Chapter 47 Violet #2
Rushing around the edge of the counter, I stand there.
Helpless. My heartbeat pounding in my ears.
With my hand covering my mouth. What do I do?
What do I do? What can I do? I’m not a fighter, and I’m definitely not big enough or strong enough to rip these two apart, not unless I have a death wish, which I don’t, but still. Do I call the police? Do I–
Ethan punches Jagger’s ribs before Jagger counters the move and throws another hook at Ethan’s face.
It’s a brutal blow, but Jagger doesn’t let up as Ethan stumbles back.
He darts forward with his hands raised, delivering a jab-cross combo I recognize from when we practiced at his in-home gym not so long ago.
When his fist hits its target, Ethan’s blood sprays onto the glass separating the espresso machine, syrup flavors, and paper cups from the seating area, making my knees threaten to buckle.
Holy shit.
This isn’t like the fight night or all those mornings in the gym. This is Jagger Harden with no restraint, and, I repeat, holy shit.
Grabbing hold of Ethan’s collar, Jagger pins him against the opposite wall with his forearm digging into Ethan’s esophagus.
A mottled red spreads across Ethan’s face, but Jagger’s hold stays firm.
He’s not out of control. Actually, it’s the opposite.
His attention is so pointed, so laser-focused, there could be a hurricane outside, and it still wouldn’t break his concentration.
Double shit. If I don’t do something, he might honestly kill him.
“Jagger,” I beg. The tendons in his neck jump, but he doesn’t release his hold. “Pretty sure murder would put a damper on your internship,” I add, determined to get through to him.
“Worth it.” He presses harder into Ethan’s throat. “Get out.”
Ethan shakes his head, his fingers clawing against Jagger’s forearm.
Jagger slams his free hand into Ethan’s gut. “Get. Out.”
Ethan’s glare wavers, the lack of oxygen making things a little difficult for him to stand his ground until he finally caves and drops his hands, surrendering.
The pressure on Ethan’s throat disappears instantly as Jagger steps back, though I don’t miss the way he steps closer to me, shielding me with his body as he continues his face-off with a beat-up Ethan. “If you show your face in here again, I’ll kill you.”
“This is public—”
“You’re in Harden territory,” Jagger growls. “The air you’re breathing belongs to me.” He flexes his hands at his sides. “Now, get the hell out of here before I throw you out myself.”
Wiping the blood with the back of his hand, Ethan sets a key onto the counter, his eyes holding mine. “In case you change your mind.” Then, he stumbles away.
The bell on the door rings out his departure, and my arms circle Jagger in an instant. I press myself against him, burrowing into his chest as fear and relief battle for the spotlight.
Holy shit. Okay, I’ve been in a shady situation or two, but this? This is definitely in the top three most terrifying moments of my life. If Jagger hadn’t shown up, I don’t know what I would’ve done. I don’t know what Ethan would’ve done, either. And that’s the scariest part of all.
My thoughts feel like a chaotic mess as I stumble through my words, searching for an explanation. “Jagger, what are you—? How are you—?”
“Are you okay?” he demands. His hands find my waist, squeezing me like a boa constrictor until he pulls away so he can assess me. His hands roam my face, neck, and shoulders, checking every inch of me as he demands, “Did he touch you?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“You sure? Because when I walked in—”
“He was being an ass, but you intervened before he could do anything crazy.” It isn’t a lie.
Sure, Ethan hadn’t crossed an actual line and gotten physical, but would he have?
Could he have, considering the counter between us?
Honestly, I’m not sure, and I don’t want to know, either.
Better men have been known to take advantage of a situation similar to this, and Ethan is no saint. The thought alone makes me sick.
“You’re shaking,” Jagger murmurs against the top of my head. “Come here. Take a seat.” Guiding me toward an empty table, I sit down, and he kneels in front of me, cupping both sides of my head.
“I’m fine.” I lean into his palms, soaking up his warmth.
He’s here. I’m not alone. I’m okay, and he’s okay.
Everything’s okay. “Just a little caught off guard,” I decide, analyzing my feelings.
“Not exactly how I imagined my morning would turn out.” The adrenaline seeps out of me, and I let out a long breath.
“How are you? Are you okay?” Reaching up, I lower his hands so I can inspect the damage from the bare-knuckled brawl.
His hands are bruised and bloodied, though I’m not sure if the crimson belongs to him or Lexie’s older brother.
“I’m pretty sure we have a first aid kit in the back—”
“Don’t bother,” he says. “This is nothing.”
My gaze flicks to his. “Jagger.”
“Violet.” The corner of his mouth curves up as he mimics my tone. When I back down, he adds, “I’m fine. Seriously. Just glad I was here.”
“Me, too.” I take another deep breath, refusing to imagine the alternative while Jagger’s calloused fingertips play with my own. “How did you know?”
“A few of my buddies have been keeping an eye on him. When they called, saying he pulled up to The Bean Scene, I figured it would be a good idea to stop by.”
A good idea? Yeah, I’d say so. It’s like a whirlwind. The entire thing. The conversation, his stupid comment about wanting something sweet, then the fight and the blood and…
I form a small ‘o’ with my lips, pushing out the oxygen from my lungs. I’m okay. Jagger’s okay. Everything’s okay.
It’s. Okay.
“Thank you.” I force a smile, then let Jagger’s fingers go so I can get my hands on my apron. “That was…I mean, he’s hit on me a little here and there, but nothing crazy.” I nibble the edge of my bottom lip. “I think he was hoping it would piss you off. Him coming around here.”
“It worked,” Jagger mutters. His brow is still furrowed, and his shoulders are still tight, like he’s honestly considering tracking Ethan down and making him pay all over again.
As I take him in, I murmur, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it did.”
“I’m going to fix this,” he promises.
“There’s nothing to fix.”
And it’s true. What’s done is done. Now, all I can do is move forward, but not without a solid scoop of peanut butter and maybe a Disney movie or two. I could also really use some snuggles in Jagger’s bed, if it’s on the menu.
Instead of agreeing with me that there’s nothing to fix, Jagger strides toward the counter, picks up the key, and shows it to me. “Is this to your house?”
“You mean his house?” I whisper dryly with a weak smile. It's pathetic at best. “Yeah.” My voice cracks. “Yeah, the key’s for the front door.”
A knot at the back of his jaw appears as he stares at the key in his palm as if it’s personally offended him.
“Take it,” I tell him. “If you’re worried I’ll use it or whatever…”
“Not worried you’ll use it,” he mutters. His hand closes into another tight fist. “Only trying to find the cleanest solution.”
Cleanest solution? What’s he talking about?
Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate his promise from last night.
His determination to fix everything. To get me back the house.
But the thing is, this has nothing to do with him.
Hell, it barely has anything to do with me.
It’s between my dad and Ethan. I was simply a victim caught in the crosshairs.
Just like before. And if Jagger wouldn’t give me back my five grand, why in the world would Ethan give me back my house?
I mean, I know title transfers take more than twelve hours or whatever, but the piece of paper I signed was nothing but a technicality, especially in The Drift.
The place is his. If I even think about fighting for it, I’ll wind up in a ditch somewhere.
I know it. Ethan knows it. My dad knows it, too.
And Jagger? If he’s hurt trying to intervene, I’ll never forgive myself. Never.
Standing, I move toward Jagger at the counter as the morning sun gleams in through the coffee shop windows.
“There isn’t a solution, Jag. I was up all night and…
it’s okay.” A burn hits the back of my eyes, but I blink it away.
“It’ll be fine, all right? I just…I need some time to wrap my head around it, and…
and yeah. It’ll be fine, I just…I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay? ”
I know he wants to argue. Wants to say I’m being pessimistic or that he’s a Harden.
He controls everything. But the truth is, his expertise isn't capable of delivering a solution in this situation. Not when I’ve already signed over the house.
Hell, even if I hadn’t signed it over, there still wouldn’t be a solution.
The Drift is built on handshakes and shady deals.
The moment my dad offered my house up as collateral was the moment I had no choice but to kiss it goodbye.
The only reason Ethan came by this morning was to watch me grovel, and if there’s any silver lining about all of this, I’m really happy I didn’t give in.
“Speaking of cleaning,” Jagger finally says. “Where are your cleaning supplies?”
“Huh?”
He motions to the crimson dripping down the glass barrier. “We should probably clean this up so you don’t get in trouble.”
He’s right. If another customer walks in and sees blood splattered across the coffee shop, I’m pretty sure I can kiss my job goodbye.
Moving past Jagger, I head to the back, grab some cleaning supplies, then we get to work erasing the evidence of the fight.
Within a few minutes, it’s as if the showdown between Jagger and Ethan never happened at all.
If only it was true.