Page 27 of Nailed

Their voices pierced my ears, their words caging in the claustrophobia until I was sure I was going to explode. It was so overstimulating, all of it.

But Callum held me steady.

He guided me to the rear service door, using his free arm to push the encroaching mob away from me. Outside, the air was mercifully cool and crisp, offering me a reprieve from the congestion of the hall.

I gulped it down, trying to steady my heartbeat.

“Are you okay?” Callum's concerned face loomed before me, and when he realized I was feeling overwhelmed, he stepped back, a hand tugging on his hair in frustration. “Lauren, I'm so sorry. I was trying to help and I just made things worse. I should've just kept my mouth shut.”

He looked crestfallen at the idea of contributing to the disaster that we just escaped. I wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault and that I truly appreciated him being a comforting presence and getting me out but the service door swung open again with a loud clang that locked the words behind my teeth.

The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion but also stretched into a mini eternity.

An angry local barreled out from the hall, clutching a bucket that I smelled before I saw it. It was a sweet, cloying rot, a mix of vinegary mold and heat-saturated sour.

I only had time to turn before the snarling man had reared back the bucket in preparation to throw it at me.

But Callum was there first.

His reaction time stunned me and before the protester had even managed to complete the arc of his arms, Callum had already shielded my body with his and knocked the bucket from his hands, sending it careening into the nearby bushes.

The contents of sludgy, fermented produce caught in the shrubs and the attacker looked at the discarded bucket in horror at the realization that his plot had been foiled.

But that look on his face was nothing compared to the sheer terror in his eyes when Callum stepped closer.

The switch was both instantaneous and astonishing. I didn't recognize the man standing in front of me, tried to reconcile him with the sweet Southern boy who taught me about sanding and blushed at my camera and came all this way just to make sure I didn't feel quite so alone.

“Back away from her,” he said, his lightly accented voice dropping an octave in warning.

The man stepped back but it didn't even matter—more people began pouring out from the hall.

Callum threw a protective arm around me and practically carried me to the truck parked right on the quieter side street.

Once I was secure in the passenger seat, he tore away from the sidewalk with such speed that I briefly worried about us crashing into something as the tires squealed.

But Callum was a good driver, and soon enough we were driving around aimlessly but safely far away from the mob.

He stayed quiet, his eyes darting over to look at me every now and then. He let me have the quiet, though, and for that I was grateful.

I needed time to think and process what had just happened. It felt like a bad fever dream, the entire sequence of events from the very beginning to the almost-attack near the end a painful reminder that I was way out of my depth here.

When I first discovered the locals’ displeasure with my arrival, I'd truly thought it was something that could be smoothed over relatively easily. That it had just been the product of rumors and that all I needed to do was clear things up and it would all be fine.

But this ran so much deeper than mere rumors. It hadn't mattered that I tried to explain myself, or that my true intentions and plans were a far cry from what the narrative had been spinning.

And yet, even despite all of that, I realized that I was no longer hyperventilating. I wasn't shaky or mentally befuddled or experiencing any of the emotions that had razed my nerves down to splinters.

I felt surprisingly calm. I felt safe.

I had Callum at my side, a man who'd proven that not only was he capable of softening my heart, but protecting my peace of mind and body too.

When I finally looked at him, his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

“I'll take you home, Miss Lauren,” he said, and his voice was once again back to its usual sweet cadence. “You'll be safe soon enough.”

“I don't want to go home right now,” I said.

Callum shot me a sidelong look. “What?”