Chapter 25 #3
A hand brushes my wrist before loosely grasping my forearm, and I fight my full-body shudder.
Why aren’t I walking away? Tell him to stop!
“Paige, how are you doing, little Whitaker? Long time.” I slowly raise my eyes to meet his strangely unnerving, gentle gaze.
He manages to convey reassurance despite the compromising situation I’ve just found him in.
He gives a devil-may-care grin that I’m sure has worked on plenty of women.
Then he manages to form a look of sympathy.
He glides his hand further up my arm, but I recoil.
He narrows his eyes, tightening then loosening his hold on my arm.
As a warning? A threat? Pull away. Kick him.
Scream. Tell him to let go. Do something!
Instead, I focus on the space just past him to the empty hallway.
The rest of the bar is around that corner, but it’s quiet by the bathrooms right now. Nobody else is here.
I do not feel safe. I cannot tell him that I do not feel safe.
Bobby hums and lets his hands fall to his sides, grazing down my body in what could be an accident, but I have a feeling many things this man does are not by accident. He drifts his gaze past me, then to my chest and back to my face. If I weren’t frozen, staring at him. I would have missed it.
Bobby drops his voice, leaning in close to me.
“Just so you are aware, you don’t need to pretend here.
” He shrugs. “We’re practically family. I know what happened that night, and I am so sorry.
” His hand drifts across my shoulder again, pausing to squeeze my arm.
“You know that I—that Bethany and I have your back in all of this messiness, right?”
A cold, slithering sensation crawls through my skin at his touch. He’s moving past the fact that I just saw him chatting up some random woman at our only bar, like it never happened. Like he’s still with Bethany. “That’s so sweet of the two of you.”
“Well, sweetheart, you can always trust me.” As if.
“Nasty piece of work, Krista. I tried to warn Trevor about what she was up to, but then it went too far.” He tsks and leans in, his beer breath blasting across my face.
“Don’t tell me you’re considering staying with the guy?
My buddy caught them in the car, Paige.” He fingers one of my curls, tugging it slightly and watching as it bounces.
His voice drops into a whisper. “He watched them fuck in there. Rocked the whole car. I don’t know if he told you about that.
During the concert.” He tuts in his false concern.
“To make it worse, there were other witnesses too.”
“W-when was this?”
“Oh, I think you know. Considering he moved out quickly after.”
I know he’s lying to me. I know it. Something about him telling me it was Trevor makes me more confident it was Bobby.
But my hormones and emotions don’t care.
My mind is playing the image just like he wants me to.
Tears are threatening, and my hands are shaking where they remain fisted at my sides. “I-I-I—”
“Oh, no. Come here.” Bobby steps into me and wraps his arms tightly around me.
It takes every ounce of control to prevent puking on him, but punching him, slapping him, running away, busting out crying, everything else remains locked away.
He pats my shoulder. “Everything will be as it should, I promise.” Then he walks away.
My heart races when he finally turns the corner. I wipe my clammy hands across my dress and fist the fabric. I feel dirty, but I’m fine. I’m angry at myself, and all the other people who got me to this point.
I return to the table, but I’m not present. Not really. I’m fine. Then Becky, in her adorable, drunken stupor, sees right through me, leans down, and asks, “Paige, are you okay?”
No. I’m not okay. I’m wrecked. There’s too much. It’s all too much. My skin is stretched to capacity with everything I’ve shoved deep down, and it’s all bubbling to the surface. I try to swallow the sob, but it comes out as a whimper, and my body gives up the fight.
The damn bursts, and it all comes out in broken sobs. Arms come around me, but I can’t feel them. Not really. No, I’m not okay. I feel like my body is dirty. We’re up and moving, but I pay no attention to where we’re going. No, I’m not okay. My body aches, my feet hurt, and I miss my husband.
I miss my husband.
“Uh, yeah, so um … I cannot drive you home, but I shall try my darnedest to get you safely back to your abode.”
I blink my dry eyes up at an awkward, tipsy Becky, then take in my unexpected surroundings.
The brick walls of the alleyway echo with the sound of passing traffic, and the streetlights are starting to come on in the darkening streets of our small town.
Becky’s face is half illuminated in the light—the shadows under her eyes elongated.
Her question finally registers when I squint up into her lovely, devastated face.
“I’m going to get my car, then take you home, okay? ”
Home. Home is where your heart is? I don’t know if I’ve been home in a while.
She’s trying so hard to take care of me, but she needs someone to take care of her too. Tonight, I’ll help Becky, and tomorrow, I’ll take care of my own business.
I’m no longer being passive in my own life. I’m taking the damn wheel.