Chapter Forty-Two – Fawn #3
The hallway feels endless, like I’m wading through something thick and heavy.
I just need them, my men.
My body is moving on pure survival.
****
Torin
Dylan downs the last of the champagne. He swallows hard and winces. “I ain’t gonna lie, man. That tastes like piss . . . Expensive, but piss.”
“How the fuck do you even know what piss tastes like?” I snort.
The hair stands on the back of my neck; something feels off, maybe because the champagne costs more than the entire meal.
I reach for the bill holder and ease it open. Inside, a number is written in soft loops with a tiny heart.
Huh? Fawn was right.
So much for the waitress being professional.
I don’t even blink. I take out my cash, throw in a decent tip, snap the holder shut, and place it on the table. The number may as well be invisible. I’ve got my girl. That’s all that counts.
Luckily for me, Dylan doesn’t seem to notice. He would never let me hear the end of it. And yeah, I won’t lie, it’s kind of cute when Fawn gets jealous, but I never want her to feel little. I never want her to think she has to compete for me.
Speaking of — she appears at my side like a ghost.
I look up, and my chest suddenly goes tight. Her eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed, lipstick smeared. She’s a shaking mess. She’s destroyed.
Someone has hurt my girl.
Someone has hurt my fucking girl.
“Who did this?” I ask, my hands closing around her elbows to steady her.
“I . . . I . . .” she gasps.
“Fawn. Who the fuck did this to you?”
Dylan springs up in an instant. “What’s going on?” He takes one look at her face. “What’s happened?”
My eyes tear through the room and slam to a stop. Jason. Strolling out like nothing is wrong.
My jaw locks shut, teeth bearing down until the pain becomes its own kind of answer.
“Oh, it’s fucking go time,” I hiss, clicking my knuckles.
My shirt pulls taut as Fawn wrenches me backward. “Please, no, Torin,” she cries out. She takes my face in her hands, forcing me to look in her eyes. “Look at me. He’s not worth it.”
That’s when Dylan notices what I’m looking at. I see the second it registers in his brain, and then he’s already gone, out the door. Fawn doesn’t notice; she’s too busy making sure I don’t follow Jason.
“What did he do to you? Did he put a hand on you? Tell me,” I say, trying to hold it together. “Tell me, Fawn.”
Tears slip down Fawn’s face one after another. I wrap my arms around her.
“Please. I need to know,” I plead.
Her head snaps up, eyes cutting across the room. “Where’s Dylan?” Her breath catches. “Oh God — no.”
One sharp movement and she’s out of my hands, feet already carrying her through the door.
I swear to God, if Jason has laid a hand on her — someone’s not walking away from tonight.
The night air hits hard as I burst outside, following her. Dylan is already storming toward Jason and Harper, fury rolling off him in waves.
“Hey, dipshit!” he shouts.
Fawn makes an attempt to rush in, panic propelling her, but I manage to catch up to her easily, holding her back against me, ensuring she isn’t in harm’s way.
Jason twists around. “What?” he says, nonchalant and all smug.
Dylan doesn’t waste a single second. He seizes Jason by the collar and pins him against a car with a thud. “What the fuck did you do to her?” he growls.
“Dylan!” Harper cries. “Stop!”
I hold Fawn close to my chest, one arm around her shoulders and one around the back of her head, turning her face into me so she won’t have to see this.
“Please stop him, Torin,” she cries into my shirt, her voice breaking.
I don’t move. Jason deserves whatever Dylan does to him.
Jason starts laughing, right in Dylan’s face. “Oh, look, she’s sicced her little hockey wolves on me?”
Dylan holds him, shaking him vigorously as his anger builds. “What did you fucking do to her? If I find out you laid a finger on her!” The veins on his temple look ready to burst.
Jason spits back, venomous, “You think I’d want to go near that?”
That’s all Dylan needs to hear; he punches Jason right in the jaw and doesn’t let up.
They clash with each other, struggling and falling as Jason swings and Dylan delivers an uppercut.
It all happens so quickly. It all gets ugly fast; however, I won’t intervene.
There’s nothing more I’d like to do than to punch Jason, but Dylan can take care of himself, and I made a promise to myself I wouldn’t let Fawn see me get angry again.
Every time Dylan makes contact with Jason, he manages to say something.
“This is for . . .”
Slap.
“. . . every time you made her feel . . .”
Punch.
“. . . worthless.”
Fawn shakes in my hold, her whole body given over to it, fingers knotted in my shirt. My thoughts drift to the worst, so I lift her chin gently and make her look at me. “Did he sexually—”
Before I can finish my sentence, she stops me. “No, no. He had me pushed against a wall.”
My vision goes red, my fists in balls.
I made a promise.
I made a fucking promise.
She holds on to me harder now. “Please,” she begs, her voice breaking. “I don’t want Dylan to get hurt.”
I press my forehead to hers, grounding myself, anchoring us both. “He can handle himself. It’s what Jason deserves.”
Jason is sprawled on the ground when I look up, blood oozing from his eyebrow. Silently observing, I’m loving every moment. It’s sick, right?
Dylan is holding Jason’s head up by his hair, his fist raised, his breathing harsh and rapid.
Okay, now it’s time I intervene. “Dylan,” I say, my voice firm and final. “That’s enough. I think he’s got the message.”
He freezes for a split second. Then, he exhales through his nose and lets Jason’s head fall to the ground like the trash he is.
“You ever contact her . . .” Dylan growls, towering over him, “look at her, or even think of her again — next time, it won’t be a broken nose.”
Jason lets out a disheveled grunt, and Dylan shakes blood from his hand as he walks up to us. Fawn slips from my grasp and flings herself at him.
“Are you okay?” she cries, her arms clutched around his waist.
He folds his arms around her shoulders, holding her close. “Much better,” he says quietly then nods at me.
Jason staggers upright, swaying, still smiling like he hasn’t learned a damn thing. “I don’t know why you’d throw punches for someone like her. She’s not even worth it.”
This motherfucker . . . He clearly didn’t get the message.
Dylan turns on his heels at the sound of his voice — but I stop him with one hand on his shoulder.
“No,” I say. “I’ve got this.”
I close the distance, sleeves going up as I pace.
No hesitation.
No warning.
I drive my fist straight into Jason’s gut. “Got the message now? Dipshit.”
He doubles over in an instant, lungs emptied of air, and drops to his knees with this shattered, gagging noise.
“Damn, that felt good. Been waiting to do that,” I cheer.
Yes, I made a promise not to get angry in front of Fawn, but this wasn’t done out of anger, just calm revenge. Yeah, that’s what I’m calling it.
Harper comes rushing over, panic clear on her face. “My father will hear about this,” she calls out.
“Can’t fucking wait,” I reply, full of sarcasm. “By the way, you’re a bitch.”
Well, that felt amazing. I’ve wanted to say that for years. I’ll probably regret it, but . . . fuck yeah.
With one glance, I look at Jason. He’s breathing. He’ll be fine.
Tomorrow, he’ll wake up with black eyes, a few broken ribs, and a broken nose. Hell, I don’t feel bad, not in the slightest.
I make my way back to Dylan and Fawn. She tries to look over her shoulder, but I don’t let her; she has seen enough.
“Let’s get you home, princess,” Dylan says gently, guiding her away.
****
The road hums beneath the tires as I drive, streetlights spiking past in quick pulses. Through the rearview mirror, Dylan has Fawn nestled against him in the backseat, her face pressed up to his chest. His hand drifts through her hair in soothing motions, again and again, as if he’s comforting her.
My eyes should be locked on the road, but I spend too much time staring in the mirror. With each glance, the same thing appears — him and her.
“Please tell me he didn’t hurt you,” Dylan whispers, his voice gentle, as if one misplaced word could shatter her. “I’ll go back. I’ll kill—”
“Dylan, he only hurt me with words,” she mutters, her lips pressed against his chest. After a moment, she turns her head up slightly to look at him. “I should be worrying about you. How’s your hand?”
“A few broken fingers. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
She shifts, trying to sit up, guilt written on her face, but none of this is her fault. “You didn’t have to do that. Neither of you did.”
Our eyes meet in the reflection. Her eyes are still glassy and pained.
“Baby, that dipshit had it coming. He deserved every fucking punch,” I say evenly, and then I turn my attention back to the road. I don’t need to say more. I mean every word.
Dylan looks down at his knuckles, flexing his hand slightly. Dry blood spots the skin around his wrist. “Fuck, it felt good,” he says. Then, he whispers to himself in surprise at his own reaction: “I wanna punch him again.”
“Trust me, I do too, but he got the message: that’s it,” I state in a firm tone.
Fawn’s breathing quickens. I can hear it before I see it. Her shoulders tense as her mind begins racing — I recognize this pattern too well by now.
“But what happens if you lose your job, Dylan?” she blurts. “What happens if he presses charges? What happens if—” She spirals, fear stacking on fear.
“Shhh,” Dylan whispers, holding her close, one hand pressed firmly on her back. “No. Don’t do that. Please, don’t overthink.” His cheek presses against her hair. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”
She exhales, trembling. “As long as we have each other, that’s all that matters,” I add, my grip tightening on the steering wheel.
The car falls silent after that and not the comforting kind — this one’s just full of too many thoughts and nowhere to put them. I can feel them colliding in my mind.
One part of me wants to make a U-turn and punch Jason again, to make sure he understands the message.
Another part of me is shocked Dylan went to violence so easily.
Not that he was in the wrong, but it was unsettling he did it so effortlessly.
Dylan is always the steady one in our duo when it comes to violence, chaotic in his own way but stable.
However, this time, I was the steady one.
I don’t even know what to do with that. Maybe I should be proud Fawn has somehow managed to affect me.
Finally, we pull up outside Fawn’s house, porch light glowing soft and familiar.
I kill the engine. Before the silence can go on too long, I get out of the car and open the door for her.
She gets out a little more slowly, like the night has caught up to her too.
I lean in and give her a soft, centering kiss.
Dylan gets out and stands beside us. He looks at his knuckles again, like he’s admiring his handiwork.
“If you don’t mind,” she says quietly, hands twisting together, “I would like some . . . alone time.”
Dylan takes a deep breath, as if he is getting ready to say something, but I nudge him in the arm. Not hard, just enough to hold him back. I don’t want her to feel cornered or obligated to us in any way.
“It’s all good, baby,” I say instead. “You know we’re just a text away. Sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” she says, nodding. “I really enjoyed tonight — well, not the ending, but everything else was amazing . . . like always.” She rises on her tiptoes and kisses me again. “I’ll see you at the rink tomorrow?” she asks, teeth worrying her bottom lip.
“Of course. Well, that’s only if I have a job,” Dylan jokes, drawing a weak smile before kissing her. “Bye, princess.”
She stalls, just a second. I can tell something is on the tip of her tongue, maybe those three words we all know so well. I can feel it, and by the look on Dylan’s face, he can too.
But I don’t push; she’ll say it when she’s ready.
She looks at us one last time then goes to the house. Before entering, she turns back and waves with a weak smile.
Then, she’s gone.
Dylan and I get back into the car, the doors closing with that empty, thudding sound. A sort of uncomfortable twinge settles into my chest, a pull that’s hard for me to ignore. That didn’t feel like a goodnight wave, that’s for sure. It’s like I just watched something I love slip away.