes. His large hands were clasped tightly together. He was actually, genuinely making a wish. I distinctly remembered him saying he thought this kind of stuff was pure garbage.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

God. Whatever is out there lis