The change in Callan’s face hit hard. Shock came first. Then, there was anger that tightened every line of his body. And, lastly, there was a crushing guilt that twisted his expression in a way I couldn’t handle. I looked away because it hurt to see him like that, and it hurt even more knowing I was the reason for it.
“Don’t fuck with me.”
“Why the fuck would I fuck about something like that?” Holland shot back, her voice high-pitched and filled with anger. “God, you’re a dick.”
“Whoa, whoa, stop!” He took another step closer, but Holland straightened up and stopped him.
“I swear to God, Callan, if you had something to do with this, you better fix it or I will ruin your life.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” His eyes snapped to me, and as he opened his mouth to speak, his expression suddenly changed. He noticed the look in my eyes. Saw that in this very moment, I had no trust in him. And despite it hurting, I couldn’t make sense of anything I was feeling or thinking. “No. No, no, no, Lana. I had nothing to do with this.”
“I give you one night to make that video disappear,” Holland cut in. “If it’s still up in the morning, I will ruin. Your. Life.” She emphasized the last three words, making her threat real and honest. “Until then, I’m taking her to my place.”
Callan’s head snapped toward her. “No. No, she’s not leaving. This is her home.”
Holland let out a bitter laugh. “Her home? You think she feels safe here right now? You think she’s going to sleep in this house while that video is everywhere and the people who filmed it were probably walking around here just today?”
Callan flinched. His jaw locked tight. He turned back to me, trying to reach me without moving closer.
“Please don’t go,” he said. “I’ll fix this, I promise. I’ll have it taken down. But please don’t leave.”
My whole body trembled. I didn’t know what to say or do. I wanted him. I wanted to trust him, but the pain was just too much to make sense of anything.
“Lana,” he pleaded as he took a few slow steps back. “I promise, I’ll fix this. Don’t leave. I’ll be back.” And with that, he stormed down the stairs.
“One chance,” Holland spat. “If he messes up, I will tie him to a pole and cut off his dick, then his balls, and then his nipples.”
It was an attempt to lighten the mood and maybe see things with a bit more hope. But I had none. My heart would only settle if that video were deleted. But even then, I wasn’t sure I could recover from this.
Holland started packing my bag the second we stepped into my bedroom. She moved with a frantic, focused energy, pulling clothes from drawers and folding them with angry movements. I just stood there watching her, unable to move. I couldn’t think. Every time I blinked, I saw the video playing behind my eyelids. Even if I had only seen seconds of it, I knew exactly what it looked like. I had lived it. I didn’t need a video of it to know it happened.
Their laughter echoing in my mind made everything worse, and the unprovoked hate they had aimed at me for no reason at all settled under my skin and refused to leave.
“Okay, that’s enough for a couple of days,” she said, zipping the duffel bag with a violent tug. Then she turned to me, taking me in for a moment before deciding that I needed to change. “Put on your sweatpants and a sweater. It’ll be more comfortable on the ride to my place.”
I nodded, but even changing felt like a challenge. I managed to get out of the skirt and top I was wearing, and into the matching loungewear. Once done, Holland picked up the bag and said, “Let’s go. I don’t want to be in this house a second longer than we have to.”
Reaching for my hand in a firm and reassuring grip, she led me out of the bedroom, and down the stairs. We were almost at the bottom when the front door opened.
I froze, my heart squeezing in my chest. I thought it was Callan, coming back to plead his case, but I didn’t have the strength to face him again. Not yet.
But it wasn’t Callan.
It was Rocco.
He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He took one look at us, and his easy-going demeanor vanished. His brow furrowed as his gaze sharpened with concern.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice losing its usual playful tone. “Where are you two going with that bag?”
Holland stepped in front of me again. “None of your business, Rocco. We’re leaving.”
“Like hell you are,” he said, his voice firm. “What’s going on?”
I couldn’t answer. But even if I wanted to, Holland did all the talking.
“Just let us go.” Holland’s voice was sharp. She was angry at the man she had been sleeping with these past weeks, and she didn’t bother hiding it. And she proved once again that she stood by me, no matter what.
“Not until someone tells me why Lana looks like she’s just seen a ghost,” Rocco insisted, taking a step forward. He wasn’t aggressive, but he wasn’t going anywhere. “Callan just called me. He was frantic. Said something about a video?”
