“Should I offer to walk her to her car?” I don’t know why I ask Tate, but I do. I suddenly feel a sense of responsibility since my actions probably pissed the guy off more than she did when she pulled her hand away.
“That would be nice of you, but you don’t have to. She’s gone this long in her life without someone doing that for her. I’m sure she’ll be fine. Anyway, there’s too much snow for that idiot to still be outside. He’d be a snowman by now.”
I dump a handful of empty beer bottles into the recycling next to the bar near my sister. “But would that be enough to not have you looking over your shoulder as you walked outside?”
“No,” Tate answers quickly. “It’ll always be in the back of her head, even in the middle of a blizzard.”
“Then I’ll walk her out when she’s ready.”
Tate touches my shoulder. “You’re becomingmore thoughtful, Brax. I think you’re finally turning into a man.”
I give her the middle finger. “I’ve been one for a long time, sister.”
“Debatable,” she teases as she swats my middle finger down. “But old Brax wouldn’t have thought twice about the woman after asking the man to leave.”
Is it me becoming more thoughtful or aware of how the world works? Maybe it’s the pretty girl with the pouty lips who looks like someone crushed all her hopes and dreams. No matter what, I’m not going to go through life with blinders on anymore, and I’m certainly not going to let the woman walk out of here alone.
“Hey,” I say to her as she twists the beer bottle in her hands.
“Hey,” she replies as she peers up at me.
“I’m going to walk you to your car.”
“He’s safe!” Tate yells from across the bar. “My brother’s a good one.”
The woman finally gives me a genuine smile. “I like her.”
“She’s a pain in the ass most times.”
“That’s sweet of you to offer, but I’m okay.”
“I insist. I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if I didn’t.”
She chews the corner of her lip for a moment before finally saying, “Okay.”
2
IRIS
The city is a mess.I can’t remember the last time it snowed this much in such a short time. The streets are covered with inches of snow, and there isn’t a snowplow in sight as the bartender walks me to my car.
I feel awful that he’s doing it when it’s so cold outside, too. The wind is howling and bitter as it blows against my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I say to him with my head down, trying to avoid the frigid air.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
He’s wearing a coat that’s too thin, with his hands tucked into his pockets. No hat. No gloves. No protection from the weather. He has to be colder than me, but he isn’t complaining.
“It’s right around the corner,” I tell him.
We walk in silence the last fifty feet to theprivate parking lot where I parked my car to avoid a ticket for parking on the street in the snow.
When we make it to the entrance of the lot, I turn to him and say, “We’re here. You can go back to the warmth of the bar.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you’re in your car, driving away.”
His reply is so surprising, I almost trip over my own feet. Before I have a chance to face-plant in the snow, he grabs my arm and saves me from an even more embarrassing end to this already horrible evening.
