34. Calista
THIRTY-FOUR
CALISTA
T he off-campus bar was overflowing for a Thursday night.
Ella had somehow wrestled me into a country bar on one of the busiest strips in the city.
The dance floor was a sea of ten-gallon hats and plaid.
The high top table we managed to secure was off to the side, right under a pair of mounted bull horns.
The blonde bombshell stood in front of me and plopped her empty glass down with a clang.
“Are you sure you don’t want just one drink?” Ella held up one sharp finger in front of her face and gave me a puppy dog stare. “Speaking from experience, it does help a little bit.”
“I’m sure, El,” I promised, grabbing onto her hands and bringing them down in front of her. Her talons were dangerously close to her eye, and the last thing I needed was an unexpected trip to the nearest hospital. “You have another one for me.”
“But that’s not how tonight was supposed to go,” she whined, throwing her head back.
I laughed at her antics. “How was tonight supposed to go? ”
She didn’t have to tell me. I knew about her wicked little plan from the beginning.
For the last few nights, Ella had spent an odd amount of time in our dorm room.
She had been itching to go out, I could tell by the way she paced against our worn carpet, but she was a good friend and didn’t have the heart to leave me alone.
I knew she was going stir crazy, so when she asked me to go out to a bar off campus with her, I couldn’t turn her down.
“You were meant to drink with me.” She pouted.
“And then how would we get home? I signed up to be DD.”
“Leave my car in her comfy, little parking spot and take an Uber back—duh.”
The corner of my lip twitched. “I’m okay, Ella.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, leaning in closer. “I know you really liked him.”
I gave her a gentle nod. “I’ll survive. Thank you for being such a good friend.”
“Always, Cali Girl,” she said. She heaved me in for a hug so hard I almost fell off my stool. “If you ever need anything—and I mean anything —you just say the word.”
“Actually, if you could get Harper to stop planning Lincoln’s murder, that would be great,” I said into her hair.
Since my unwelcome discovery of the Pit, Harper and I had experienced bouts of awkward encounters.
I knew I couldn’t be mad with her; she was simply doing what she thought she had to in order to keep me out of trouble.
But I did wish she had been more honest with me from the start.
Maybe then I could have shielded my heart against Lincoln before I gave it to him.
“No can do.”
I couldn’t contain the giggle that escaped past my lips. “And why not? ”
“Because I’m helping her.” She leaned back, one hand resting on each of my shoulders. “For legal purposes, I’m kidding. But that boy better hope we don’t cross paths anytime soon.”
She gave me a pat only to saunter off to the bar with the empty glass she had sitting on the high top table we were occupying.
She shimmed with the music all the way to the bartender in her leather boots.
I still didn’t know how much she knew about Lincoln and the underground fight club, but I was too afraid to ask.
While Ella schmoozed another drooling college boy into buying her a drink, a vibration started in my back pocket. I dragged out my phone, taking note of the name on the screen.
My heart skipped a beat.
Lincoln’s face flashed into the display.
It was a selfie that Sadie had taken one night while I was over their house.
I had given her my phone to play with while Lincoln and I were studying—something to pass the time and keep her occupied.
Well, the smart cookie figured out how to work the camera.
Something inside me warmed at the memory.
The two of them were sporting goofy grins.
I wasn’t even sure Lincoln knew I had this picture.
Wandering towards the back door, I tried to find a quieter space to answer the call. I managed to slip into the hallway that led to the bathroom before pressing accept.
“Hello?” Lines creased my forehead.
“Cali?” That didn’t sound like Lincoln.
I pulled the phone away from my ear to double-check the name on the top of the screen. Sure enough, I hadn’t been imagining things. I returned the phone to the side of my face and spoke into the receiver. “Drew?”
“Hey.” His voice lacked the usual humor. Drew had this way of sounding like everything in the world was somehow amusing. The serious tone he was sporting wasn’t something I was expecting.
An uncomfortable prickling crawled up my back. “Hey, is everything okay? Why are you calling me from Lincoln’s phone?”
“He needs your help, Cali.”
Dread pooled in my stomach like a leaky dam. “What happened?”
Lincoln was very clear in his last words to me. He didn’t want me around. For whatever reason. The fact that his best friend was contacting me made me nauseous. A hundred different scenarios swirled around in my mind like a tornado.
“Lincoln had a match at the Pit tonight. I know you know about it,” Drew started, bringing himself to a pause. It felt like an eternity before he spoke again. “He’s hurt, Cali. He’s hurt bad.”
I was a stickler for rules.
The anxiety I experienced when I thought I’d get in trouble with an authority figure was next level.
The mere thought of being pulled over made me break out in hives.
Which is why my father joked that I drove at a turtle’s pace.
Ever since I got my license, I had taken great pride in following the speed limit.
However, on this chilly December night, I didn’t care about any of that. I had to get to Lincoln.
I made it to campus in record time, skidding into an empty parking spot and almost forgetting to lock Ella’s car. The heart of the student center was empty besides a few small groups of people scattered about. They were so relaxed, oblivious to what was happening beneath them.
Speed walking down The Underground’s steps, I bypassed the security personnel at the bottom of the stairs.
I took a sharp left and headed towards the tight hall at the end of the room.
The music rattled through me, agitating my nerves even more.
I squeezed through a few dancers who had migrated too close to the bar, their sweat-slicked bodies touching mine.
When I broke through the crowd, I beelined the rest of the way to the hidden entrance.
I checked over my shoulder before twisting the handle to the storage closet.
The metal door clanked shut behind me, leaving me in the dark.
I wasted no time yanking on the string that hung in the middle of the room.
It clicked, and the wall across from me popped open.
I scurried out of the closet, losing myself in the crowd as I entered the Pit.
Following Drew’s instructions, I moved around the perimeter of the cement room.
I couldn’t believe how many people were there.
There was music and laughing. The smell of marijuana rammed into me, smacking me across the face.
No one was phased regarding what had happened in the ring fifteen minutes prior.
Curiosity got the best of me. I peered over toward the lit-up cage.
There was no one inside, but the stadium lights were still on.
Fresh blood glistened under them. It was smeared across the mat and up the sides of the cage.
Dizziness engulfed me, and I forced myself to take a deep breath.
I had to get a hold of myself, or there would be no way I would be able to help Lincoln.
I slipped by a greasy man who sent crude comments my way, picking up the pace towards the far side of the room, just as Drew had said. I bulldozed through the first door, wandering down the hall. The lights flickered, the smell of mildew disguising the scent of smoke from outside.
Last door to the left .
The sound of my footfalls ricocheted off the walls, causing an eerie echo. As I continued down the narrow hall, I noticed the drips of blood along the concrete floors. My heart hammered harder, and I picked up the pace.
When I reached the last door to the left, I twisted the handle and barged right in.
Lincoln was sitting on a wooden bench that ran across the length of the dingy room. Sweat slicked his body, his chest heaving, but his eyes were cracked open, and a small wave of relief washed over me.
“I told you not to call her,” Lincoln grunted when he noticed me. With his teeth clenched, he leaned his head back on the grimy brick wall. His blood-slicked hand was clenched around a once-white towel. The bunched material was pressed against his torso, applying pressure to the wound underneath.
Drew was standing up against a row of rusty lockers, arms crossed. “You weren’t giving me much of a choice,” he muttered.
Lincoln shot his best friend a dirty look. “I told you my mom could do it.”
Drew scoffed. “And risk you bleeding out on the way to the hospital? Fat fucking chance. The last time we were forced to go there, it took her almost forty-five minutes to sneak out to the parking lot to fix you up.”
I shot a horrified expression between the two of them. “In the parking lot?”
“Hospitals ask too many questions,” Lincoln hissed .
“What do you mean? Just tell them you were jumped on your way home,” I said, throwing out my arms.
“And get the pigs involved?” Lincoln ground out. “Fuck that.”
Drew sent me an unamused look. “He’s got white coat syndrome.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I huffed under my breath.
Lincoln Pierce, renowned boxer for Fenton University, was afraid of doctors.
A tremor began in my fingertips. “There aren’t any medics in this place?” I asked.
Lincoln winced. “Define medics.”
“We’ve got some bartenders that are loosely trained in CPR,” Drew chimed in. When I gawked at him, he elaborated. “This isn’t exactly a sanctioned university event.”
“He should be at a hospital,” I tried reasoning with Drew.