31. Calista
THIRTY-ONE
CALISTA
I t had been over a week since I had last spoken to Lincoln.
The Thanksgiving break had come and gone without a word from him.
I had sent him the occasional message asking about tutoring and how Sadie was doing.
It was as if he straight up disappeared off the face of the planet.
Part of me wanted to storm over to the training facility and demand an answer—a reason why he was leaving me on read and avoiding my calls.
But if I were being honest, I was too embarrassed.
The night Lincoln and I had sex, I thought we had connected on another level.
He was so open with me, telling me things about his past involving Sadie and his parents.
I honestly believed he trusted me. Cared for me.
Instead of being able to bask in the progress we had made, I sat in The Underground with Harper contemplating if everything he said to me was a lie.
I didn’t want to believe it. There was no way Lincoln was diabolical enough to make up everything he had told me that night.
He wasn’t a fuck boy trying to get some action.
Not unless he liked playing the long game.
I sighed, pinching another nacho off the platter.
I had never been so fucked up over a boy.
“I’ll hang him by his toes and wait until he passes out,” Harper grumbled around the chip in her mouth. “Or perhaps we could waterboard him until he apologizes for his transgressions.”
We had ordered a plate of cheese nachos to share—share being the operative word. Harper had smashed more than half of them during her angry tirade.
“That won’t solve anything,” I reminded her.
She shoved another short stack of nachos in her mouth. Then she swallowed. “It would make me feel better. Next time, listen to me. I swear I have a radar for assholes.”
“Harper, you think everyone is an asshole before you get to know them.”
“Guilty until proven otherwise.” She brought her attention back to the plate in front of her. Her thick ponytail swished like a horse’s mane.
She picked up another chip. It hovered inches from her lips. Unlike the others, this one didn’t make it any further. Harper froze; her eyes glued to the staircase that housed the main entrance to The Underground.
I popped another chip in my mouth, taking my time with chewing as I regarded her. “What are you looking at?” I said once I had swallowed.
Peeking over the back of the booth, I tried to figure out what had her attention in a death grip. It didn’t take me too long.
Speak of the devil.
Descending the steps of the bustling bar was none other than Lincoln, with Andrew right next to him. Sandwiched between them, carried on Lincoln’s broad shoulder, was his gym bag. I admired how his T-shirt stretched taut across his chest and how his hair hung in its usual disheveled manner.
He looked good, like he was doing just fine. My chest tightened. All the frustration that had taken over my body for the past week had been replaced by a gut-wrenching sadness.
I ducked back down behind my booth, settling into my seat. My stomach churned, and with it, the mediocre appetite I had managed to stir up dissipated.
“Get up, Cal,” Harper demanded. “They’re on the move.”
I swallowed a large gulp of beer while raising an eyebrow. “We’re not going anywhere.”
“We most certainly are,” Harper insisted, grabbing hold of my wrist. She tugged on my arm, leading me out of the booth and into the crowd of students that had begun to gather for the night.
“Harper,” I hissed at her.
She didn’t even acknowledge me. Trudging forward, she weaved us around people who were trying to get to the bar.
Andrew's head bobbed above the forming crowd of bar-goers.
It served as a beacon of loose curls, allowing Harper and I to keep track of where the two of them were headed.
They continued their way past the bar and billiard tables, towards the hall at the other end of the makeshift dance floor.
“They’re probably headed to the bathroom,” I told Harper, trying to dig my heels into the laminate floor.
Harper didn’t flinch. She continued to tug me along as if I weighed no more than a yappy chihuahua. “We are going to get you answers.”
I cursed my best friend’s workout regime as she guided us deeper into The Underground. As expected, Lincoln and Andrew disappeared into the depth of the hall, taking an unexpected right turn.
We were hot on their trail, heading towards the narrow hall when a conga line of dancers cut in front of us.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Harper muttered under her breath, taking a detour.
By the time we had entered the hallway Lincoln and Andrew were gone. We ventured down, our shoes slapping against the floor. At the end of the short hall was a single exit.
“Harper, that’s for staff only.” I gestured to the sign on the door. The bold, red writing clearly warned us to stay out. “They wouldn’t have gone in there.”
“There’s no other way out.” Harper released my wrist, moving towards the metal door without hesitation.
Did they go left when I thought they had gone right?
Perhaps the beer I had with our late dinner had affected me more than I thought.
The only thing that was keeping me from completely questioning my sanity was that Harper and I had seen the same thing.
Regardless, I wasn’t too fond of the idea of hashing things out with Lincoln in front of an audience.
“Let’s just go back, Harper.”
Her pale hand landed on the doorknob. She twisted, and the door clicked open. I was about to reprimand her and drag her back to our deserted table, until I noticed that the dark room was nothing but a storage closet.
The hinges creaked as she propped it open further. The closet could fit no more than two people. Shelves of cleaning products stood against each wall. A single light bulb hung from the middle of the ceiling, a string hanging in the lonely room .
“See?” I tried, gesturing with an open palm. “I told you they went to the?—”
Harper didn’t let me finish. Her hand shot around my wrist again, yanking me into the unlit closet with her. The door clanged shut behind us, and for a moment, we were left in the dark.
My nose crinkled at the smell of artificial lemon and bleach. “What the hell are we doing in here, Harp?”
Harper fished her phone out of her jeans pocket. She flicked open the flashlight, illuminating the row of shelves. I squinted, giving my eyes time to adjust. When they did, I noticed the way her brow pinched together. It was the look she had when something really bothered her.
“Are you okay?” I asked, concern blooming in my chest.
“I need to tell you something.”
The light from Harper’s phone cast a shadow on the wall. It only added to my discomfort.
“What is it?”
“Do you remember that time in Friends , when Ross ran around town and tried to hide the fact that he had slept with the girl from the print shop because he didn’t want Rachel to find out?”
I blinked at her. The sound of music and screams was much more prominent now that my sense of sight was limited. That conga line must have been going wild.
“What does that have to do with us being in a closet?”
“I just want you to know I didn’t tell you because I wanted to protect you.”
“Protect me? Protect me from what?”
Without warning, she switched off her flashlight. In the dark, I heard the click of something being dropped or moved, and the wall opposite the closet door popped open.
The roaring of excitement I had been hearing amplified.
It was mixed with a heavy bass that vibrated through my chest. I squinted at the bright light that poured into the space, instinctively inching towards the sliver of light.
I took a breath, pushing open the hidden door so that I could see what was happening on the other side.
It was another room.
Okay, ‘room’ was an understatement. It was more like a warehouse below campus. From what I could make out, there were people. A lot of people. Most of whom were milling around with drinks in their hands. I eyed a woman strutting by in a mini cocktail dress.
They were dressed too nicely for some kind of college party.
Against the wall that I could see, I noticed raised booths. Waitresses wearing next to nothing sashayed around, trays of drinks and bottles in their hands. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought we stumbled across some sort of underground club.
What the hell was this place?
Harper pressed her hands against the edge of the door. It was my turn to grab her wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to show you why I didn’t want you getting involved with Lincoln in the first place.”
“Harper,” I said, trying not to draw attention to us. “We are not going in there. Let’s go back.” I attempted to tug her towards the way we came, but she didn’t budge. Her feet stayed rooted.
Her gaze left the crowd to focus on me. “Are you not the slightest bit curious about what Lincoln is doing in a place like this?”
I should have lied and said no—that I didn’t care what Lincoln was doing in his spare time. But I did care, and I did want to know why he had been ghosting me.
I swallowed. “I don’t want to get us into any trouble. This place is clearly a secret for a reason.”
“And what should that tell you about the people that come here?”
“Can you stop speaking in code?” A deadpan stare took over my face. “This is not some kind of special ops mission. Tell me what’s going on.”
Harper pinned me with her gaze. “Do you remember my reaction to finding out that you were assigned to tutoring Lincoln Pierce?”
“Yeah, you were less than enthusiastic.”
“This is the reason why,” she said. “Since our second year at Fenton, I’ve heard of… rumors. Rumors regarding an underground fight club that a few people from my program participate in.”
Air got stuck in my throat.