Chapter 23 #2
Derek suddenly claps. If the constant booming of loud club music hadn’t become a norm during our conversation, I would’ve jumped.
“That’s what I like to hear, dude. Full communication.
Set boundaries and talk things out! Don’t just let your emotions get the best of you.
” With a sharp look in his eye, Derek grabs Grant’s drink and downs it in one shot.
“Oh, sure, drink all my bourbon. No problem.”
“I need it more than you do.”
He doesn’t expand on that before chugging down whatever is left of his beer. I have a gnawing feeling that the relationship talk, and Derek’s fresh breakup, isn’t doing any good for his drinking limits tonight.
“Who’s coming to the bar with me to get more?”
Right as Grant glances at me with concerned eyes, Liliana’s voices appears over the music. “Where’s Rosie?”
Concern washes over me. I’m not sure how much time has passed by, but if Liliana has made her way back to the table and Rosalie still hasn’t returned, something must be wrong.
While telling myself not to worry—yet—I sidestep my way out of the booth, let Liliana take my seat, and motion to Derek.
“I’ll go with you.”
The walk isn’t long. It’s much more difficult navigating around intoxicated people without Rosalie leading the way, but we manage, and I keep my nerves at bay.
During our walk, Derek makes a comment about how you’re supposed to cherish the people you love, not hurt them.
He stumbles into someone while repeating his mantra about communication.
My chest aches. Maybe we shouldn’t have been talking about relationships with alcohol so easily accessible.
I pat his back. “You’re good now, Derek. We got you.”
There’s a mix of emotions I’m able to see through the club’s dark shadows. His face is filled with hurt, confusion, and contempt, but there’s a small glimmer of hope under it, too.
“Thanks dude, I really appreciate-” Derek’s expression shifts to full confusion, and he points towards the bar. “Does Rosie know that guy?”
Whipping my head to where he’s pointing, I see Rosalie. Standing at the bar, two drinks her hand, and her chest rising and falling quickly. Her jaw is set tight, mouth pursed, and sweat is gathering on her forehead.
Jeremiah’s smug smile is a vision that shouldn’t be cursed onto anyone in the world. Especially not my girl.
I’ve never moved so fast.
I think Derek is trying to ask me another question, but I don’t hear him. I’m walking with a speed I didn’t think was possible, probably knocking into a few patrons, but I’m too focused to apologize. I see Rosie’s hand shaking and nothing else in the world matters.
The bar lights cast a glow on her that wasn’t noticeable from a few feet away. The tears welling in her eyes are unmistakable, and my heart drops.
“You don’t know when to mind your own fucking business, and then you play victim when it gets thrown back at you? Get over yourself, princess.”
The condescending pitch of his voice disgusts me. It’s too similar to the cocky, matter-of-fact tone I grew up with all my life.
A tear slides down the side of Rosie’s face, and red-hot anger starts to spread everywhere. “What happened?”
Rosie turns to me, and her shoulders fall, relaxing. Those tears don’t disappear, but her breathing steadies while I wrap an arm around her waist.
“Locke! Had no idea you were here!” Jeremiah’s voice shifts to disturbingly cheery. The music in this club hasn’t let off for a second since we’ve gotten here, but I wish it was louder.
“What happened?” I ask again, squeezing the side of Rosie’s waist to remind her I’m here.
She opens her mouth but can’t get a word in.
“I was having a nice conversation with a young woman and Rosie had to make everything about her, as usual.”
“You were harassing that poor girl!” A fire ignites in her eyes, and she sets her drinks down at the bar. “She told you ‘no’ multiple times and you wouldn’t leave her alone! She’d probably still be here terrified if I didn’t get between the two of you!”
“Just because you need men giving you attention at every point of your life-”
“Can you shut the fuck up?”
My heart is racing. Blood pumping at a rate I didn’t know was possible for the human body. When I chose to wear this suit, I assured Rosie I wouldn’t get hot. Crowds don’t make me sweat. I grew up around so many. I was uncomfortable so often, my body had become used to it and adjusted.
But now, I start to perspire. Anger rolls through me before I can try to control it. I don’t think there’s ever been a moment in my life where I let my emotions take total control, and definitely not in public. Not to someone that might have a connection in the industry that worships my father.
I can’t stop myself, though. I set a glare on Jeremiah, with his shitty attitude and jabbing words. It’s my girl he’s attacking, and I can’t stop myself.
“You’re making Rosie—and probably all the women around here—uncomfortable. I suggest you walk away.” It’s not much, but my breath is shaky. I hope he’s too caught on the unnaturally stern tone to notice.
“Princess.” Her warm brown eyes meet mine, and a light calm subdues some of the anger. “What happened?”
She moves closer to me and those tears start to disappear. “I was grabbing our drinks and Jeremiah was talking to a girl. I was going to walk away, but I heard her ask him to leave her alone. I had to say something.”
The last sentence is choked in a whisper, like she’s pained into saying it.
I know Rosalie avoids being around him, and other boys from her cohort, as much as possible.
She could’ve left. But she’s always the first person to protect and defend someone else—especially from the torment she’s been subjected to.
When I turn my head back to him, and see Jeremiah laugh, my anger rushes back ten times as strong.
His nauseating voice doesn’t help. “You always have some shit to say when it’s someone else. But when I’m teasing you and messing with you, suddenly you’re silent. You just hate seeing me give my attention to someone else, huh?”
Her body moves behind mine. There’s a short pause, no more than a handful of seconds, and Rosalie doesn’t say anything.
I’m sure people are eavesdropping now. Yelling in their minds that Rosie should say something, stick up for herself, stand her ground. Even if she’s already stood tall against him, for someone else, there’ll always be a reason why she acted wrongly. Society frames it that way.
I think back to the day she cried across the table from me and poured out her frustrations. No matter what she does, or doesn’t do in this situation, someone will have something to say.
If she stands up for herself, Jeremiah will run off and tell their peers how emotional she got. Probably criticize her for not being able to have a “civil conversation” or “take a joke,” because that’s how he’ll paint it to them.
If she doesn’t say anything, and subjects herself to bullying, people will say it’s her fault for letting it happen. Why didn’t she try harder, or speak louder, or be stronger?
My Rosie is the strongest person I know. Fighting head on for what she wants in life, and not letting anyone stop her, even if it seems like the world is set against her. She proves that to me, herself, and everyone else every day.
I take a step in front of her. If I were acting in the context of being Keller McCarthy’s son, I would walk away. I wouldn’t risk causing a scene that could get back to my dad. Getting into an argument at a bar is one of the worst possible ways to ruin whatever progress I’ve made with my father.
I look over my shoulder at my favorite brown eyes. Rosie blinks up at me, and my mind is made. I’m hers. Wholeheartedly, indisputably.
Turning my head to Jeremiah, I know that, right now, being hers is all that matters.
“You are so disgustingly insecure. It’s pathetic.”
“What did you just say?” Jeremiah fumbles with his drink in shock.
My temples throb, and my heart is set. Rosie grabs the back of my blazer.
“You’re insecure. She’s smarter than you. Better in every way. You know that, and it scares you. You attack her and hope it’ll help. It doesn’t. You’re a sad excuse of a boy.”
I don’t remember moving while I berate him, but somehow his back has become pressed against the wooden stool he’s standing in front of. I’m towering over him, looking down at the person who has made the girl of my dreams cry countless times, and I’m not finished.
“Rosalie is a woman who will exceed you in everything. That scares you. That’s what makes you pathetic. You’re a loser, Jeremiah.”
I spit the words out. They feel like acid, burning and excruciating. So unlike anything I’ve ever said before. I hope they hurt him ten times more.
Jeremiah blinks, glances between us, and takes a deep breath. His chest shakes under the blinking lights. “Locke, I’m sorry. I don’t want to piss you off. I didn’t know she dug her claws so deep into you.”
My vision goes red.
“It’s her you should be apologizing to!” He’s tumbling over the stool now, reaching to steady himself while I force myself more into his space.
“I don’t want to find out you’ve insulted her again.
Not one whispered joke between you and the pieces of shit you call friends.
Not another one of those half-subtle jabs you think are smart. Nothing. Ever.”
I have to bend my head low to get in his face. It’s fitting, since he’s so small, in both brain and body. “Do you want to guess what I’ll do to you, Jeremiah, if I find out you upset my girl again?”
He shakes his head furiously.
I have a few things in mind. Ruining his name in the finance space, running his reputation through the mud, calling every connection my father has to make sure he doesn’t achieve any of his aspirations for the rest of his life.
I would have to use my last name to do it. I hate the thought of it, but I’d do it. For Rosie, I would do anything.
When Jeremiah’s face scrunches in fear, I start to back away. I step to the side and throw a thumb behind me.
“Apologize to her. Now.”
Rosie appears at my side and wraps one arm around my waist. Her shoulders are set, back straight, chin up, and pride runs through my chest.
Jeremiah takes too long a pause, and I bark out, “I said now.”
“I’m sorry, Rosie. For what I said tonight.”
“Only tonight?”
She laughs and covers her mouth. I keep my glare set on Jeremiah, and he shrinks again.
“And everything before that. I’m sorry.”
“And?”
“Love.” Rosie is smiling but shaking her head. “That’s enough.”
It’s not. I’ve seen her come home crying and stressing over her future too many times. I nod at Jeremiah once more.
“And it won’t happen again.”
It’s still not enough for me, but Rosie tilts her head at me and I sigh. What she says goes. If she’s satisfied, then I’ll take it.
“Thank you, Jeremiah.” Her lips press together and she squeezes my waist. “It’s long overdue, and you needed another man to point out your wrongs, so apology not accepted. Good effort, though.”
He gapes, jaw dropped open. I let out a loud laugh, and Rosie moves her hand from my waist to my wrist.
“Locke, let’s go.”
We break out of the crowd I didn’t notice gathering. In the midst of knocking shoulders and Rosie yanking me away from the group, I see a handful of people with their phones out.
My heart should drop. My first instinct should be to call my father and do damage control before something hits his publicist’s timeline. I should care about being reprimanded for acting out and not upholding the name he wants me to.
I don’t. Rosie is laughing over her shoulder and hurriedly weaving us around the dance floor to an unknown place in the club, and I feel like I’m floating. For the first time in my life, I didn’t act as Keller McCarthy’s son. I was just Locke, acting as her man, and I’m proud of that.
Rosalie is still laughing when she pulls us into a hallway. It’s the best-lit place I’ve seen all night, and I squint my eyes against the sudden pain of fluorescent lights.
There’s a line of people leaning against one side of the wall, snaking into a small room, with a sign I can’t read while being blinded by the light.
Rosie pulls us past them. There’s a click of a door, and someone calling out behind us, “That bathroom is out of order.”
In her sweet voice, Rosie replies, “We know.”