I still can’t hear her, but Ben turns his back on her and resumes his pacing. “This is my girlfriend. She’s Australian, but she’s here makin’ a ‘film.’” He wraps the word in air quotes. “Fancy, huh?” Every word and gesture are meant to belittle her.
Fuck this guy.
“She’s also afuckin’ whore!” The words are acid. He shakes his head, his face beet red, and the rage morphs into a menacing smile. “She thinks I don’t know,” turning to face her, disgust takes over, “but I do. I guess Jesse’s gonna try to take everything from me. This tour. My girlfriend.” He spits on the stage. “Fuck him!” he yells.“And fuck you!”He’s a powder keg ready to blow.
A guy I recognize as one of the bartenders has appeared from the curtain backstage. He steps up, hands nonthreatening on Ben’s chest, trying to calm him.
When I see Hannah climbing on stage, I don’t hesitate and scramble up to intercept her.
The rest happens in slow motion.
Hannah screams through tears, “That’s a lie! You’re the one who’s cheating, you jealous little fucker!”
I scream, “Stop!” as I stand to my full height between them.
Ben throws a punch.
The bartender ducks.
And mayhem ensues.
I’m momentarily disoriented, and it takes me a few seconds to register what happened. Hannah’s crouched over me, eyes wide and unblinking. “Sophie, oh my God!”
His punch was clumsy and didn’t have much behind it when it connected with my jaw, but it was enough to catch me off guard and send me tumbling into a speaker. Sitting up, I blink a few times, but everything is blurry.
“You’re bleeding.” Hannah’s voice is shrill and watery. She must be crying.
I swipe at my face, and my hand comes away red. Luckily, I’ve never been squeamish at the sight of blood, but the thing that’s concerning is there’s a lot of it. I can’t tell where it’s coming from.
I hear Ever’s voice over everything, summoning the wrath of gods when he roars, “I will fucking destroy you, Ben! You’re dead, motherfucker!”
“Where’s Ever?” I ask because that wasn’t an empty threat. If he gets his hands on Ben, he’ll beat the shit out of him.
Even drunk, she’s surprisingly quick to get on her feet and help me to mine.
I always thought bar brawls in movies were exaggerated for dramatic effect.
They’re not. The chaos is all around us.
Pulling the collar of my T-shirt up over my face, I press it to my eyes to clear my vision. Ben is the first person I see. A second guy has joined the bartender, and they’re standing in front of him. I can’t tell which one of us they’re protecting.
When I meet his eyes, he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I didn’t mean it.” Belligerence is gone and color drained.
The blood is flowing again. The cut must be above my right eye. “You need to go sober up and chill the fuck out, Ben.” I know it was an accident, but I can’t hide the irritation in my voice. He was being an asshole.
“Soph!” Ever yells. The fury is edged with panic now. I must look like a horror movie.
Instinctively, I turn toward his voice in the middle of the crowd. Wiping again with my T-shirt, I see his head above the rest, and our eyes lock. Several men are restraining him, and he’s fighting to pull away.
“Let me fucking go!” The growl in his voice is feral.
“Come on,” Hannah says, as she takes my hand. She’s shaking like a leaf, but she pushes her way through the crowd while I trail behind, T-shirt pressed to my face with my free hand to stem the flow.
“Let him go,” I demand as we approach.
When the men look at me, they relax. Ever, with thrashing limbs, breaks free and strips the T-shirt he’s wearing over his head in one fluid motion. He’s a live wire, but his hands are gentle when he tips my chin up and begins dabbing away the blood with his shirt. His gaze frantically scanning my face for the gash. “Soph.” My name is anguish.
“The cut’s above my right eye. Is it bad?” I ask. There’s a slight tremble in my voice that I hope he can’t hear. I think it’s a reaction to the fear on his face, because the pain hasn’t set in yet.
