Chapter 29 Ian
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
IAN
“Yo, Ian, hold up a second,” Nick calls out. “I made something for you.”
I swallow my water abruptly, almost choking. “Yeah? What is it?”
Jeremy plants his hands on my shoulders and shakes me hard. He slammed two energy drinks ten minutes ago, and they’re clearly hitting. “You’ll see. Oh my god, I can’t wait to see your face!”
“It’ll be easier to see my face if you aren’t shaking me like protein,” I say, wresting out of Jeremy’s grip and stabilizing myself against a pillar.
Nick chuckles, handing me a balled-up sweater, and I unfold it.
It’s a team hoodie, and when I flip it around, it has Callum’s name on it. His first name.
And it’s in my size.
Nick peers over my shoulder. “Yeah, I used his first name so people wouldn’t confuse Callum with Johnny C.”
John Cross was a first baseman who graduated last year. He wouldn’t want to date me, and the reverse was, and still is, very true.
“I hope that’s—”
I cut Nick off with a hug. “This is great. Holy crap. I fucking love you guys.”
“Aww, do you?” Jeremy coos. “Come give me a kiss.” He puckers his lips and turns his right cheek toward me, and I reach over to flick it.
“Fuck off, dude,” I say, snorting.
“Yeah, he’s practically married,” Nick adds. “If you were better-looking, I’d warn you not to tempt Ian astray, but man, you’re so chopped—”
Jeremy swings for Nick’s nuts before calling the attack off, probably remembering that Nick’s wearing a cup. Usually, I’d laugh at them, but the doors haven’t opened for the game yet—Callum’s still outside.
“I have to show this to Callum,” I say, putting the hoodie on. “I’ll be right back.”
Not wanting to waste time, I dart out of the building and weave my way to the front of the thick crowd. I almost give up, since finding him is bound to be impossible with everyone gathered like this, but I push past a line of students into emptiness, stumbling forward a few steps.
What the hell is going on? Why is everyone leaving the center of the plaza empty?
Hold up.
That’s Callum, standing in the middle of the plaza, and he’s being confronted by two people? What in the—
“Motherfuck,” I say.
Those are his parents. I can’t make out what they’re saying from this far away, and I’m about to give them a piece of my mind when Callum turns to walk in my direction.
The second I step forward to join him, his mom reaches behind her and—
Fuck.
She retrieves a pistol.
Then she points it straight at him.
My blood runs cold. They exchange words, and it’s even harder to hear what they’re saying with the commotion of dispersing students surrounding me.
My feet stay frozen. I’ve been through at least one drill a year about this since I was five—shooter means take cover. Get the hell away if you can, and don't draw their attention.
But none of those drills involved what to do if someone is pointing a gun at your boyfriend.
Everyone else is gone, and still, I don't move.
Where the fuck is campus police? Maybe they’re waiting for someone armed, and that doesn’t help.
That’s when Callum’s mom notices me, standing alone, and exposed.
Her face darkens even more as she takes me in, and I’m expecting her to turn the gun on me.
Callum follows his mom’s gaze. His eyes land on mine, and his expression crumples.
Jesus, I hate seeing him like that.
“You.” His mom spits that one word out, grating, low, and loud, and it sends a chill down my back. “Get over here so I can deal with you.”
That sounds like the last thing I should do—get closer to the unstable, gun-wielding zealot.
But she wants that, and I want her to stop pointing a gun at my boyfriend.
“Lower the gun. Then I’ll go!” I yell back.
“You don’t tell me what to do!” His mom waves her hands around, her finger on the fucking trigger. Who on earth gave her a gun?
“Do you want me to come over?”
She grits her teeth. “Do you want me to shoot Callum? What’s stopping me?”
The fact that I’ll kill you myself if you do.
My resolve breaks. “Just…please lower it. Or at least aim away from him.”
She turns the barrel to me, and my heart races. I dig my fingernails into my thumb—the sharp, biting pain registers, but it doesn’t begin to compete with the nerves in my stomach.
I send a pointed look at Callum, silently trying to tell him to make a run for it, but he stays motionless.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m walking now.”
Putting one foot in front of the other, I make slow work of the walk over to where the three of them are gathered. Anything to stall for time.
I stop a few yards away from the two of them, keeping Callum in my field of vision. His mom sneers at me like I’m smeared excrement on the bottom of her shoe, and if I wasn’t staring into the muzzle of a pistol, I’d give that contempt back ten times worse.
“Damn infidel,” she mutters.
Huh. Her morals and her vocabulary are stuck in biblical times.
I don’t reply.
She sizes me up, fixing her steely eyes on me. I know who Callum got his from, and it's uncanny. I don't break my stare, and she blinks first, thankfully lowering the gun. I let out a quiet breath, not knowing what’s coming next.
Then she passes the gun to Callum's dad. “This is yours anyway. You do it.”
She pulled a gun that’s not even her own—
“Why did you bring—”
Callum’s dad receives a smack to the shoulder. He accepts the pistol, gingerly palming the grip, and furrows his brows.
“Dispatch him,” his mom says, nodding at me like I’m wounded livestock.
“Regina, that's not—”
“Grant. Just do it. He’s the one who took Callum away from us. Make things right.”
I flick my gaze to meet Callum's, and it's painful. His eyes are clouded, and I only break contact when I register movement in my peripheral vision.
Grant raises his arms, not to aim but to get a closer look at something on the top of the barrel.
And Callum—
Holy shit.
He takes the chance and lunges, slamming his six-five frame clean into his dad.
The gun drops to the ground with a wimpy clatter, sliding away from the tussling pair of bodies.
Regina rushes toward the weapon, and I make a dive for it at the same time, grabbing the piece of metal before she can reach it.
Then I straighten up, moving into a ready stance. Regina doesn't stop rushing over.
“Don't come closer,” I blurt out. She flinches, considering, before continuing, and I step back, giving myself space and keeping my index finger pressed across the guard, how you’re supposed to handle a weapon. “I said stop!”
This time, she listens.
The silence that follows sinks deep into my guts, wrenching me right from the core.
What is going on? In the space of five minutes, I went from laughing at Callum’s name on a hoodie to pointing a fucking gun at his parents. Or rather, his mom.
I don't dare look away from Regina in case she tries to come for me again, but when I step back a few more steps, Callum and Grant come into view.
Callum is still lying on top of his dad, who isn't putting up much of a fight.
Nobody moves. Callum stares at me, his mouth parted. I can't see more of his expression. My body shakes, and I tense my muscles, forcing myself to stop.
And that’s when I inspect the top of the barrel. The chamber indicator is down.
The gun isn’t loaded.
My stomach gets lighter, even though the weight that’s lifted is infinitesimal—Callum’s parents are still here, still out of their minds, and they might have more weapons on them.
I need to keep Callum safe. That comes first.
Grant, who’s still splayed underneath Callum, is less likely to try something stupid, even if I don’t have much to back that assessment up.
Callum needs to make a break for it and get far, far away.
“Callum, get out of here,” I say, jerking my head in his direction. The words come out way harsher than I intended, which makes sense, given the tension in every muscle of my body. “Don't worry about me. I’ll handle this.”
He stays silent, his eyes not leaving mine. I give him another nod, firmer this time, and he scrambles to his feet, bolting toward the ballpark entrance.
Grant sits up, still not saying a word, and I can only describe his expression as exasperated and done.
He might not be the one instigating right now, but he still isn’t getting any credit. He had nineteen years to treat Callum better, countless chances to talk Regina down, and he didn’t. These two are operating as one fucked-up unit.
I return my attention to Regina, who’s scowling at me.
“You think you’ve won, haven’t you?” she spits out. “I’m pressing charges for kidnapping my son.”
She’s fucking delusional, and in the interest of my own safety, I don’t respond. There’s no telling what she’d do. There’s two of them, one of me, and still no sign of the police.
Regina flails an arm at me. “Hello? I’m talking to you, f—”
Ouch. Well, getting called that was bound to happen someday, I guess. I just got lucky avoiding it so far.
“What, are you too much of a pussy to shoot, or what?”
Is she being for real right now?
I don't say anything, at least until Callum is far enough away. He hangs back, standing on the steps leading up to the ballpark, watching us.
“I can’t shoot something that isn’t loaded!” I yell, loud enough for Callum to hear. He deserves to know that the gun his own mother pointed at him wasn’t lethal.
I release the empty magazine and slide it out, pocketing it and gripping the gun by the barrel. I simply shrug back at Regina, not knowing what else to do.
It’s like she’s frozen, save for the subtle twitch in her right eye. Grant’s face has hardened into something unreadable.
The tension in the air doesn’t dissipate.
“It’s over,” I say. “You pulled a gun on a college campus around hundreds of students and security cameras. You’ve lost it.”
If I need to, I’ll run from them, but it’s better to keep them in one place to avoid a frantic campus-wide search.
Regina glowers at me. “He's our son. We can do what we see fit.”
“He's twenty,” I grit out. “He ran away from you for a reason.”
“Oh, so it was you who corrupted him.” She waves her hands, gesticulating at nobody in particular. “You’re going to rot in hell for what you are.”
If I do, I’ll see her there.
I don't respond, and her face twists up even more as she turns to Callum. “How much are you getting to take it up the ass like a poof? Is it worth it? Is it worth giving up salvation?” Regina scoffs and takes a step toward him. “I need to fucking talk to him—”
“Don’t come here!” Callum yells. “Leave me alone.”
She turns her attention to me, some kind of unplaceable rage behind her eyes. “Look what you’ve done. You turned our own son against us.”
“I only know Callum because he ran away from you,” I retort. “He left because of you, Regina. Nobody flees at midnight without a word for no reason.”
Her face reddens, and she turns to her husband. “Grant, do something!”
“Like what?” Grant says. “What do you want me to do?”
“Something! Fix this.”
How they plan on doing so is beyond me, and I sure don’t want to find out.
Thankfully, I don’t have to, because a sharp voice rings out behind me, making me jump.
“Drop your weapon!”
Finally.
I jerk my head to the voice, and I'm met with a view of four campus police officers in full tactical gear, fixing their guns on me.
With my hand fisting the barrel and fighting the urge to drop the gun like a piece of red-hot iron, I bend down, placing it to my right.
I step away, and an officer rushes toward me, grabbing my wrists and slipping them into handcuffs.
Against my better judgment, I glance over at Grant and Regina, who are watching me with dirty, smug expressions.
At least until they’re handcuffed, too.
That’s when all hell breaks loose.
Regina screams. She kicks. She tries to wrench herself away from the officer who handcuffed her, and somehow, she’s successful, at least for a few seconds. She makes a run for it, managing no more than five steps before she’s tackled to the ground by another two officers.
Even if I wanted to look away, I don’t think I could.
Grant, to his credit, has the smarts to stay silent.
What a shitshow.
“Come on,” the officer behind me says, nudging me to the left by the wrists. “Let’s go.”
“Am I under arrest?” I ask.
“No, you’re being detained. I want to ask you some questions.”
“I’m not saying anything further without legal representation.”
“Fine.”
“You’re a fucking whore, you dirty f—!” Regina yells at me, making me and the officer yank our heads up in surprise. “You’d better sleep with one eye open tonight, because nobody gets to come between a mother and her son!”
That has to be one of the worst things she could have chosen to say, but I don’t tell her. If she wants to incriminate herself, she can be my guest.
“How do those handcuffs feel? I’ll bet—”
Callum appears and cuts her off. “I’ll bet they’re a lot less comfortable than the ones we use during our long, ungodly sex marathons. Now shut up.”
Regina screams and calls Callum a Satan-worshipping slut. The officer behind me chokes on a surprised cough, and Callum sighs.
I shouldn’t laugh right now.
But Callum said what he said. I don’t know how he managed that. This is not the time for humor.
Still, I can’t help but let out a restrained snicker.
I’m handcuffed, detained, and shivering. Laughing is the only thing I can do.