27
SERGIO
Nacho called me an hour ago. Told me about the grocery store, and Jessica standing her ground. I’m so fucking proud of her.
I left practice early. Drove home with my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ached.
Carlos texted twenty minutes ago: She's in her nest. Shaken but whole. I'm with her. Pedro arrived ten minutes after that. Parked his car and came inside without a word.
And then I hear it. Callum's truck tears up the gravel drive.
I move to the window.
The truck skids to a stop ten feet from the porch. Black F-150. Custom rims. Vanity plate that says MORRISON. He must have ditched the rental and gone back for his truck, wanting the intimidation factor of the vehicle we all know. The one he drove to our place every Sunday for poker night. It used to mean friendship and is now just another symbol of what we've lost.
Those nights are over now.
Callum throws open the driver's door and storms toward the house. His face is red. Fists clenched. He's wearing a suit, charcoal grey, no tie. Probably came straight from work when he heard what happened at the grocery store.
A lifetime of friendship. He was there when my parents died, when I needed him most. Now that person is gone. I don't recognize whoever is storming up my porch steps.
"Sergio!" His voice cracks through the evening air. "Get out here!"
I drain the last of my coffee. Set the mug in the sink. Roll my shoulders once to loosen the tension building between my blades.
Then I walk to the front door and open it.
Callum stands on the porch, chest heaving, eyes wild. His usually perfect hair is disheveled. His suit jacket is wrinkled. There's a scratch on his cheek that wasn't there yesterday.
"Where is she?" He tries to push past me.
I don't move. My shoulder blocks the doorframe. Six foot three. Two hundred twenty pounds. He's not getting through unless I let him.
"She's inside."
"I want to talk to her."
"No."
"This is between me and Jessica."
"Wrong." I keep my voice level. Calm. "You put your hands on her. In public. Left bruises on her arm. That makes it between you and me."
His jaw tightens. "She told you."
"Nacho was there. Watched the whole thing."
Something flickers in Callum's eyes. Fear, maybe. Or calculation. Hard to tell with him anymore.
"It wasn't like that." His voice shifts, smoothing into the reasonable tone he uses in courtrooms. "I was trying to talk to her. She overreacted. You know how emotional omegas get."
"Choose your next words carefully."
He blinks at the steel in my voice.
"Sergio. Come on. It's me." He spreads his hands, palms up. The picture of innocence. "We've been friends since we were five years old. You're really going to take her side over mine?"
"Yes."
