“Sleeping with Sloane really did a number on you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy.”
“Me either. She wants you there. This is the real deal, so I’m in. We’re both hers, but if we’re a pack, it makes you mine too, in whatever way you want,” he says it so casually I wish I could rewind and listen to it again.
“You’d want to date the mascot.”
“No, I’d like to date you, Ethan,” he says, and before I have a moment to process his words, there’s a commotion over by the bathroom.
“Get your fucking hands off me,” Sloane says sternly.
Bram and I are up quicker than I’ve ever moved in my life as we storm into the direction of the altercation.
The man I recognize as a regular. Is this the fucker who accosted her previously?
“Come on, your man’s not even here,” he says.
Sloane glances our way, and when I see the man’s hand gripped around her wrist, all I see is red as I pull back my fist and punch him in the face. He’s bigger than me, clearly an Alpha. But I don’t give a shit as I pull back and hit again and again. Myknuckles ache, and besides the pain in my fist, all I can see is this weak motherfucker beneath me.
“Hey! Hey!” is shouted. I don’t know where from until two big arms wrap around me. I try to pull back from their hold.
The man on the ground is spitting blood and groaning as the arms tighten further.
“Enough,” he grumbles, and I realize it’s Bram.
He squeezes me tightly like he’s trying to calm me down, and I suppose he is.
“He’s done. Sloane's fine. He’s done.”
He lets go of me, and I shake my hands out, and there’s this incessant need to hit the man on the ground again. Flashbacks from a time I never want to remember whirl in the back of my head.
Suddenly, Bram is grabbing my face roughly.
“Look at me,” he nearly growls.
I take a deep breath and look at him.
“Good. I need you to breathe. To calm down. Can you do that for me?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” I reply.
I’m not fucking good. None of this is okay. I blink out some of the haziness, and reality slaps me in the face. What the fuck did I just do? Is Sloane afraid?
I glance over Bram’s shoulder.
“No,” he says deeply, his fingers digging into my cheeks. “Don’t talk to her until you know you’re really okay.”
“I’m not okay,” I admit, and he nods his head.
“Sit at that booth. Let me make sure Sloane gets home okay. We’ll take care of this.”
I don’t know why Bram is helping me, but I know I can’t refuse it. I might have just ruined my life by assaulting that man.
Fuck.
I’m going to ruin everything. Sloane is probably scared shitless. Cassidy is likely already on the phone with the cops or Dave.
Instead of looking up to see the regret or fear in Sloane’s eyes, I sit in the booth as I’m told. My hands shake with anger, disgust, and frustration as I steeple my fingers and rest my head against them.
All this work. All this effort to work on my anger and here I am. I’m near tears but hold it in. What the fuck was I thinking?
