Chapter 35 #2
Candace flinched. “I just thought it’d be nice—for the boys to get to know each other a bit more.”
Garrett stepped forward, unbothered. His tone was flat, his hand extended. “Hey, man, long time no see.”
I took it, gripping his hand—maybe harder than I should have. A grip that said: We aren’t friends.
I shifted subtly, placing myself at Emma’s side without breaking the handshake.
His gaze flicked to mine, awareness sparking—message received.
“This is so unlike you,” Candace said, nudging Emma’s shoulder with a wink. “Taking a chance out in public. Daredevil.”
Color rose to Emma’s face.
“It was my idea,” I stepped in. “I practically forced her.”
Disapproval flickered across Candace’s face. Then she reset, scanning the room like a tourist. “Anyway. I’m glad we’re here. I’ve been dying to check this place out.”
Garrett’s laugh was low and humorless. “Yeah, real thrilling.” He slanted a look toward Candace, his expression souring.
“I tried to convince her to hit the racetrack with me instead—like we’d planned.
” The words were meant to sting. Then his focus shifted to Emma.
“But Emma always edges me out, doesn’t she? ”
The air cooled. Even Candace’s smile faltered.
Great. Not only did we not want him here—he didn’t want to be here either.
I smoothed my features into something pleasant. “Oh, come on,” I said, keeping my tone light, “who would pick horse racing over antique furniture?”
He grimaced, eyes narrowing. “Me,” he drawled. “All day, every day.”
Candace rolled her eyes, her laugh too bright to be real. “You’re impossible.”
Emma didn’t respond. Her focus wandered toward a row of mismatched mirrors, fingers brushing absently against the hem of her dress.
“Come on, Em,” Candace urged, linking their arms. “I found a side table that would look amazing in your bedroom.”
They disappeared into the maze of furniture, their voices fading into the low murmur of the shop.
Garrett and I trailed behind. He shoved his hands into his pockets, looking around like he’d wandered into a thrift store by mistake.
“I really hate it when they drag me to these places.” He wrinkled his nose.
“Smells like old books in here.” He glanced at me with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Makes me gag.”
“I find it charming,” I said, sidestepping a crooked stack of chairs. “Plus, Emma loves it.”
“Yeah, she would,” he muttered with a low chuckle. “Always has to have the weirdest taste. Candace is starting to pick it up, too. Who the hell wants old junk when you can buy new?” He waved a dismissive hand at the stacked antiques.
“I like things with history,” I said. “Stories built into them.”
He scoffed. “I like things that don’t fall apart.”
A huff of amusement escaped me before I could stop it. “Then you probably shouldn’t touch anything in here.”
He laughed, but it was thin—a brittle sound that didn’t quite hide the irritation in his eyes.
“Fine,” he said, pouting like a spoiled child.
“Guess I’ll just follow the ladies and pretend to care.
” Then he leaned closer, dropping his voice.
“Or we could sneak out,” he added, a grin tugging at his mouth.
“Bet they wouldn’t even notice if we were gone. ”
My head turned, slow. “Excuse me?”
He smirked, shrugging one shoulder. “Come on, man. We’ll grab a drink down the street, let them do their girl thing. They’ll talk antiques for hours—trust me.”
“No,” I answered, jaw tightening. “Not happening.”
He shrugged. “Fine. Suit yourself.”
“Come look at this!” Emma’s voice rang out, bright and excited, from the next aisle.
I rounded the corner—and froze.
She was grinning, radiant, standing in front of a monstrosity of furniture: a half-desk, half-cabinet thing with peeling paint and mismatched drawers, like someone had fused three lifetimes together and hoped no one would notice.
It was hideous.
She looked at it like it was art.
“What do you think?” she asked, hope lighting every syllable.
I opened my mouth, but Garrett beat me to the punch.
“What the fuck is that?” he barked behind me, laughing loud enough to rattle the lamp beside him.
Emma’s face fell. The light vanished.
My heart dropped with it.
Candace smacked Garrett’s arm. “Stop it.”
He only grinned, unbothered. “What? I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”
“I think it’s interesting,” I said evenly, my attention fixed on Emma. Her lip twitched—the faintest attempt at a smile—but the spark was gone.
“Stop being a dick,” Candace hissed.
“Jesus, Candace,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re always busting my balls. Even you have to admit this thing is hideous.” He looked at her then, gesturing toward the warped wood.
“Garrett.” Her tone dropped, her mouth pressed into a thin line.
He played confused. “Seriously? I called the thing hideous, not her.”
But the smirk that followed told a different story. His eyes traveled down Emma’s body, lazy and cruel.
My stomach twisted. Emma’s chin dipped, her shoulders curling inward, as if she could hide the shape he’d just turned into spectacle.
“Besides, Emma knows I’m joking,” he added with a wink.
“I certainly hope so,” I murmured, each word precise as a blade, my eyes locked on his.
Something in his expression sharpened—mockery turning to challenge. “You got a problem, man?” he asked, voice low, testing.
I didn’t move. “Not yet.”
The faintest twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t think so.”
Candace’s laugh came too quick, too thin. “Okay, boys,” she said, stepping between us, a hand pressed to Garrett’s chest. “Let’s not turn this into a pissing contest.”
“It isn’t a pissing contest, Candace,” Garrett snapped. “Everyone’s ganging up on me because I said a piece of furniture was ugly.”
Candace shot him a warning look.
“It was bad enough when it was just you two,” he went on, gesturing between her and Emma, “but now I’ve got Mr. Hot Shot over here turning on me, too?” He laughed, but it landed flat.
He didn’t know how right he was.
I’d back Emma to the ends of the earth—whether she was right or not.
Especially if her opponent was a five foot ten, skinny jean wearing asshole.
Candace reached for his hand, trying to calm him, but he snatched it away, eyes narrowing in warning. “Don’t touch me,” he bit out, all traces of humor gone.
The fracture was instant.
My mother’s voice. My father’s rage. That sound—the helpless begging—echoed like ghosts in the back of my skull.
All the stories Emma had told me didn’t do this man justice—the arrogance, the volatility simmering just beneath his skin.
I ground my teeth. The air between us felt heavier, tighter, charged with something that begged for a spark.
“Hey, man—” I started.
“Hey, man—” Garrett mimicked, voice twisted with contempt.
My pulse thundered in my ears. I took a step forward before I even realized it.
Emma’s hand caught my wrist. “Don’t,” she whispered, voice tight. “When he gets like this, nothing helps. He’ll just get louder—and then he’ll turn on Candace.”
“All bark, no bite with this one, huh, Em?” Garrett’s sneer turned triumphant. “You really know how to pick them.”
“Garrett, please,” Candace pleaded.
“What?” he shot back, incredulous. “The guy’s acting like her bodyguard, and she can’t even look me in the eye.”
“Because you’re humiliating her,” Candace snapped.
He laughed. The sound mean and biting. “Humiliating her? Jesus, Candace, you treat her like a child.”
Emma’s lips parted like she might respond, but no sound came out. Her eyes shimmered.
“Garrett, stop,” Candace said again, louder this time. “You’ve said enough.”
He turned on her then, the sneer curdling. “You always do this,” he hissed. “Jumping in to save her. You’d think you were dating her instead of me.”
Then I heard it.
Emma’s shaky inhale. The breaking exhale that followed.
I looked down. Tears glossed her eyes, catching the light like glass about to crack.
My hands found her shoulders before she could fold in on herself, guiding her back—around the corner, where the chaos dulled to a muffled hum.
I pulled her against me, her head falling against my chest, her small frame trembling like a leaf in a storm.
How fucking dare he.
How fucking dare he do this to her—especially now. Especially after last night.
I ran a hand through her curls. “I’m so sorry,” I murmured into her hair. “This isn’t what I planned.”
“It’s fine,” she said quickly, wiping at her face. The word cracked halfway through. The quiet, defeated sound gutted me. “This is how it always is…”
From the other side of the aisle, their voices rose again. Garrett’s sharp with fury, Candace’s fraying under it.
“I told you I didn’t want to come.”
“I wanted you to get to know Damien more. He means a lot to Emma.”
“The man’s a fucking pussy,” Garrett spat. “Perfect fit for her though, huh? All talk, no spine. Just like her.”
The words hit like a whip crack.
Emma’s head snapped up, eyes blazing. Murder in her eyes, tremor in her hands.
I tightened my hold.
Garrett and I would have our reckoning—but not here. Not now. Today, I’d let my pride bleed silently. Because she was the only thing that mattered. Not the pompous bastard spewing venom I had no doubt he couldn’t back up.
“Garrett, stop!” Candace’s voice broke, desperate now.
“Stop what?” he snapped. “You wanted me to come here, remember? You wanted me to play nice, and look how that turned out. Maybe if your best friend didn’t act like she’s better than everyone—”
Emma froze against me. Her fingers knotted in my shirt.
“You’re so nasty,” Candace’s voice cracked.
Garrett laughed—dark, hollow, raising the hairs along my arms.
“Leave. Now,” Candace said, her voice trembling but fierce.
Then came the crash.
Wood splintering against wood—the thud shuddering through the floorboards beneath our feet. Footsteps. Shuffling. A gasp swallowed quickly by silence.
The pounding of faux leather soles against wood growing fainter, more distant.
And then—nothing.
Emma stiffened in my arms. Then pulled away. “I need to make sure Candace’s okay.”
I let my arms fall, releasing her now that the threat had stormed out. The echo of the slamming door still hung in the air, vibrating through the shop.
She disappeared down the aisle. I followed a moment later.
Candace stood in front of the piece of furniture Emma had loved earlier, its crooked leg now split clean down the middle. One hand rubbed the side of her neck.
Emma zeroed in on the movement.
“I’m fine,” Candace said before either of us could speak. “The aisle’s so narrow—I backed into the corner of the cabinet to give him room to leave. It caught me right in the neck. Stupid, really.”
The lie slid out smooth, too smooth, polished by repetition.
I looked down at the jagged splinter of wood jutting from the broken leg, then to the faint red mark blooming along her skin. The air thickened, pressing in on my chest. The hum of the lights above seemed louder, harsher. I’d heard that tone before. Seen that look.
Emma reached for Candace, whispering something low—soothing—but I couldn’t move. My hands flexing uselessly at my sides as every old memory came roaring back: raised voices, something breaking, the silence that followed.
Something cold and dangerous stirred inside me.
I wanted to say it—to tell her I knew she was lying, that I’d seen too many women wear that same brittle smile while pretending the pain was their own fault. But Emma was already at her side, offering quiet reassurances, guiding her hand away from the forming bruise.
And just like that, the delicate woman I’d cradled minutes ago was gone. In her place stood the caretaker. The protector. The woman who always had to be strong, even when she was breaking. She spoke gently, her tone steady and sure, every word a balm meant to soothe someone else instead of herself.
Now wasn’t the time. Not while she was like this, holding her friend together with hands that still shook.
So I said nothing.
Not yet.
Later—when the air wasn’t tainted with denial and fear—I’d tell her what I saw. What I heard.
Because whatever this was between Candace and Garrett, it wasn’t just a bad argument.
And if I was right, it wouldn’t be the last.
I watched them leave, allowing them space.
My eyes trailed to Emma’s furniture again, and with a resigned sigh, I set on a quest to find a salesman.