I don’t stop walking until I’m close enough to step between them, forcing Nichols to move back.
He grins at me, expression lazy and superior. “I saw her first, Bennett.”
“Walk away,” I say, startled by the steel in my own tone. I sound … dangerous.
Brett blinks rapidly a few times, taken aback by it too. He’s not accustomed to me engaging in our conflicts, let alone escalating them. But he regains his arrogance quickly. “It’s a free country. I’ll hook up with whoever I want.”
“I said,walk away, Nichols.”
He laughs before shaking his head and shifting closer to Wren. She hasn’t said anything, but I can feel her hovering beside me. “I don’t take orders from you, Bennett. We both know you won’t?—”
I make sure Wren’s out of the way, then swing. And it’s supremely satisfying, seeing my fist connect with his shocked face. I also enjoy watching Brett stumble back, trying to regain his balance, taking the stool he grabbed down with him.
And then the high fades, and reality rushes in. The stares, the pointing, the wide eyes.
“Out, Bennett!” Owen yells, which is no surprise.
No fightingis pretty much the only rule Lucky’s enforces.
Brett is getting to his feet. There’s a crimson mark on his left cheek. His right is red too, probably from embarrassment. I knocked him down with one hit.
“You’re going to fucking pay for that,” he snarls.
“Work on your listening skills,” I retort, knowing I’m likely making things worse.
It’s freeing though. I’ve spent so long stifling strong emotions and hiding any characteristics that are similar to my father. I lost parts of myself in the process, and rediscovering them is bittersweet.
“Out, Bennett!” Owen repeats.
I shove past Brett, pausing next to Gus. He, like everyone else, rushed over to the action.
“Make sure he stays away from her,” I mutter, then continue outside.
I head for my truck, raking my hands through my hair as the full force of possible repercussions hits me.Fuck. Nichols will try to make me pay, and he has a case. I let him get to me. Gave him exactly what he’d wanted, what he’d tried to goad me into for years, because I couldn’t think straight around Wren. I should regret it, but I really don’t.
I grip the tailgate, hanging my head and breathing heavily. My body is still swimming with adrenaline, and my right knuckles sting. They’re bruised, maybe split. I kick a back tire once, attempting to expel some frustration.
“Here.”
I spin around, staring at Wren. She’s standing a few feet away, holding a plastic bag full of ice toward me.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the bag and pressing the cold cubes against the back of my hand.
She crosses her arms once I do, studying me. I scan her expression, looking for anger—or worse, fear. She appears totally impassive.
“I’m sorry.” I sigh. “I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have gotten involved. I wasn’t—Nichols and I have history. We always get into it.”
I brace for her ire. For her to tell me to fuck off.
Wren reaches out, lifting the ice bag and glancing at my pink knuckles. “So, it had nothing to do with me?”
She doesn’t know that I’ve never hit Brett before. I could blame all of this on the past, let her think I was settling some old score. But I’m sick of lying about how I really feel. I think I’m doing a shitty job of it anyway.
I clear my throat, but the words still come out husky. “It had a lot to do with you.”
“Can you give me a ride home?”
“I, uh, yeah. Sure.” I stumble through the simple answer, taken aback by the request.
