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“I have guns,” he snaps. “I want to make sure you can still shoot.”
“I’m sure I can still shoot,” I reply quietly, everything spinning. I grew up around guns and my dad and I would go target shooting all the time. “But a dead cat doesn’t mean—”
“He fucking killed the cat with a garrote, Juni.” The rage in Callum’s tone scares me. “It’s not like he picked up some roadkill and stuffed it in the box. It’s a very clear message and he won’t get within a hundred feet of you without a bullet between his eyes.”
“You need to calm down,” I beseech.
“I can’t fucking calm down,” he yells, hands going to my shoulders to pull me in close. He puts his face near mine and snarls, “He’s crossed a line and I’m going to make him regret it.”
“Just stop,” I yell at Callum, tears pooling in my eyes. “You’re scaring me.”
“Good,” he growls. “You should be scared. I’m fucking terrified something will happen to you, so I need you to take this as seriously as I do.”
“I do,” I exclaim, burying into his chest and placing my cheek over his heart. “But I need you to please just breathe with me. I can’t have you losing your shit, Callum. I’ve spent the last fifteen years with a man who always lost his shit, and I can’t take it from you too.”
Immediately, I feel the rage quell and his body relax. Arms banding around me, he hugs me tight. “Christ… I’m sorry, Juni.” His tone is low, soothing. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s okay,” I reassure him, wrapping my arms around his waist and squeezing him tight. “It will be fine. It will be fine.”
I say that over and over again, forcing myself to believe it.
“It will be fine,” he echoes.
We stand like that, holding each other for what feels like an eternity but not nearly long enough. Eventually though, Callum releases me and scrubs his hand through his hair. “Okay… I need to make a few calls. But let’s get showered—”
“And eat breakfast,” I say, attempting to force normalcy. “And then you should go to work—”
“—then we are going to the shooting range. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable with a gun. We’re going to protect ourselves, Juni. No arguments.”
“Okay, fine. No arguments. But let’s slow down and have some coffee.” I take his hand, pulling him into the kitchen. “Who are you calling?”
Callum has his phone out again and I move over to the coffee pot to pour us each a cup. It’s going to be a long day.
“First… added security,” he says and dials a number. “Van… hey. I need your brother-in-law or someone from his company to come to my house ASAP.”
I listen as Callum talks to Van Turner, one of the Titans players. His brother-in-law, Malik, works for a renowned security company and although we have an alarm system and a camera on the doorbell, I suppose Callum will want an upgrade.
When he hangs up, he immediately dials another number. I push his cup of coffee across the counter toward him, but he ignores it.
It’s clear who he calls when his first words are, “Do you know where your piece of shit son is?”
Preston Willard.
I have no clue what he says to Callum, but the scowl on his face tells me it’s bullshit. “He’s not in Vegas. He’s here in Pittsburgh. He confronted Juniper yesterday and this morning left a strangled, dead cat in my newspaper box.”
Silence as Callum listens to whatever Preston is saying.
“You pass a message on to him and you make sure he understands it loud and clear. You tell him if he comes near me or mine—and yes, Juniper is mine—he’ll get shot.”
I swallow hard because Callum isn’t kidding.
Preston must bait him because he says, “That’s not a threat, Preston. It’s a promise. Unless you want your son shipped home in a body bag, you better make sure he backs the fuck off and leaves Pittsburgh.”
And with that, Callum disconnects the call.
CHAPTER 26
Callum
