As quick as it happened, it’s over and Hael is stepping back. He grins as he releases me, but that, too, fades as he flicks a look back at Brittany and frowns.

“You have two minutes starting now. What do you want?”

Now that I’m satisfied that Brittany—who the hell knows what her last name is—looks properly homicidal, I decide to give Hael some space. Because you can’t fucking stand watching her look at him, huh, Bernadette? I grit my teeth.

“Got you a coffee,” Cal says, and I turn around to find him pointing at the only free table in the entire place. There are three coffees waiting, three pastries. I decide I truly don't care enough about Brittany to stick around and listen to her BS on Hael. Instead, I join Callum at his table.

But on the inside … yeah, my stomach is churning, and my gaze keeps flicking back to them. I just feel anxious, and I can't figure out why. Maybe when Vic mentioned speaking the truth, he didn’t just mean to other people—he probably also meant to myself.

“Don't worry about them,” Cal says, splitting his croissant in half and looking over at me with bright, blue eyes. “Hael is done with Brittany for good.”

“What makes you say that?” I ask, and he shrugs. The tattoos on his right arm are so eye catching, I find myself staring at them instead of his face. He's got these black ribbons twisted around his muscles, the shine and linework on them so crisp that they look real. The ribbons lead to a broken girl lying in a heap in a spotlight. I can't see her face, but her blond hair cascades around it in a curtain, the detail so fine I feel like I could reach out and touch it.

“She cheated on him with one of the Fuller football boys. There's nobody Hael hates more.” Callum's voice is low and rough, but in a pleasant sort of way, this husky darkness that traces like velvet across my skin. Curiosity is going to get this kitty killed because I’m dying to know the real story behind Cal’s scars. “They've cheated on each other before, but this is like, last straw shit for him.”

I focus on my coffee and let my eyes wander the crowd, taking in the designer labels, the fancy diamond tennis bracelets, and the think-their-shit-don't stink VSCO girls with their stupid ass Save the Turtles metal water bottles, hair scrunchies, and vacuous facial expressions. If you don't know what a VSCO girl is, Google it. Maybe you'll be as disturbed as I am, having to look at them with their fair-trade coffees in their biodegradable cups. Guess they can save the world with paper straws while still driving gas-guzzling cars, using makeup tested on animals, and calling me an asshole for smoking. Good on them.

“How did he even meet Brittany?” I ask, running my finger around the rim of my coffee cup. “I thought Fuller and Prescott were rival enemies to the bitter end.”

“On the spring break trip last year,” Callum says, eyes darting around the room, taking note of anyone who looks like they might have balls or ovaries big enough to pick a fight with us. We are very clearly the outliers here, dirty Prescott High trash daring to mix with the Fuller elite. They think of themselves as savage royals, but they're nothing but petty cowards and liars. “Prescott High stays on one side of the lake, Fuller on the other. I guess Hael and Brittany got drunk and stumbled on one another.” Cal shrugs his shoulders again, dismantling his entire croissant before he eats it.

I take a sip of my coffee, and I'm pleased to discover that it tastes like dirty dishwater. On the other side of the tracks, in this crappy hole-in-the-wall that uses Styrofoam cups (sorry turtles, I want to save the environment, too, but sometimes socio-economic problems get in the way), that has coffee a hundred times better than this hipster hellhole.

“Brittany's using him to get back at her father,” Callum continues, realizing that Hael's not likely to want his food, seeing as he's white-knuckled, face pale, jaw clenched and shaking over there. Fortunately, Cal takes care of this for him, once again dismantling the croissant before eating it.

“Who's her father?” I ask, and Cal pauses, looking up at me in surprise.

“The chief of police,” he says, and I cock a brow, my hand squeezing so hard on my coffee cup that it dents and hot coffee pours out the top, scalding me. I curse and dab at it with a napkin, thinking about the Springfield police and the depth of their corruption.

“Fantastic.”

Callum and I sit in companionable silence for a while, until the front doors open, and three huge dudes walk in. They're all as big as Vic, and it's clear from moment one that they're looking for trouble.

The guy in front is a bit smaller than the other two, so I figure he's probably the quarterback of the Fuller High football team. Who else could these jerkoffs possibly be? I mean, they’re the total clichéd package—complete with letterman jackets.

“Oh, hey there Prima,” QB-dude says, sauntering over in our direction. He hasn't noticed Hael and Brittany on the other side of the coffee shop. Nah, he's just homing in on the first target he came across. But Prima? What the fuck is that nickname about? “What the hell are you doing on our side of the city, huh?”

Callum takes another sip of his coffee, and I can't help but notice how much smaller he is than even the leader of these thugs. Not good. I'm willing to step in and fight, too, but it's gonna be a tough one.

“Did you hear my question, you trailer park fag—”

Callum's up in an instant and tossing his steaming hot coffee into the guy's face. The scream QB lets out is legendary, stumbling back into his buddies and scratching at his face with his nails. In an equally smooth follow-up, Cal steps forward and throws a perfect right-hook into the guy's face.

The crowd in the café erupts into booing, tossing insults our way and encouraging their own guys to kick some ass. Hael appears from behind the other two football douchebags, on par with their weight class, and sucker punches first one and then the other, knocking them forward and stirring up the chaos. He opens the door to the café and gestures for us to join him.

Snatching both my coffee and Hael's, I get the hell out of there before the rest of the team shows up and we end up outnumbered in enemy territory.

Cal climbs into the backseat of the Camaro while I take the front seat, and Hael slides in, gritting his teeth, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he starts the engine and peels away from the curb.

“You okay?” I ask, because he seems nonplussed while Callum is calm as a cucumber.

“Fine,” Hael grinds out as I set his coffee in the cup holder and give him a look.

“I thought Havoc was all about transparency? Family first, right?”

“Brittany just told me she's pregnant, okay?” he snaps, and my eyes go wide. Wow. No wonder Hael is soaked in sweat. At the same time, I feel my stomach churn with that same anxious energy I felt in the café. And it's not because Callum just assaulted a kid with scalding coffee. No, this is about Hael and Brittany.

“Damn it, dude,” Cal growls out from the backseat.

“It's not my kid,” Hael murmurs, but like he's trying to convince himself as much as he is me.

“You're not the first guy to pull that shit when he realizes he's made a mistake,” I say, and Hael punches the steering wheel with his tattooed fist.

“No. I used a condom every time. Whoever's baby that is, it isn't mine.”

“Condoms aren't foolproof,” I respond, and that anxious feeling in my stomach gets even worse. Vic and I did not use condoms appropriately last night, and I'm not on any birth control. Shit. The last thing I need is a baby in my life. The responsibility, and the weight, that would end me. At least Hael bought me extra morning-after pills, huh? Although I’m smart enough to know they don’t always work. “It could still be yours.”

“It's not,” Hael snaps, and that's the end of the conversation.

We head over to Kara's friend’s house to pick up the girls. Cal lets Ashley sit on his lap and buckles them in together while Kara gets the middle seat, and Heather sits on the other side. They're all so excited about the party that they talk nonstop on our way back to Aaron's.

As happy as I am that Heather had a good day, I can't get Hael's words out of my mind. Brittany just told me she's pregnant, okay? I don't like that. I don't like it at all.

When we get back to the house, the girls rush in and head straight upstairs to fight over the game system in Kara's room while Hael paces the front lawn, raking his fingers through his hair and smoking like a chimney.

“What the fuck is wrong now?” Vic asks, coming out to stand on the front porch, his arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes tracking his best friend's movements.

“Brittany's pregnant,” I offer up when Hael stays silent, and Vic's brows go up.

“Interesting.”

“Interesting?!” Hael shouts, chucking his half-smoked cigarette and starting another. He's gesturing like a crazy person, and one of the neighbors is already staring our direction. “How is this fucking interesting? This is a nightmare.” He throws both his pack of cigarettes and his freshy lit one into the grass and puts his tattooed hands over his face. “I fucking hate Brittany. I hate her. And her father is a nightmare from hell. He'll crucify me. He'll ruin everything.”

“Don't be so dramatic,” Vic says, tilting his head to one side.

“Dramatic?” Hael drops his hands and gives Vic this look that's half pleading, half terror. “The chief's got that new anti-gang unit just frothing at the mouth to come after us.” Hael keeps pacing, and then I hear something I never expected: him cursing in French.

Whoa.

What the fuck?

“Is it yours, bro?” Vic asks, glancing my way and studying me like he expects me to give up my feelings that easily. I smile, just to throw him off. On the inside, I'm screaming and I'm not sure why. My body aches from all the places Vic touched me, and my skin is just as marked with his touch as his is with mine. We owned each other last night, no doubt about that.