9. Callum
CHAPTER 9
CALLUM
I lose myself in the weeks that follow. We nurse Lord Pawldemort back to health. He becomes my shadow… Not that I mind. The little guy is growing on me. That checks out because everything in my life looks better these days with Maisie by my side.
Each moment with her is better than the last. I’m all in with this woman. Nothing else matters. I’m caught in a haze where pressing Maisie’s curvy body against every surface of this ranch becomes my favorite pastime.
We violated the tack room and the hayloft. Then we take over the kitchen counter at her apartment when we can get rid of Rosalie for a few minutes. If there’s a flat surface, the chances are we’ve already tested its weight limit.
Every time I touch her, the world falls away. The noise. The pressure. The past. It all quiets the second my hands find her skin. There’s something about the way she gives herself to me, with so much trust, that leaves me drunk with want.
She doesn’t demand anything from me, but she’s got this way of pulling out the best in me. I want to be the man she thinks I am. I’m putting it all on the line to make it happen. But tonight is a test of just how far I’ve come.
Maisie’s getting a true Kingridge indoctrination. Game night at Pa’s house is nothing short of legendary. Beer pong is basically a full-contact sport for us… and my dumbass brothers are pushing every button I have.
Alex assigns her a team, but Maisie opts out of the madness. Instead of playing, she chooses the safety of the porch swing, where she sits between Priya and Cassidy.
It’s getting late. Maisie has lasted this long despite the fact that she wasn’t feeling well earlier. I take that as a good sign. Then I hope to God she doesn’t have whatever it is her sister’s got.
Seeing her here in the middle of everything settles something in me. All night, I do everything I can to help her feel welcome, checking in with every glance. Maisie belongs with our pack, and I hope she can see that.
But now, I’m just as many drinks in as my brothers are, and all the good intentions in the world can’t keep my temper in check.
“Y’all are lucky Fallon ain’t back yet. That loss of yours would’ve happened even quicker.” Geoffrey raises an eyebrow at me.
“Fuck you, man. You started before he said go,” I snap, stepping up to the table and locking eyes with him.
“Are you serious, bro?” He fires back at me, slamming his fist against the table like it’s a gavel. An almost-empty Red Solo cup tips over. It splashes beer on his jeans.
“For fuck’s sake.” Alex’s voice booms from across the patio. He’s exasperated when he cuts his eyes at my side of the table. “Can you just accept that you lost that round because you aren’t as good as us and let’s move on?”
“That's it. Let’s go, old man,” I snap and square up to Alex from across the table.
The insults sling back and forth as voices rise. I wait for someone to throw the first punch because that’s exactly where this game always leads. It’s getting late, and we’re loud enough to wake the cows. But none of us Kingridge brothers know how to walk away from a competition.
Losing gracefully has never been our thing.
Pa’s back porch is thick with testosterone and stubborn pride. There’s enough spilled beer to fill a trough out here. But somewhere behind me, I catch Maisie’s laugh. It’s light and untouched by the brewing chaos. It’s a relief. At least she knows what she’s getting into with this group.
“Enough.” Bowen’s voice booms over the rest of us. Then, his words drop an octave. They come out calm and measured. “Enough of the bullshit. Let’s call it what it is. Geoffrey, Alex, Callum… y’all got here early enough to swipe the lucky stool. It’s on your side, and that’s why you’re winning. Like the cheating little bitches you are.”
A beat of silence passes. It’s just long enough to register the insult.
Then— Swipe.
Geoffrey’s hand cuts across the beer pong table. He sends every last Solo cup flying and beer sloshes. Ping pong balls scatter and roll across into the pool. It’s game over.
And just like that, all hell breaks loose. We’re shoving, laughing, and dragging each other into half-assed wrestling holds. Holden ends up in the pool, fully clothed, with a string of profanity pouring out of his mouth. I get Bowen locked up in a shoulder grip that I’m not sober enough to properly execute.
Ding dong.
The sound stops us mid-scuffle. A doorbell coming from inside Pa’s house? All six of us freeze.
Alex squints. “Since when does Pa have a doorbell?”
“And who the hell would use it?” Geoffrey mutters.
We look at Pa, but he doesn’t even flinch. He just mutters something under his breath and shuffles inside like it’s nothing. We all stand there, breathing hard, half-tangled in each other, and listen to the footsteps.
Alex does a quick headcount. “It’s not one of us, we’re all accounted for besides Fallon. Well, and…”
Pa reappears, and he’s got Danner at his side.
“And fucking Danner,” I grumble.
“Oh, hell no,” Bowen groans.
“There goes the night,” Holden mutters.