15. Secrets

The moment Ryan's hands moved lower, my stomach dropped.

I thrashed, pushing against him, but he barely stumbled. He was too close, pressing me harder against the cold wall of the house, the alcohol on his breath making my skin crawl.

"Ryan—get off me," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. If I panicked, if I let fear take over—

His fingers moved up after I pushed him, now slowly digging into my waist.

I gasped, twisting in his grip. "You're hurting me!"

He just laughed, like I was joking. Like this was some kind of game.

The alley behind the party was dark, the air thick with the scent of stale beer, cigarettes, and gasoline from the dumpster nearby. The flickering security light barely lit the space, casting long, twisted shadows against the brick walls.

"You're not so tough now, huh?" he sneered, his voice dripping with amusement.

I didn't flinch. Even as my pulse pounded in my throat, even as every nerve screamed at me to panic, I forced myself to meet his gaze, unblinking.

He couldn't know I was scared, he'd know I was weak.

"You think I'm scared of you?" My voice was steady, low, dangerous. "You're nothing, Ryan. I used to run with people who made grown men cross the street. People who didn't ask twice before breaking someone's fingers just for looking at them wrong."

His smirk faltered slightly.

I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper. "You ever had a knife against your throat, Ryan? Ever been cornered in an alley where no one could hear you scream? Because I have. And I walked away. Do you really think you're the worst thing I've faced?"

Something flickered in his eyes. Doubt. But he masked it quickly, gripping my wrist and twisting hard enough to make pain shoot up my arm.

"You talk too much," he muttered.

The sharp sting forced a small gasp out of me before I could stop it. That was all Ryan needed—confirmation that he had some control. His smirk returned, nastier than before.

Then, out of nowhere—

A blur of blonde.

Tess's fist cracked against Ryan's nose with a sickening crunch. He stumbled back, cursing, his hands flying to his face as blood gushed between his fingers.

I didn't hesitate. The second his weight shifted, I planted both hands on his chest and shoved him with everything I had. He hit the ground hard, groaning in pain.

"Run!" Tess barked.

We took off, sprinting out of the alley. My lungs burned, my heartbeat like a drum in my ears. The cold night air bit at my skin as my adrenaline surged. I could still hear Ryan cursing behind us, but his voice faded as we pushed harder, faster.

The second we burst back into the party, it was like hitting a wall of noise.

Music pounded from the speakers, drowning out the rush of my breathing. The room was a blur of flashing lights and bodies moving in every direction. Laughter, shouting, the clinking of bottles—none of it felt real. My chest heaved, my hands shaking as I tried to process what had just happened.

Tess was still scanning the room, eyes sharp, jaw clenched. Then she stiffened.

"Isn't that one of the guys from the motel?" she muttered. Referring to the night Luke and Grayson bombarded me when I ditched my detention and went out.

I followed her gaze.

Luke. Standing near the hockey guys, laughing at something, completely oblivious.

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting. Quietly, I nodded. I didn't want their drama or the sarcastic comments, I just wanted to leave.

Tess didn't hesitate. She stormed across the room, shoving past people, her movements fueled by rage.

She reached Luke and shoved him—hard.

His laughter died instantly. "What the—"

Before he could finish, Tess smacked her hand against his chest again, shoving him back another step.

The group around him fell silent, heads turning in confusion. Some people in the crowd started whispering, watching the scene unfold.

Grayson, standing nearby, frowned and stepped forward, grabbing Luke's shoulder. "Alright, what the fuck is going on?"

Tess whipped around to face him, her blue eyes blazing. "Who was Callie's designated driver?"

Or as most people call it a DD, the person who doesn't drink so they can drive people home, everyone with the slightest bit of a brain had one, well sometimes.

Grayson's confusion deepened. "Uh... me?"

Tess didn't even hesitate once again, her irrational rage out of protectiveness, She slapped him across the face. Hard.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Conversations stopped. Heads turned.

"You need to back off bitch, what did Gray do to you?!" A girl I'd never met stood beside Grayson, dark curls and big brown eyes.

"Oh don't bitch me, bitch!" Tess practically screamed back before Graysons gently pushed the girl next to him slightly behind him, letting her know he could handle it.

Grayson barely flinched when Tess slapped him for a second time, his jaw tightening as he rubbed his cheek, clearly trying to process what the hell had just happened.

"Hand me the keys, asshole," Tess snapped, holding out her hand.

Grayson's eyes flickered from her to me, something unreadable crossing his face. He hesitated. Not knowing what to do seeing as he didn't know the girl.

"Tess," I started, my voice weak, but she didn't budge.

After a long beat, Grayson dug into his pocket and tossed her the keys.

Without another word, Tess grabbed my wrist—gently this time—and pulled me toward the door. The crowd parted around us, whispering, eyes following our every move.

Grayson didn't try to stop us. He just stood there, watching, fingers still resting against his jaw, looking like he was trying to make sense of it all.

I didn't look back.

When the psycho blonde who slapped me asked about Callie, I knew something had happened.

And I knew exactly who she was—Tess. Callie's city friend. The same girl she'd been messaging. The one from the motel.

I had to give her my keys.

She didn't look drunk, and Callie—Callie looked scared. Not the kind of scared where she'd lash out, throw a sarcastic remark, or pick a fight. No, this was different. Her face was frozen, unreadable, but her eyes—God, her eyes—they looked hollow. Shocked. Like she was somewhere else entirely.

The quietness was unusual and unwanted.

I liked the witty chatterbox who was proud to have an attitude, the girl who called me out on my shit without hesitation.

But silence?

Silence from Calliope?

Well, that was just terrifying.

The party continued around me, but it felt different. The music still pounded through the house, people still laughed, still drank, but the energy was off. Or maybe I was off.

I found myself scanning the crowd like an idiot, knowing damn well she wasn't here anymore.

"Dude."

I barely registered Luke beside me until he nudged my arm again.

"What?" I snapped.

He raised an eyebrow. "What's going on in that overthinking brain of yours?"

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. "Something happened to her."

Luke followed my gaze toward the door, rubbing a hand down his face. "Yeah. You're not wrong."

Neither of us said much after that.

A few of the guys tried to pull us back into the party—Max and Vince were arguing about some girl, Jax and Dylan were playing an intense round of beer pong—but I wasn't in the mood. I gave half-hearted answers, pretending to listen, but my mind was elsewhere.

Eventually, we left.

Luke and I crashed at my place, a routine we'd had since we were kids. My basement was basically a second home to him, cluttered with old hockey gear, trophies, and an old couch that had seen better days.

I threw myself onto it, rubbing a hand over my face. "You think she's okay?"

Luke, lying on the floor with a hockey stick resting across his chest, scoffed. "After the way her friend stormed in here? No."

I didn't like that answer.

Before I could say anything else, footsteps creaked on the basement stairs.

"Grayson?" My mom's voice drifted down. "You and Luke home?"

Luke smirked. "Mama Mav! We made it back alive."

I groaned. "Stop calling her that."

My mom—who loved the nickname—laughed as she walked in, arms crossed. "Relax, Grayson." Then, her gaze flicked between us, immediately picking up on the tension in the room. "Alright, what's going on?"

I hesitated. "It's Callie."

She blinked. "Who?"

Luke snorted. "Oh, here we go."

I shot him a look before turning back to my mom. "Callie. Coach Holloway's daughter."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Holloway has a daughter?"

"Yeah," Luke chimed in. "And somehow, Grayson's completely obsessed with her."

I kicked him.

Mom's lips twitched in amusement before she focused on me again. "So, what happened?"

I sighed. "Something at the party. I don't know what, but her friend—Tess—came storming in, demanding my keys. Callie just... left."

Mom studied me, her expression softening. "And that's bothering you?"

I frowned. "I don't know. I just—she didn't look right."

She hummed in thought before stepping closer, brushing my hair back like she did when I was a kid. "Maybe she just needs space, Grayson. Let her come to you."

I nodded, but I didn't like it.

Patience wasn't my strong suit.

Luke sat up, stretching. "Or you could do the opposite and bother her until she talks."

I smirked. "See? That's why we keep you around."

Mom rolled her eyes. "Get some sleep, boys. You've got practice in the morning."

Practice was fine. Same drills, same routines. Nothing unusual.

Except for one thing.

Callie wasn't there.

Her dad always showed up. She always sat in the stands, pretending not to watch while we all knew she was. But today?

Nothing.

I tried to ignore it, focused on the ice, but my plays were sloppy. I missed an easy pass from Jax, took a shot too early, let Vince steal the puck from me twice.

"Dude," Max said during a break, shoving my shoulder. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing," I muttered.

Jax raised an eyebrow. "Bullshit. You're playing like a blindfolded toddler."

"Thanks, man. Real helpful."

Vince skated up, flipping his stick in his hands. "This about Callie?"

I didn't answer.

That was enough of an answer.

Luke clapped my back as we headed to the locker room. "You know you're not gonna stop thinking about this until you do something about it, right?"

I sighed. "Yeah. I know."

I half expected her to show up late to school, strutting into first period with some sarcastic excuse.

She didn't.

Then second period passed. Then lunch. Still nothing. By the time last period rolled around, I was done pretending I didn't care.

I knocked twice before pushing the door open to her father's office.

Coach barely looked up from his paperwork. "If you're here to complain about ice time, get out."

I shut the door behind me. "Where's Callie?"

That got his attention.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "She needed a day off."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

I stared at him, trying to read between the lines, but he wasn't budging.

Something happened last night.

I knew it.

And I was going to find out what. Whether she and her dad liked it or not.

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A/N: SORRY IF U DIDNT WANT THIS TO BE WHAT HAPPENED NEXT BUT TRUST ME ITS FOR THE PLOT!

Plus if y'all want to give me some of ur ideas to incorporate I'm happy to take suggestions and give creds.

No promises I'll use them tho haha x

But I've got ideas for the next few parts and it had to happen like this!

Words: 2075