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. Justdo 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’resupposedto 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.
