Chapter 21 Callum
CALLUM
The rumors hit the town like a Nor’easter.
They swirl through the streets, through the Christmas market stalls, through the goddamn diner that Dean and I stop at every morning to grab a bite to eat to break up the monotony of hotel food.
It seeps in through the walls of our hotel room through the maids that come in and refresh our toiletries, through the muted laughter from the concierge downstairs, through every passing glance that lingers a little too long on us when people realize who we are as we pass them on the streets.
“Saw her with that older guy…Chief Richard’s daughter, right? They were definitely getting cozy at the cafe over off of Marlow Street. Looked like a couple of teenagers on a first date.”
“Heard she’s cycling through Richard’s whole crew.”
“Poor Richard. Imagine finding out your daughter’s shacking up with your best friends.”
The gossip mill churns, all started by Tom Harlan’s big fat mouth and his desperate need to stay relevant, to make himself feel important by twisting a tender situation into a story worth gossiping about.
It disgusts me as much as it infuriates me.
Less than a week ago, he’d seen Noelle and Dean at that cafe downtown having a heart-to-heart together and now, the whole town’s feeding on the rumors being spread, each one more outlandish than the last.
It’s eating her alive.
I can see it every time we stop by the house for our shifts. Every time she opens the door and greets us with a polite smile that doesn’t reach her hazel eyes.
We’d just gotten her back to joking with us, teasing Dean and rolling her eyes when Grant and I bickered over coffee and her baked goods.
Now, she barely looks any of us in the eye for more than a few seconds.
It’s killing me to see her shrinking again.
The weight of the town’s judgment has settled on her like a second skin, and I hate how powerless it makes me feel being able to do nothing about it.
It’s cruel and unfair that the town she’s grown up in all her life has turned on her like this.
This town eats its own when it’s bored. And right now, they’ve decided Noelle’s the main course.
Dean keeps saying it’ll blow over, that people will find something new to talk about by Christmas.
And maybe he’s right, but the damage is already done.
I see it in the way Richard’s face hardens when he hears her name mentioned whenever we head to the police precinct to get an update on the shop’s case, in the way he snaps at all three of us now like we’ve tainted her reputation personally.
And the worst part? The people spreading the rumors don’t even realize the truth: that this isn’t some scandalously lust-filled affair going on.
It’s us taking care of the woman who’s been through hell and back.
It’s us taking responsibility like we should’ve done years ago. It’s the three of us giving in to what we’ve always wanted: her.
I don’t know how much longer she can take it.
Honestly, I don’t know how much longer I can stand by and watch it happen.
Something’s got to give before the entire house of cards collapses out from under all of us.
Everything comes to a head the week of Christmas.
The day starts quiet enough with the faint hum of the heater in the background and the soft patter of heavy snowfall coming down outside the hotel windows.
It’s the kind of morning that feels deceptively calm. I’m halfway through getting dressed after a quick shower, still toweling off my hair when the sudden, heavy pounding on the door makes me freeze.
Three hard knocks.
Then three more when no one gets up to get it.
Through the slightly open adjoining door, I spot Dean sitting on the edge of the couch.
His head snaps up instantly at the sound, eyes cutting to mine as he shuts his laptop.
The look we exchange is brief and he’s already on his feet before I can say a word.
The fist hits the door again, louder this time, the rhythm is unrelenting and aggressive.
My gut tightens.
Whoever it is isn’t here for a friendly visit.
Jared, is the first thought my mind supplies.
Grant steps out from the bathroom, a towel draped over his shoulder, the shower still running behind him. His brow furrows as he glances between us. “What the hell is that?”
“Don’t know,” Dean mumbles under his breath and moves toward the door, his posture tense and ready.
I keep my towel knotted around my waist and move a few feet closer, every instinct buzzing.
Dean unlocks the deadbolt. “Alright, alright, Jesus.”
Richard barrels into the suite.
He’s not even wearing his coat, just a heavy flannel jacket and a pair of jeans, his boots still caked in half-melted snow that leaves a trail of water following after him.
His hair’s disheveled, his face red from the cold and from the anger surging through him.
None of us get a chance to react before he explodes.
“What the hell did you do?” his voice booms in the small space.
Dean straightens instinctively, putting himself between Richard and the rest of us. “What’s going on, man? What happened?”
“Don’t,” Richard snaps, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t you dare try to talk your way out of this.”
Grant and I exchange a glance, both of us completely taken aback. Richard’s never looked like this.
Hell, he’s never acted like this in the decades we’ve known him.
He’s always been level-headed, able to go into dire situations with a clear mind and a plan.
Now it’s like all sense has completely left him. What the hell happened between yesterday when we last saw him and this morning?
“You think I wouldn’t find out?” he growls, eyes flicking between Dean, me, and Grant.
Suddenly, my mind supplies the worst scenario it possibly can: he knows.
Not the rumors, not the whispers.
He knows.
Dean’s jaw tightens, the muscle twitching near his temple.
He doesn’t flinch, but there’s something in his eyes, a flicker of guilt that tells me he knows where this is going too.
He lifts his hands slightly, trying to keep things calm as Richard takes a step closer.
“Whatever it is, it’s not what you think,” Dean says carefully.
“Oh really,” Richard fires back. The emotion in his voice fractures, rage splintering into grief, grief curdling back into rage again. “Because what I think, Dean, is that the men I trusted took advantage of my daughter. Tell me that’s not what happened.”
I swallow hard, my heart stammering against my ribs.
The suite seems to shrink, the walls bending in under the weight of his accusation.
Richard’s chest heaves, his hands white-knuckled and balled into fists at his sides.
He’s not shaking from the cold, he’s shaking from restraint.
From holding himself back from the absolute, raw animal need to unload whatever pain is burning behind those eyes of his onto us.
“Jesus. You don’t really believe that,” Grant says.
Richard whips toward him, eyes burning. “She told me. Everything.”
Richard advances again, forcing Dean to plant his hands flat to his chest.
It isn’t hard enough to shove him back, but enough to stop him from closing the last inches and crush him against the wall.
“Stop,” he warns.
“All these years. All this time…how fucking long have you all been looking at my daughter like that? How long has this been going on?” His voice breaks on the last word, ragged with hurt and betrayal.
“Enough!” I snap, louder than I mean to, but if I don’t say it no one will. “No one took advantage of anyone. We all need to calm down.”
He turns on me then, hurt and accusation folded into a look that slices right through me. “Don’t lie to me!”
God, this cannot be happening.
My brain scrambles, reaching for anything that might diffuse this explosion before it destroys everything, but there’s nothing.
There are no words, no quick fixes, no half-truths smooth over the sharp edges of this moment as they cut through all of us like fractured pieces of glass.
The only thing clear and undeniable is the cold, merciless certainty that Noelle must have told him this morning.
That’s the only thing that makes sense.
Why else would he storm over here during a damn snowstorm, boots still dripping and eyes wild ready to beat us all for touching his daughter?
Something pushed her to speak the truth. Something worse than fear, worse than the silence that’s caged her for years.
Maybe guilt?
Maybe desperation.
Or maybe she thought telling him would finally bring relief.
But relief isn’t what this is.
This is complete fallout.
If she told him, there’s no walking this back.
No excuses that will soften reality.
The fragile secret we’ve all been keeping between us for all these years, protecting it like it was something holy to hold onto, has just been ripped out of the dark and thrown into the cold light of day.
It’s no longer ours to keep.
It’s his now too, and he’s standing in front of us, breaking apart with it.
“I trusted you. I trusted all of you. You were supposed to keep her safe, not—” He can’t even finish the sentence. His hand comes up like he’s about to run it through his hair but falters midair. “How long has this been going on behind my back?”
Dean’s eyes flash, something cold and hard replacing the guilt. “Does it matter?”
That’s all it takes for the first fist to fly.
I’m moving before the thought even registers, crossing the short distance to pull Richard away and shove him back toward the door.
He’s shouting again, but this time I can’t hear him over the rush of blood pulsing through my ears.
It isn’t until I get him out in the hallway that his words finally register.
“You’re supposed to be my brothers!”
“We are!” I shout back. I plant a hand against his chest to keep him from pushing past me. ““But Noelle is a grown woman, Richard. You can’t control who she loves. This—this isn’t helping her. It’s just breaking her all over again.”
For a long moment, he stares at me like he doesn’t recognize me.
Like everything we’ve been through together—every late night call, all that time spent together when we were younger and had no responsibilities, the promises we made to each other as best friends—has been completely rewritten in the last five minutes.
The fight drains from him almost instantly, but the damage is done.
His chest still heaves, but the edge is gone.
His gaze drops to the floor, down to the trail of melting snow he’s left behind.
“She was supposed to be safe,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “After everything she’s been through. After Jared, after the break-in…I just wanted her safe.”
I let go slowly, my hands still hovering near him in case he decides to come back swinging again, but he doesn’t.
He just stands there shaking and completely unraveling.
“She is safe. Safer than she’s ever been,” I say quietly.
He looks up at me then, and I swear I see tears gathering in his eyes, clinging stubbornly to the edges.
He blinks hard, swallows them down. “Don’t ever come around my family again. Any of you.”
Without another word, he turns and starts down the hallway.
His boots squeak wetly on the tile, the sound echoing after him until he disappears around the corner.
I stand there for a long moment, trying to slow the hammering in my chest, and try to piece together what’s left of the mess we’ve made.