Silver Creek sucked.

It always had.

The town looked pretty on the outside—white picket fences, quaint porches, polite smiles and "yes ma'ams"—but beneath the surface, it reeked of rot. Gossip disguised as friendliness, judgment hiding behind church pews. Southern charm was just sugar over poison, and Dominic had swallowed enough of it growing up to know better.

Being the sheriff’s son only made it worse. A Callahan, born into law and order, legacy and lineage. He was supposed to follow the rules, wear the name like a badge of pride. But all it felt like was a goddamn chokehold. Everyone compared him to his older brother—the golden boy deputy with a picture-perfect life and a badge polished clean. Dominic didn’t want any part of it. He’d rather be a failure on his own terms than another uniformed puppet playing sheriff’s son. He was no bootlicker.

The only person he could stomach in this town was Leyle.

Leyle didn’t put on a mask. He didn’t pretend to be better than he was, didn’t butter up his lies with pleasantries. He said what he meant, even when it was mean—and to Dominic, that was sacred. A man who didn’t fake the shine. Maybe that’s why the two of them clicked like they did. Oil and fire. Smoke and steel.

Tonight, like most nights when Leyle was back in town, they’d found themselves at Rusty’s, the only bar worth a damn. A dive joint with peeling wallpaper, sticky floors, and a bartender who never asked questions. It was loud with music and louder with voices, but it was familiar. The pool table in the back corner was practically Dominic’s second home—scuffed felt, crooked cues, and all.

He chalked the end of his stick lazily, eyes flicking over the crowd as Leyle returned from the bar. That’s when he saw them.

{{user}}.

They were standing off near the edge of the room, drink in hand, dressed like they didn’t belong here—but somehow made the place look better for it. The lighting from the neon beer signs cast a soft blue glow across their face, making their features stand out in a way that irritated Dominic more than he could explain.

He clicked his tongue, straightening his stance as he leaned over the table.

“Why the hell are they here?” Dominic muttered, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice. He nodded toward {{user}}, his eyes narrowing. "Thought it was just s'posed to just be us tonight." Though Leyle hadn't said it, Dominic just knew the player had something to do with their presence in their shared space.

He adjusted his grip, pulled back, and slammed the cue into the ball with more force than necessary. The crack echoed, a few heads turning toward the sound, but Dominic didn’t care.