Page 49 of Elusion

“Just go.”

My head jerks back in disbelief. “You’re kicking me out because I won’t fuck you when you’re drunk?”

She crosses her arms and sets her jaw. Either I comply with her request or argue, and there’s no point in arguing with her right now.

I stand up, intending to kiss her on the forehead. “All right, beaut—”

“Leave,” she says.

I sigh on my way out. “Whatever.”

The light from the TV helps me find my coat and bag. Felicia asks what happened, but I don’t answer. Only one person knows, and she’s probably passed out again. The early hour creates a haunting walk to the parking lot. In the Jeep, I turn on the defrost and blow into my hands while waiting for the engine to warm.

Callie’s return was supposed to signify an end to all the bullshit, not the start of a whole new set of issues. Now I’m dealing with a version of her that closely resembles the chicks Dustin brings home. Someone I smile at from the stage and forget about the next day.

Every time I replay the last several hours, starting with her stumbling through the door, a blonde girl with vacant eyes replaces her in my mind.

Every. Single. Time.

I want Callie, not her—not this broken girl.

The limit for Callie avoiding me: two days.

My fist hammers on the door. Felicia finally answers, her perma-smile absent.

“It’s Wednesday, Gibson. She’s sent me three texts since she kicked me out on Monday morning. You said to give her some time. I did.”

She shrugs. A fucking shrug? Everyone in the damn suite is apparently involved in a pact to drive me mad. Well, I’m done letting them.

“I want to see her,” I demand.

“Jordan, you can’t come in.”

“Felicia, I don’t care.” I force my way past her.

“Jordan!” She tugs on my arm, so I haul her scrawny ass across the common area with me.

The bedroom door swings open and bangs against the wall as I come through with an angry Felicia on my heels. A blanket rips off Callie’s head, and she pulls out an earbud, her eyes widening as she watches the two of us from her bed.

“I told him he couldn’t come in here, Callie.”

“And I told her I didn’t care, Callie.”

“Stop acting like a child, Jordan,” Felicia fires back.

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from a girl who cries duringBambi.”

Her mouth falls open, and she shoves me in the chest. “Shut up!”

“I have a better idea.” I pick her up and set her down over the threshold. She struggles, but the door closes with her on the other side. I flip the lock before returning my attention to Callie. “She’s almost as frustrating as you are.”

Callie removes the other earbud and repositions to sit against the wall. I’m preparing to give her hell and demand a long, overdue explanation. Two days have given me more than enough time to perfect a speech involving a multitude of rewrites. But one look at her leg completely derails me. A purple-and-black monstrosity covers a majority of the side of her upper thigh, disappearing under her shorts.

“Jesus!” I rush over and gently run my thumb over the bruise. My mind races, wondering who did this to her, but then I remember the wild escapades Trey told me about. “Tree or four-wheeler?” I ask.

“What?” She winces when she leans back on a large white bandage covering her shoulder blade.

Another fucking injury? How high is her pain tolerance?

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