I have no sense of how long we’ve been standing here, but I eventually loosen my grip. His hands drop too. I dart my eyes around the street, wondering if anyone saw us and also looking anywhere except directly at him. “I, uh, I’ll see you?”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice still that soft tone that I realize I’ve only heard him use with me.
“ ’Kay.” I finally climb into my convertible, wincing when I register the time on the dash. Even so, I’m tempted to linger longer.
I turn on the car, glancing in the mirror before I start driving toensure there’s no oncoming traffic. And then again once I’m partway down the road to check if he’s still standing in the same spot.
He is.
I’m scared if I wait, it will never be me. If I move on, it will never be him.
26
“What about you, Cap?”
I lift my gaze from the napkin I was slowly shredding. “What?”
Macie’s smile tightens before she shakes her head. “Nothing. Never mind.”
I glance down at my water glass, wishing I’d ordered something stronger.
Brett Nichols passes our table, aiming his typical smarmy smirk my way en route to the bar. He was already here when we arrived and made a few of his typical comments then, but has kept his distance since. He’s getting a refill now, I’m guessing—since I doubt he’s leaving this early.
One can hope.
Across the table, Wade scoffs. “Typical Nichols, going after the hottest girl.”
Macie, nearest, overhears. She balls up a napkin and tosses it at him. “Thanks a lot, jerk.”
“That’s not—” Wade looks to me for help, and I shrug a shoulder. He’s going to have to dig out of this hole solo. “You’re hot too,” Wade says. “Wren’s just …”
My head whips left, and I scan the area by the bar. Wren was back by the pool table, talking to Aaron and some of the other guys, last I checked. Now, she’s standing by the bar, watching Brett fucking Nichols do his damnedest to impress her.
Water sloshes over the rim of my glass, running over my knuckles. I relax my grip on the plastic, but the clear material remains crinkled and cracked. Irrevocably damaged, like me.
Gus leans over to toss a stack of napkins on the spilled liquid. “She can handle herself, man,” he says, low enough for only me to hear, although I barely do over the blood rushing in my ears.
Every muscle in my body is tense, stiff with the effort of staying in place.
I glance over again.
Wren is leaning against one end of the bar, presumably waiting for a drink. Owen is at the other end, serving someone else. And Brett is all over her.
Wren says something, and his smile falters. But Brett recovers quickly, pulling out his wallet. Offering to buy her drink, I’d bet.
She shakes her head. He steps closer, crowding her space.
The roaring grows louder. I’m not even pretending to pay attention to what’s happening at my table anymore.
Wren will hate if I intervene. Nichols will love it, especially if he realizes what Wren means to me. If he does, he’ll be even less likely to leave her alone.
She’s fine, I tell myself.She’s fine, and she doesn’t want or needyour help.
Then her head turns.
Wren doesn’t look for the bartender. She doesn’t look at Aaron. Her gaze doesn’t wander. It lands straight on me, and it stays there. I wasn’t sure she’d even noticed I was here tonight.
I’m already off my stool, pushing through the crowd. Ignoring the protests as I literally shove my way through or the shouts of, “Cap!” behind me.
