Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Marcus
The drive should normally take twenty minutes. Tonight, we're there in just over twelve. But it feels like hours. Rhys's knuckles are white on the wheel, none of us saying a word the whole way, like speaking might make whatever's waiting for us more real than it already is.
Then we round the corner onto the main strip and there's no hiding anymore. Two ambulances out front, lights going without sirens, two police cars angled across the entrance. A knot of people standing outside, in various states of shock.
Zachary's out of the car before it's properly stopped and we're not far behind him.
"You go talk to the staff, find out what happened," I tell him. "Rhys and I will find her."
He looks at me like I'm crazy. "If you think I'm not coming to check on her, you're out of your mind. You're just as much a part owner of this place as I am."
"Zach." Rhys's voice cuts through, firm, final. "You have to go. You're the one they see as the owner. Nobody's going to listen to me or Marcus tonight. They'll listen to you. Go. I promise we'll look out for her. We'll tell her you're worried. But you have to go take care of business. Now."
Something wars behind Zachary's eyes — he wants to tell us to go to hell, throw his whole stake in the business away to get to her. I can see it. And I both respect him and hurt for him over it. Then his jaw sets. "If there's even the slightest chance—"
"I will come get you. I promise. Go. The sooner you sort this out, the faster you can be there for her."
Finally he nods and heads for the crowd, turning instantly into the bar owner we trust him to be.
Rhys and I go the other way, weaving between paramedics and stunned patrons and one bloke sitting on the kerb holding an ice pack to his head. I nearly collide with Hunter as he and Elliot rush over only just arriving themselves.
We hug, hard and fast, relieved to see familiar faces. "What happened?" I practically shout.
Elliot answers, his voice unnervingly level even now. "Some bloke came looking for Betty and lost it. Threw furniture, rushed at the band. Police have got him now."
"Is she okay?" I know I should ask about everyone, but right now I can't think of anyone but her.
"We just got here." Elliot's jaw tightens. "Jaxon called us the second it happened. He was here, with Aria. They were together with Alexia when it happened. If it was bad, I'm sure he'd have said."
I don't get to ask anything else, because suddenly Elliot's already moving, cutting through the crowd to a singular person.
Aria, sitting on the tailgate of an ambulance, a paramedic crouched in front of her.
Elliot crosses the last ten metres at a sprint and pulls her straight into his arms. Hunter not far behind.
Elliot checks her over, hands on her face, her shoulders, her arms, like he needs to verify every inch of her himself before he'll believe the paramedic trying to reassure him.
"I'm okay. Jaxon took good care of me," she says, laughing despite everything, batting his hands away.
"Elliot. I'm fine." Then she looks past him and sees us, and whatever she was about to say next gets swallowed by something more urgent.
"I need to tell them, Elliot. Guys, let me go—" Now Hunter's got an arm around her, taking his own turn to check she's okay, but she pushes gently past him.
"For god's sake, I'm fine, let me talk to them. "
She reaches her arms up and I give her a gentle hug just in case she's not as fine as she's saying. "Alexia's inside. The paramedics are with her. She got hit with a glass. She's okay, a little shaken, but—"
Rhys and I are already gone before she finishes.
We push through the front doors and I nearly stumble at the sight of what used to be our bar and now looks like something out of a disaster film — chairs on their sides, glass swept into careless piles, and near the back wall, a stretcher.
She's lying on it. Awake. Talking to the medic. Alive and awake and talking, and relief hits me so hard I nearly stumble again. We're only metres from her when a paramedic plants himself directly in our path, arms out, immovable.
"Guys. Wait. Let us check her out," he says, entirely unfazed by what I'm going to assume is pure panic written across both our faces. "Then you can talk to her. If you care about her as much as your faces tell me you do, you can give us three minutes to make sure she's okay."
I want to move him bodily out of the way.
I can see Rhys thinking the same thing, every muscle coiled tight enough to snap, and for a second it seems like neither of us will back down.
But the paramedic doesn't either, just stands there, patient, unshaken, like he's dealt with exactly this scene a hundred times before.
"Three minutes," I say, mostly to myself, and put a hand flat against Rhys's chest, holding him back.
Rhys is wound so tight beside me I can feel it radiating off him, and for a second I forget my own panic long enough to take care of my friend.
"Shit, man." I keep my voice low, just for him. "Are you ever going to admit your feelings? If not to us. If not to her. At least to yourself?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." He doesn't look at me, eyes fixed on the stretcher across the room like he can will himself closer to it through sheer focus.
"Rhys."
"Drop it, Marcus. Not now."
"I'm not dropping it, because those feelings aren't going anywhere.
That's not what a woman like her does to a man.
" I nod toward the stretcher without meaning to, without being able to stop myself.
"Work your shit out. Look at what it's done to me and Zach.
You don't want to end up wondering what could've been different if only you'd had the courage. "
He doesn't answer. His jaw works once, tight, and that's the only crack I get before Zachary appears at my shoulder, breathless, eyes going straight past both of us to the stretcher.
"How is she?" he pants.
"We don't know yet. They're still checking her out." I turn to him properly. "What happened out there?"
He gives us a brief report, eyes fixed on the same spot ours are. Guy's been arrested. Police working through witnesses, letting people go home once they've given a statement. Only two people seriously hurt — Alexia, and one other bloke. The rest just scrapes and bruises from the panic.
"It was some guy Betty had broken up with. Went full psycho," Zachary says, voice tight.
"Shit."
I know exactly what's happening in his head, because I've watched it happen before, every time something's gone sideways at one of the bars.
He's already cataloguing the damage, the injuries, everything that could've happened, and already blaming himself for all of it.
For not being here. As if his presence would've stopped what happened tonight.
"This isn't on you, buddy,” I say.
He winces. "I wasn't here."
"Zach."
"She got hurt in my bar and I wasn't even here." His voice breaks under the weight of his pain, and I don't wait, I just pull him into my arms, hard. He stands rigid, but doesn't push me away. “This is why I don’t take days off!”
Rhys steps in a second later, one hand on the back of Zachary's neck, low and steady. "Hey, listen to me. This is not your fault. You couldn't have known. Nobody could've known."
He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. I could've been here."
"You're here now. That's all that matters," Rhys says. Something like a sob racks through Zachary's body, and I hold him tighter.
"You can see her now," someone calls, one of the paramedics, waving us over. "Go easy, though. She's a bit shaken, will probably have a headache for a day or two, but I don't think it's a concussion. Just some scratches and heavy bruising."
She's still lying down when we reach her, propped up slightly, a graze along her hairline already starting to bruise, and the second she sees us her whole face brightens.
"Hey. Is everyone okay? Are Aria and Betty okay? And that poor man who got hit with the second chair, I saw him go down—"
I lay a hand on her arm. "Shhh. Everyone's fine. You're the one we're worried about."
"I'm fine. I'm so sorry about the bar." The corners of her mouth drop. "The damage, I saw the whole front window bre—”
"Lex. Sweetheart." Zachary's voice is gentle, cutting through the spiral before it can build any more momentum. "Nobody cares about the stupid window. We only care about you."
She lets out a long exhale, her face visibly pales. "And the guy?"
I want to tell her we're going to make sure she never has to worry about him again, but the medic appears with a clipboard and a list of instructions.
She's cleared to go home, but someone needs to watch her for a few hours.
"Watch for dizziness, confusion, vomiting — the usual concussion checklist, even though we don't technically think it's one," he finishes, holding out an info sheet.
This starts an argument almost immediately, all three of us talking over each other about who's taking her, until Rhys shuts it down.
He holds up a hand, waiting for us to stop talking and then says, “I’m taking her home.”
"We should ask her what she wants," I say, almost smugly, some stupid, selfish part of me sure it'll be me. Sure I'll be the one she wants sitting up with her for the next two hours, making sure she's okay, getting her what she needs.
"You really want to put her in that position tonight?
" Rhys doesn't raise his voice, doesn't need to.
"Force her to have to worry about your feelings when she's making her choice, out loud, in front of all three of us, after the night she's had?” I hang my head. And he knows he’s made his point.
“That's exactly why it has to be me. You two need to stay.
" He tips his head at Zachary. "He has to stay — this is his bar, his staff, his responsibility, and the only way he doesn't lose his mind while he's working is if you're standing right next to him and not cuddling up to her. "
Rhys swallows before he adds. “And I’m the only one whose feelings she’s not going to worry about.
” His voice cracks in a way I’ve never heard, and for a second I can’t help but wonder just who is suffering the most right now.
"Tonight isn't about fighting over her," Rhys finishes.
"It's about taking care of her. Got it?"
Nobody argues.
"He's right," Zachary says, rough.
"Fuck, I know," I say, and mean it, even though every part of me wants to argue anyway.
Zachary goes to her first, crouches by the stretcher, and I watch him say something low, just for her, close enough that I can't make out a word of it, his hand gentle on her uninjured cheek as the other helps her sit up.
Whatever it is, her eyes go soft, and something in his shoulders loosens for the first time all night.
Then it's my turn.
I help her down off the stretcher, one arm around her waist, careful, and walk her slowly out of the bar toward the car, matching my pace to hers.
"I'm gonna hang out here and help with whatever's needed, but I'll be home soon," I tell her, once we're at the car door. "The second you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me. And I'll be there."
She lifts her hand and touches my face. "I'm fine, Marcus."
"Of course you are. Call me anyway."
She leans into me, and the press of her body sends a sense of calm through me. "Thank you. For caring so much. But you don't have to worry about—"
"Lexi." I brush a thumb along her jaw, careful of the bruise blooming near her temple.
"I'd sprout fucking wings and fly you out of here myself if I thought it was the best thing for you.
" She giggles a little at the image and relief floods my body.
"Caring about you isn't a choice. It's never been. And I’m not going to stop now.”
I help her into the car, careful not to slam the door.
I step back. Rhys gives me one last look over the roof of the car, and a minute later they're pulling away, tail-lights disappearing round the corner.
"Hey," Aria says, coming up behind me, wrapping both arms around my middle in a hug I didn't know I needed. "She'll be okay. I checked with the medic myself. They wouldn't have let her go if they were properly worried."
"Yeah." I smile down at her sweet face.
"She's lovely, by the way. In case nobody's told you." Aria pulls back, looking up at me. "Even flat on her back on a stretcher, she was asking after everyone else before she'd let anyone check on her. During the whole thing, too, I heard her calling for me and Betty."
"That tracks." My sweet girl and her big heart. Then something finally occurs to me.
"Speaking of what was going on during the attack — do you know where Craig is? He's the guy she came here with tonight."
The look on her face tells me I'm not going to like what she's about to say. "Marcus. I don't think that matters right now. Just concentrate on her over the next few days."
"Aria. Come on." I stare at her square on. "Look at my face. In all the years you've known me, have you ever once seen me look like this?"
She studies me for a second, and whatever she finds there softens her expression.
"You care about her," she says with a sigh.
"More than you can possibly imagine."