Ethan’s eyes flick to Lawson.
Good.
Let him know this isn’t just me talking.
A slow grin spreads across Ethan’s face, and something in me snaps.
Maybe it’s the way he still doesn’t look sorry.
Maybe it’s years of pent-up aggression toward this fuckin’ family.
Or maybe it’s the fact that Abigail’s involved now. Women caught in the crossfire always pay first.
Whatever it is, I don’t fucking care.
I punch him.
Hard.
My knuckles explode with pain as his head smacks the wall again. He slides down the brick, coughing, spitting blood, hands grasping at his face.
And that’s when I know I need out.
Now.
Before I do something I can’t take back.
Because now is definitely not the time.
I step away so fast it almost feels like I’m tearing myself in two. One half of me wants to turn into the person I spent years afraid of, and the other part of me wants to be better. To walk away. My chest is heaving, ears ringing, pulse roaring too loud to ignore. I don’t look at Ethan or his brothers again. I don’t look at anyone.
I just turn and storm straight into the Busted Barrel.
The bathroom door slams behind me, the lock rattling as I throw it. I brace both my hands on the sink, breathing hard, staring at my reflection as if it might magically turn into my father.
Get it together.
Come on, Jasper.
A knock sounds at the door. “Go away,” I snap. “It’s occupied.”
Silence.
Then, a voice so soft and measured sounds through the wood. “Jas,” Abigail says. “It’s me. Please open the door.”
Chapter thirty-two
Abigail
Jasper’sgothisbackto me when I slip inside and relock the door. His shoulders are hunched, hands braced against the sink like the world might tilt on its axis if he lets go. His reflection stares back at him from the mirror—jaw tight, eyes dark and glassy, chest rising and falling like he’s still mid-fight.
He doesn’t turn toward me, so I continue taking him in.
The scrape on his knuckles. The blood spattered on his jacket. The way his whole body is wound so tight, it’s like one wrong breath could shatter him.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly, though I know the answer.
He lets out a sharp laugh that holds no humor. “No, Abigail. I’m not okay.”
