Harper #2
I hardly snap in general, and practically never to my employees. And yet, in the last few months I have done it several times, all because of him. I basically scared the staff out of fucking each other because I didn’t like the idea of him getting hit on by the stunning women I surrounded him with.
It’s the most hypocritical thing I’ve ever done, and I regretted absolutely nothing. I literally told him to take his clothes off and then threw a damn hissy fit when others wanted a private show. People who are actually allowed to date him.
I cannot be bitchy to Tessa for being upset. I cannot be mad at her for not being here. This is not her fault. This is not her club.
It’s my club, and I wasn’t here.
I wasn’t here, and someone got hurt.
Colton got hurt. I should have been here.
“I’m sorry, Tessa. I know this has been a long night and a horrible circumstance. Are you all right? I’m sure this has been jarring for everyone,” I say, not stopping my stride through the front door and into the entryway of the club.
“Yes, Colton was the only one hurt, and he’s being checked out right now by the medics. They said it was superficial, so he doesn’t need to go to the emergency room. They are fixing him up over there.” She’s one step behind me as I enter the main floor.
Tessa comes to a halt before carefully weaving through the broken glass and alcohol that have drenched the floor.
I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. My legs carry me over the debris and straight for where Marcus stands with a group of medics.
I’m lucky I don’t slip and fall, or worse, cut my foot open on something in my desperate need to get to Colton.
Colton, who is sitting on one of the lounge chairs, has a medic perched in front of him applying a bandage along his biceps and securing it with medical tape.
When the medic moves from his spot in front of Colton, I instinctively take his place, squatting down to be at eye level.
A look of relief crosses his features, and he starts to lean forward, arms outstretched as if he means to pull me into his arms. Like he needs to make sure I’m all right.
The look of relief is quickly replaced by agony as his arms drop back against the armrests of the chair.
That’s when I feel someone move up behind me, turning to realize that Sean followed me inside. Oh right, my date.
I bring my gaze back to Colton, wondering how bad the pain must be for his face to be contorted in such a state. No one speaks. Colton is staring at me, Marcus is glaring at Sean for God knows what reason, and Sean looks annoyed that our fantastic date took a detour.
“Harper, it seems like we should probably call it a night and try this again another time,” Sean announces, not offering condolences about the damage splayed out around us, or even concern for my employee.
“I think you are probably right.” I don’t even look at Sean as I respond, still crouching down in front of Colton, right where I’m supposed to be.
Sean clears his throat, causing me to take a deep, steadying breath before looking up at him, wondering why he is still here.
He reaches out a hand to me and shifts his body towards the main doors we walked in through, apparently wanting a moment alone to end the night properly.
His hand stays outstretched long enough that I can feel the tension permeating the air, the awkward silence making my skin crawl.
I avoid his hand as I stand, straightening out my skirt as I start to turn towards him when a tug on my hand stops me midstep.
I look down at the same time Sean does to see Colton’s hand wrapped around mine. Colton isn’t looking at Sean, his eyes only for me as he intertwines our fingers. It’s a request he doesn’t need to voice, and the best decision I will have made all night.
“Marcus will escort you out, Sean. Thank you for dropping me off.” His dismissal isn’t subtle, but I wasn’t trying to be. Sean looks baffled, as if rejection is not something that had ever crossed his mind as a possibility.
Marcus, on the other hand, looks pleased as can be. “Right this way, Stan,” he says, placing a hand on Sean’s arm and leading him out of Cirque.
Colton smirks lightly, giving my hand a gentle squeeze as I tug over a chair to sit next to him, resting our interlocked hands against my thigh.
Tessa is thanking the medics for all their help, escorting them back out of the club and leaving Colton and me to sit in quiet comfort.
“I didn’t think I would survive it,” Colton says after a few minutes pass.
I think at first he’s talking about the fight, and I imagine what the terror must have felt like to be attacked so brutally.
I look over at him, ready to beg forgiveness for not being here, only to find he is looking longingly at where my small hand fits perfectly nestled against his.
“If he kissed you goodnight. I don’t think I would have survived it,” he says, finishing the thought.
His voice is soft, but it does nothing to diminish the conviction in the words.
I don’t have any words to give him right now, though I have plenty to say.
The guilt I feel at not being here when something so terrible happened.
That I was only on that wretched date because I was trying to distract myself from him.
That holding his hand like this is the most intimate thing I have allowed myself in years.
I swallow the words before they have a chance to betray me, shifting in my seat to sit a little closer, bringing my other hand up to slide around his arm as I lean my head against his shoulder.
This want to be near him, it’s the only response I know how to give him, so I let him feel it all.
Sitting among the glass and wreckage, I feel his breath rush out, and his head lean down to rest on mine.