That’s the wrong move.
All the tiny tells in her body spike at once. Her shoulders snap up. Her pupils blow wide. Her free hand curls into a fist so tight the knuckles blanch.
She is not okay.
I take one more step forward so I’m squarely between them now, close enough to smell the stale coffee and cheap cigarettes on his breath.
“I said,” I repeat quietly, “you need to leave.”
He laughs. Sharp, ugly. “You gonna make me?”
He’s baiting. Pushing buttons. The wild look in his eyes is part fear, part arrogance, part desperation. I’ve seen it in men who want a fight they can blame on someone else.
My fingers twitch.
The easiest thing in the world would be to give in. To grab his jacket, walk him backward until his back hits his own car door, and explain in small, painful words how this is going to go.
But there’s Holley, right here behind me, caught in the blast radius.
I can feel her eyes on my back. Feel her wanting this over, not escalated.
“Eric,” she says quietly, voice trembling now. “Please. I’ll talk to you later. Not in front of my friend.” Good, she’s reading the situation and playing along. I don’t know what this man knows about her or her rental, but he needs to know she has support.
He snorts. “I’m bothering him?” He gestures at me with his chin. “Look at him. Old biker dude probably thinks he’s hot shit. Since when did you have friends?”
I almost grin.
That’s fine. Better he fixate on me than on her.
“You’re crossing a line with me,” she says, stronger this time. “And you’re embarrassing me. Go home.”
“Home?” He barks out a bitter laugh. “What home? You got the home. The house you sold. Then you took back your last name and bought this cabin. The only thing I got is overdraft fees and a car they’re probably gonna repo any damn day now.”
“And that,” I say, “is why she signed the papers. If you were a good man, she wouldn’t have signed shit.”
His head whips toward me.
The vein in his forehead stands out. His hands curl into fists. For a second, I can see him making the decision.
He’s going to swing.
The world narrows. The night goes sharp around the edges. The old instincts come roaring up, fast and clean.
Distance. Angle. Weight. Momentum.
If he swings, I’ll see it coming a mile away. I’ll side-step, grab his wrist, put him on the ground slow or hard depending on how stupid he wants to be about it.
But then I feel Holley behind me shift. Hear the tiny hitch in her breathing.
She doesn’t need a brawl in her driveway. She doesn’t need cops and reports and neighbors peeking through curtains.
She needs this whole mess gone.
I need an exit. Fast.
A thought hits.
It’s reckless and half-formed and inappropriate.
