Chapter 29
POV: Cole?
I didn’t do it because I was a pussy.
I was the farthest thing from a goddamn pussy.
But I couldn’t insult her father. I couldn’t argue with him. It would only prove his point—that I’m some self righteous—no good asshole, who didn’t deserve his daughter.
And while, I’m sure 3 out of 3 were actually true, I still wanted her.
Abby changed everything for me. She made me feel things I didn’t even know were inside of me. She made me realize how much I needed her.
But I knew her father was worried about what life I could give her. He was worried if I was ever going to be good enough for her.
But I already knew the answer to that conundrum.
I’d never be good enough for her.
So, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I stayed quiet. I watched. I waited. I pondered. I protected her in my own way.
Abby barely looked at me after that. It was the best option, even if she didn’t see it like that.
But still I watched her—silently—protectively. I watched the way her dress brushed just right above the under curve of her ass, the way she walked, gracefully and intentionally, making every man in this fucking place notice her, and the way she tilted her head back to laugh, entrancing them.
The truth was….she belonged to me just as much as I belonged to her.
And I didn’t think I could let her go.
Even if it was the right thing to do. Even if I didn’t know if I could give her what she needed.
So, I decided that I would try—I would try to be different—I would try to be the man who deserved her.
The thought fucking terrified me, but it also enthralled me.
Because even though change was fucking terrifying—the thought of changing for the better—for her it was worth it. It meant something.
That’s why, the moment I saw it happening, my blood boiled. When I got to my feet, I pushed the stool back so far that it almost flung to the ground.
A tourist swung a punch near the door. The sharp sound of his movement cut through the room, sudden and jarring, snapping every head toward him.
Abby bolted forward without hesitation and her father followed closely, flanked by the other employees.
I was on my feet before I counted to one, running towards her, running towards the chaos.
One punch turned into many as fists flew, boots connected with bodies, and bottles of beer shattered in midair.
And there was Abby, right in the middle of it. Her hair whipped around her face as she dodged the chaos. .
I ran through the crowd, searching for her, finally locating the back of her blonde head and wrapping my arms around her, pulling her away from the chaos.
One of the tourists tried to hurl a bottle towards us but I smacked it away and shuttled Abby back towards safety.
“Cole! Cole!” she kept yelling. But all I could see was red. “Cole, I’m okay. I’m okay.”
“Stay here,” I demanded.
But she just shot me a look. “I can handle myself just fine, Cole.”
I firmly said, “Stay here, Abby. Stop being so damned stubborn.”
She shot me another look.
“Please, baby,” I said, softer this time.
“Fine,” she replied, crossing her arms against her body.
I plunged back into the crowd, my eyes scanning desperately for her father. Fists and shoulders slammed into anyone who got in my way, forcing them aside like they were nothing. Tourists stumbled and cursed, but I didn’t care.
When I finally reached him, he just stared at me, confusion etched across his face. I grabbed his arm firmly, steering him away from the throng of fists, feet, and flying bottles. “I’ve got this,” I told him.
Eventually, he seemed to understand or at least realized there was no arguing with me. He followed my lead, moving toward Abby and stepping back from the chaos.
I knew a lot about wrangling animals—and in that sense, humans weren’t much different.
I slammed into the first tourist, sending him sprawling, nearly out cold, before a swift kick sent him tumbling through the front door and onto the sidewalk outside.
The next pair I grabbed by their arms, two at a time.
They flailed and struggled, thinking they could fight free but the harder they thrashed, the easier it was to drag them out and toss them into the street.
After that, the remaining ones were sloppy drunks. Their punches were wild, their balance off, their movements sluggish. I shoved them toward the exit with hands up, one by one.
By the time I was able to take a breath, the room was quieter—tense, bruised, and emptying fast—but I kept my senses sharp. Abby was still my priority.
Eventually, the bar was cleared from the chaos and just the locals and the bar staff remained.
Abby was smirking, wide and proud.
And goddamn it felt good to see her like that—to see her proud of me instead of scolding me this time around.
I glanced over at her father’s face. His expression was usually hardened but this time it was different. There was a softness there instead.
If breaking up a bar fight was all it took to change her father’s mind—then I’m their man. I’d break up a hundred of those if it meant he would see that I was serious about his daughter.