“They’ll be fine,” he insists, holding the door open for me.
As we pass through, he wraps one arm around my waist, securely holding me to him. I melt into his embrace.
“Where is he?” an angry voice yells from our left.
Both Neil and I turn to see one of the bodyguards holding back a man with a thunderous expression on his face. He doesn’t appear to be older than twenty-five.
“There he is. You son of a bitch,” he yells directly at Neil.
We stop, peering over, and somehow the man breaks away from the security guard and immediately begins charging for Neil.
Neil pushes me behind him, standing between the man and me. I hold my breath, fearing he’s going to hit Neil, but instead, he unleashes a verbal tirade on him.
“You lying son of a bitch. You’re the reason my brother is dead!”
Neil cocks his head to the side, and I can spot his anger in the tense set of his jaw, but he doesn’t yell or berate the man.
“And you are?” he questions.
“You don’t know my fucking name? You killed my brother, Charles Whittaker! He went to your so-called rehab and only got worse. You’re the entire reason he’s dead,” he shouts angrily, glancing around.
Unfortunately, a few onlookers are stopping to see what all the commotion is about.
“You sold him drugs,” the man yells. “He told me all about the bullshit you have going on in McKenna. I bet you got all these fucking people believing your lies and your bullshit about being sober, but you’re a piece of shit liar,” he barks at Neil.
“Neil, no,” I call when he takes a step into the man’s face.
He stops, possibly by my hold on his arm, or by the fact that security has finally gotten ahold of the man.
“Do your jobs,” Neil grits out with his teeth clenched as he looks between the two security guards.
They eye him and then tighten their hold on the man, pulling him away even as he continues to scream.
“What was that?” I question as Neil wordlessly spins us in the direction of his vehicle, which has been parked curbside by the valet.
“Nothing.” He holds the door open for me but doesn’t say anything else.
“Neil.”
“Get in the car, Desiree.”
Anxiously, I get in and wait for Neil to round the car, getting in the driver’s seat. He doesn’t say anything as we pull off. The tension in the air is thick, and it’s all coming from him. What that man said back there rattled him.
“Neil, I know what he said isn’t true,” I state, feeling he needed affirming somehow.
He glances over at me, tossing me a grateful look. As we come to a red light, he sighs, brushing his hand through his hair, loosening his bun.
“No one who knows you would believe it.”
He nods. “I know. It’s not his asinine accusations that piss me off.”
“What is it then?”
“I know him. I knew his brother, Charles. He started as a counselor at McKenna three years ago a couple of years after he got sober. Unfortunately, he went back out.”
“Back out?”
He turns to me before looking back to the road as the light turns green. “He got drunk again and then started doing drugs. He started selling to some of our patients. Of course, I had to fire him, and when he refused to leave willingly, I pressed charges. Not for me, but because he’d made threats toward some of our staff.”
