Jesse catches his wrist midair, grip iron.
“Don’t,” Jesse says, voice low.
The guy tries to yank free. “Let go!”
“You touched her,” Jesse replies, still controlled, but the calm is cracking now. “You don’t get to do that.”
The guy jerks again, then swings.
His fist connects with Jesse’s shoulder.
Time slows.
Jesse’s restraint snaps like a rope pulled too tight.
He swings back.
The sound of impact is sharp. Immediate chaos erupts—chairs scraping, people shouting, someone yelling for security, drinks sloshing.
I stumble back, heart hammering.
And the thought flashes through my mind, bright and breathless and absurd even in the moment.
Never have I ever been in a bar brawl.
EIGHT
JESSE
“Never have I ever been arrested,” I mumble under my breath.
Hell, I’ve never even been this far into a police station. The last time I was in one, I’m pretty sure it was part of a field trip in elementary school. They gave us little sheets of paper with our fingerprints and mugshots on them.
Somehow, I don’t think this set of fingerprints—or my mug shot—is going to end up on my mom’s refrigerator.
“What was that?” the officer taking my belt buckle and shoes behind the counter asks.
“Nothing.” I sigh and mumble to myself. “Never have I ever been such an idiot.”
“Sir, you’re going to have to speak louder, and enunciate, if you want something.”
“I don’t want anything.” Besides maybe going back in time a few hours and suggesting Mindy and I go somewhere other than my bar. “I’m just telling myself what an idiot I’ve been.” He squints at me for a second like he’s deciding whether I’m drunker than I look, then goes back to typing.
Never have I ever been so damn stupid.
The station smells like old coffee and something I don’t want to think about too hard. The overhead lights buzz faintly overhead. My knuckles are sore and my jaw aches where that asshole clipped me.
There’s dried blood on my sleeve that I’m hoping is his.
I still don’t fully understand how it spiraled so fast.
One second I was telling the guy to leave. The next he was swinging. Then I was swinging. Then security was there. Then police. Then I was being pulled back while he shouted that I “assaulted” him.
The last clear image in my head is Mindy.
Standing near the edge of the crowd.
Eyes wide.
