Owen
OWEN
Tate’s fist slams into my gut, and I accept it. I accept each of his hits, knowing I deserve it, each and every one of them.
The fucker catches me off guard, and I lose my balance while attempting to save Steph’s vase, but fail.
“Fuck,” I grunt when he lands one above my eye, and I have to grind my jaw to stop from retaliating.
“He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill us.” Her soft, terrified voice filters through my senses, and like that, a switch has been flipped as my stomach rolls at her broken tone.
I flip Tate onto his back and jump to my feet and stride toward Laya.
My poor girl is huddled into a corner of the room, her legs drawn up to her chest, and her arms banded tightly around her.
“Please. Someone. Please.”
Jesus, my heart cracks right then, knowing she’s having a panic attack brought on by the fight, and once again, I hate myself for it. I knew there was a possibility of Tate reacting this way, and I never considered removing her from the situation, thinking going in as a united front was the best way of winning him over. Of course, I was fucking wrong. I swipe the blood dripping from my eye away and kneel in front of her, ignoring the sharp bellows from Tate telling me to stay away from her—my fucking wife.
“I’m here, baby.” I stroke her cheek, hating how despondent she is. The way her eyes are squeezed closed, and her body riddled with tension. “Open your eyes, baby.”
“I want to go home.” I rest my palm on her cheek. “I want to go home.”
“You are home, Laya. I’m your home. Open your eyes for me, baby girl.”
Her eyes snap open, and my heart fills with warmth. I could swim in the depths of the love she holds there. “That’s it, I got you.” I scoop her into my arms and cradle her against me, reveling in the way her arms band around my neck as her protector.
“I love you, Laya,” I whisper as I place a tender kiss on her neck, and she shudders.
“Baby. Fucking. Girl?” I spin to face Tate. His face is red, every vein on his neck protrudes, and his fists clench beside him, making me want to roll my eyes at how he’s overreacting.
Shaw steps forward, putting himself between us, and I want to high-five my friend for doing that when the atmosphere is so volatile. “Tate. Now’s not the time,” he grits out, clearly pissed at him too.
Tate scoffs like a petulant child.
“What the hell is going on here?” Ava storms through the foyer and heads straight toward Tate, her eyes darting from my distressed girl in my arms to her husband. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Her mouth falls open. “Seriously, Tate?”
In a split second, my friend’s balls shrivel as his body slackens and his fists uncurl. “That’s your sister right there!” She points. “And you’re acting like a thug, terrifying her in the process.”
“I didn’t mean—”
She holds her hand up, and he clamps his mouth shut. The action would be comical if I wasn’t so infuriated. “I don’t want to hear it.” She turns to face me, putting her back to Tate, and plasters on a smile that makes my lip quirk. “Maybe take Laya into the family room?”
I nod and head out of the foyer, ignoring the jibes of contempt as we leave, knowing this will be a lot tougher than I first thought. Putting a ring on Laya’s finger and adopting Romeo was supposed to help prove my commitment to them both, but it’s only added fuel to Tate’s wrath.