Chapter 22 #3
This night has somehow stretched into eternity, one that's had me physically ill and mentally disturbed all at once.
Noah has been MIA for most of it, thank fuck, and Trigg has backed off, choosing to watch the girls dance the night away from the end of the bar rather than their heels, but it's the watching that has me on edge.
My jaw has been set all night, my nerves on a slow simmer.
When she first arrived and laid eyes on me, her dancing was slow and deliberate.
She knew I was watching, and I know she liked it.
However, after our kiss and the conversation that ended before I could say anything meaningful, she hasn't looked my way once.
Another man, the third one tonight, leans in, his hand fitting in the small of her back, splayed possessively as he pulls her in.
It's nothing I haven't seen. I've watched her entertain a dance and push them away, choosing to let loose with Sydney and Asha.
It's the smile on her face that has kept me behind the bar.
I want to see her happy. But this guy isn't like the rest. He's either had one too many before he got here, or he thinks he can take what he wants without asking for it. Neither works for me.
Laney tries to push him back, her shoulders tense as her hands press against his chest, but he doesn't budge.
Instead, his eyes narrow with a predatory focus as he tries again, this time pulling her into him with enough force that she stumbles against him.
Her expression flashes from annoyance to alarm, and I see red.
The bourbon I was pouring floods over the rim, amber liquid cascading across the polished bar top, the bottle crashing to the floor as I vault over the bar in one fluid motion, my body moving on pure instinct as I hurriedly make my way across the bar.
I catch him by surprise, one hand gripping his shoulder while extracting her in one swift movement, positioning her behind me before shoving him back hard enough that he staggers.
"What the hell?" he stammers, equal parts shock and fury flashing across his face.
"Take a hint," I growl, trying to keep my voice steady and not make any more of a scene than I already have. "She doesn't want to dance with you." I clench my fists at my sides hard enough that my fingernails bite into my palms.
His eyes flick from me to her, jaw tightening. He's too drunk, too proud to back down. "Are you with him?" he dares to ask her, dismissing me as if I'm not standing inches from him, ready to swing.
She steps beside me. "No," she says, her voice sharp and precise. "He's just the man picking up my tab tonight."
The words land like a slap, but I don't flinch.
His clown friends mutter a few choice heckles, but I let them roll off me.
My attention is already shifting because, by the time my eyes swing back to hers, she's pushing through the crowd, heading for the exit.
I stand rooted, collecting a second to rein in my anger as I watch her retreat.
Then, ignoring the assholes behind me, I follow.
The night air hits us both as the door swings shut, sealing off the thrum of the music inside.
She's halfway across the parking lot, boots angrily crunching against the gravel, when it happens.
The ankle she injured before gives out on the uneven gravel, and she falls forward, but I'm there before she can make it to the ground.
My arms circle her waist, pulling her back against my chest before steadying her.
For a moment, we freeze like that, her back pressed to my front.
I can feel her heart racing, or maybe it's mine, the events of tonight leaving us both reeling as we try to navigate this new territory.
"You okay?" I murmur, not letting go.
She nods, but when she tries to put weight on her foot, she winces. Without hesitation, I sweep one arm beneath her knees and lift her into my arms. "What are you doing?" she asks, but her arms instinctively loop around my neck.
"Taking care of you," I answer simply. Her eyes search mine in the dim glow of the parking lot lights.
This close, I can see the flecks of gold in her irises.
Her lips part slightly, and for a moment, I think she might argue and demand I put her down.
Instead, she relaxes into my hold, her body softening against mine. "Where's your car?"
"I don't have one," she answers, her tone losing the brass it had inside.
"Okay, who drove? "
"Hale," I hear Noah's voice boom from behind us, the noise from inside filtering through the door as he makes his exit.
"I don't want him to take me home," Laney says so only I can hear.
Fuck. Why couldn't he have stayed in the shadows a little longer? Part of me wonders if he wasn't waiting for this moment, one where he could say I finally caught you.
I turn around with Laney in my arms just as the rest of the crew makes their way out. "Put her down, London," Noah demands, as if he has any authority to.
"Sure," I grind out. "Just as soon as you tell me what car. Her ankle is giving her trouble."
I can tell it's on the tip of his tongue to offer to carry her, but shockingly, he keeps his mouth shut.
There's no way in hell I put her in his arms, and I think he's too proud to be on the losing end of that war.
Her eyes flash up to mine, disappointment flooding her face with yet another rejection from me, but it's not for the reasons she thinks.
"Laney can ride with us," Asha says, catching up to us. "She's staying with me anyway."
"None of you should be driving. I haven't served Noah since he arrived hours ago," I point out.
"Oh, we're not driving," Asha points to the Suburban parked at the back of the lot. "That's my driver, and that's our ride."
"I'll go with Asha and Sydney," Laney cedes.
I call out to Noah, who is standing beside his car a few yards away with the passenger-side door open.
"She doesn't want you, Donovan." Sydney reaches the Suburban first, opening the back door for me to put her down.
Setting her down, her warmth leaves my body before I'm ready to let it go.
"Do you have your phone?" Her hands fall to her sides, plunging into the pockets hidden in her boho dress before nodding yes. "Prove it," I challenge with a plan.
The second her phone is out of her pocket, I send her my number via AirDrop. "Why are you giving me your number? "
"Because we're friends. If you need me"—I pull the seatbelt across her lap and click it into place before finding her face—"call me, and I'll be there, but I can't take you home ton?—"
"I don't want to be your friend," she cuts me off before I can explain.
Her face searches mine with a mix of new emotions I can't place.
I'm unsure of how to interpret their meaning.
Are her words rooted in the same sentiments as mine?
The other day, when she suggested we be friends, I couldn't bring myself to agree to the title because I want so much more.
Is she saying she wants more, or does she want me gone?
"You heard her," Noah says suddenly, pulling the door wider and invading our moment. "She doesn't want to be your friend, Hale. You've done enough."
Her words and his tone set me off, and all the fucks I had to give disappear as I step into him and push him back hard enough that he loses his footing and falls to the ground. The sound of his body hitting the gravel sends a dark satisfaction through me.
Asha and Sydney shriek, my move catching them completely off guard as the night air now crackles with tension.
"You don't get to speak for her!" I roar as Fisher rushes to my front, pulling me back as Noah gets to his feet. Noah's eyes darken with a hatred I recognize all too well.
This is what he wants. He wants me to lose control, to become the monster everyone already thinks I am.
"You really want to go there," he challenges, the fury in his tone matching my own as his face flushes with anger and something that looks a lot like anticipation. "I don't mind an audience, Hale, but I think we both know the same can't be said for you."
The implication hangs between us like a blade.
He's threatening to expose everything. Right here.
Right now. The commotion has drawn the attention of a few patrons as they exit.
I'm already going to hear about how I handled things inside from Baylor later.
I don't need any more problems. And while I'm resigned to giving Laney every truth she deserves, it won't be while she's drunk in a parking lot under the watchful gaze of small-town folk eager to turn our misfortune into tomorrow's gossip.
"It's not worth it," Fisher says, keeping his arm extended across my chest, his fingers digging into my shoulder.
"You should listen to your friend, Hale. You wouldn't want to start something you can't finish." Noah's voice drops an octave, laced with venom, as he glances over his shoulder to Trigg, who's standing a few feet behind him, watching everything unfold beside Asha and Sydney.
I roll my neck from side to side, the vertebrae cracking like gunshots in the tense silence. Fisher's hand twists in my shirt, a silent warning. He knows I'm seconds away from losing my fucking shit, from crossing a line I can't uncross.
"She may not want to be my friend, Donovan," I say, voice dangerously low, "but I'm not the one she told to go home."
Something flickers across Noah's face. I pushed a button. Good.
"She's had years to tell me that." His head tilts to one side, a calculated gesture. "You don't find it peculiar she waited until now to do so?"
I run my thumb over my bottom lip, not bothering to hide the smirk pulling at the corner of my mouth. "If six years wasn't enough time to win her heart, I don't think it's gonna happen for you. If I were you, I'd pack my shit and leave just like she asked before we have a problem."
"Nah, I told you once, I play for keeps, and I don't lose." His words are confident but ignorant of reality.
"That's what you don't seem to get, Donovan. This isn't a fucking game to me. It's my life!" I say, taking a step forward and pounding my chest, my rage hitting a boiling point.
That's when my peripheral vision catches Laney's stare from the backseat of Asha's car.
Her eyes are locked on me, quizzical and intense, dissecting every word and reaction as she tries to put together the pieces I haven't given her.
The pieces that would destroy her world as surely as they destroyed mine.
She deserves to know. But not like this.
I move to close the distance between us, but Noah beats me there, slamming the car door before saying, "Let me tell you what's not going to happen: you and her.
" His voice drops to a whisper as he leans in.
"You may no longer fear giving her the truth.
.." He looks around before speaking low enough that only I can hear.
"But tell me, are you willing to switch places with her that night? "
My blood runs cold. Through the window, I see Laney press her head against the seat. My eyes narrow on his, searching for a bluff. "You'd really do that to her?"
I took the fall. I disappeared. I erased a night, and I have no doubt his father helped cover my tracks and buried the evidence beneath layers of privilege and power.
"Try me, Hale," he spits. "You don't get to take the girl."
I meet his infuriated glare with heat that burns hotter than his.
This isn't over, but for tonight, I'll let him have the last word.
He doesn't need to know my intentions so that he can sabotage them.
I can't think straight with adrenaline coursing through my veins, turning my thoughts to static.
I don't think he'd reopen the case and put Laney on trial.
He cares for her more than that. But discovering she's in the same town as me is a fresh wound, and his hate for me runs deep.
"If you make good on that threat, it will be the last thing you do," I say, my voice a warning. "I already live in hell. A cell won't change that." I hold his dark-blue gaze, ensuring there's no mistake that my words, unlike his, aren't an empty threat.
Then, turning on my heel, Fisher steps to my side. "Stay with the girls tonight," I tell him. "I don't need him pulling anything that can't be undone."
"Yeah, I was planning on making sure they got home safe anyway." Fisher's eyes search mine. "What about you? Are you going to be okay?"
"I haven't been okay in a long time. This is nothing new." I squeeze his shoulder. "Take care of the girls, and don't worry about me."
The weight of Noah's stare burns into my back as I walk away, each step carrying me farther from Laney but not from the truth that binds us.
The night air fills my lungs, cold and sobering.
I thought she was in my past. I've mourned the loss of her for six years, but what I'm finding is that the past doesn't die, and if that's true, it's not even the past. It's now.