24. Sage #2
It was then I realized Christian had called me his wife. “Christian,” I interrupted, hoping to disrupt this before it became a scene.
His hands were fists at his sides, his stance rigid, his gaze narrowed on Clayton.
I’d never seen Christian angry. He was the happy-go-lucky, friendly bull rider, who never seemed to get rattled.
He was about to say more when his eyes flicked to mine.
He must have read the worry there, because he pinched his lips together.
Instead he said firmly, “You need to leave.”
“As soon as I finish my drink.” Clayton lifted his glass, unbothered, a slight smile on his face like he was pleased at Christian’s reaction.
“No,” Christian growled. “You need to leave town. Now.”
Clayton huffed a laugh. “I don’t think so. I’m growing to like this little town.”
“Well, fucking unlike it,” Christian shot back. His muscles were starting to vibrate like he was holding himself back.
Clayton turned to me, his brow raised. “It appears your fiancée here doesn’t like the idea of me sticking around. Tell him, doll—”
“Don’t fucking call her that,” Christian gritted out.
“Please, Christian, let it go,” I told him. The last thing I needed was to break up a fight between my psycho ex and my husband tonight.
Clayton’s smile grew, a wolfish grin that revealed he’d always been a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “It’s wise to listen to her. She’s well aware of my limits and the lengths to which I’d go to get what I want.”
“Fuck you,” Christian cursed.
Clayton shot back his bourbon, the ice sloshing as he dropped it back on the bartop. “No. Fuck you.” He stood then, his full height bringing him nearly eye to eye with Christian. They were so close, the brims of their hats nearly touched. “No one steals from me.”
“I stole nothing from you, asshole. You lost her a long time ago.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You think you can lay fence posts around it and call it yours. You think you can put a ring on it and call it yours. But it was never free to give in the first place.”
It felt like my world was crashing in around me, the floor beneath my feet caving in at his words. The last four years I’d only lived a semblance of freedom. Freedom that could so easily be taken away.
As if time slowed and I was plunged underwater, I watched in sheer horror as Christian reeled back his arm, his fist flying through the air, connecting with Clayton’s mouth.
Blood sprayed where his knuckles connected, splattering on the bar.
Clayton didn’t stand there and take it, his own fist throwing an uppercut that lashed Christian’s head back.
“Shit!” I cried, the ground and time snapping back into place, bringing me back to myself.
Bar stools tipped, the crowd seemed to clear the area as Clayton and Christian continued to scuffle.
“Marty!” Tessa called back to the kitchen. “We got a live one!”
Marty and one of the cooks came running out from the back. One of the regulars stepped in, grabbing Christian to pull him back, while Marty wrapped his mountain man arms around Clayton.
“Christian! Stop!” I hurried to the other side of the bar. Christian was still swinging, his face red as he spat profanities at Clayton.
“Get him out of here,” Marty commanded, shoving Clayton at the cook to usher him out of the bar.
Clayton shrugged him off, straightening his coat, and grabbing his hat off the floor to dust it off before turning to the door. “I’m leaving.”
Christian’s chest heaved and he wiped at his bloody lip. As soon as the man who held him back released his grip, he took a step toward Clayton to follow him out to the parking lot.
“Oh no you don’t,” Marty said, snatching him by the back collar of his jacket and pulling him back. “Sage?” He turned to me where I stood helpless to stop this. “Take him to my office.”
“I’m so sorry, Marty,” I apologized knowing I’d caused this.
Marty shook his head, dismissing my apology. “Nothing you did. Just needed to grow some balls, huh, Riggs?”
Christian gave him a bloody smirk. “Don’t tell my mom.”
I had a feeling that by tomorrow the whole town was going to know about this. If I was lucky, they’d only be talking about the fight and not that Christian called me his wife.
“Come on.” I picked up his hat off the floor and grabbed his hand, leading him back to the office.
Christian dropped into the office chair like every bone was cement. I set his hat down on the desk, filled a bag of ice and found the first aid kit.
“Sorry, Sage.” He looked dejected, hunched in the chair.
“Hey, don’t.” I couldn’t help myself, I touched his chin, tipping it up so I could see him.
His jaw was firm, the dark blond scruff rough under my fingertips.
I could still remember how it felt, the delicious scrape of his whiskers against my skin as he kissed me, as his mouth sucked on my throat.
So many nights when we played over text messages, I’d imagined what it would feel like to have him between my legs.
I examined his face. His lip was split and it’d be swollen for a while. A bump was already forming above his eyebrow. I held the ice pack to his brow. “Hold that there.”
“I just couldn’t let him talk about you like that.” A pained look crossed his face.
I smiled appreciatively at him as I cleaned up his lip. “And that’s why I don’t do cowboys.”
“No, I suppose not.” His own lips tipped. “You just marry them instead.”
I dug the gauze into this cut.
“Ouch! Too soon?”
My touch grew gentle yet firm as I tried to stop the bleeding. “We need to talk but you should stay here while I finish my shift.”
Christian gave me a pleading look, reminding me of Arlo whenever I had to leave him at home.
“He’s not coming back tonight,” I assured him.
“Are you sure?” Christian asked.
I nodded.
“But … What about you? Are you okay?” He rested his hand on mine where it worked at his mouth. His fingers wrapped around mine to give a comforting squeeze, warming my chest.
I nodded again. “I’m okay.” It was the truth.
I felt safe here. Protected. Clayton’s words may have done their damage as he intended — it was what he did.
But that precious freedom that felt so tentative didn’t need to be at risk.
Not when Christian was here showing me that I was worthy of protecting.