I stop.
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I stop.
“Something on your mind, Wade?”
His hands come up, drink in one, easy smile in place. But his eyes are glassy and rimmed with red. He’s been at it a while. “Just saying what everybody’s thinking.”
“Then everybody can mind their own fucking business.” I turn to go.
“Keep walking,” Wilder mutters, a mantra I guess we’re sharing.
Wade calls after me, “Maybe you’d coach better if you weren’t so busy breaking in the new librarian.”
Vibrating with rage, I turn. “Watch your fucking mouth, Pruitt.”
“Or what?” His smirk widens, his crew snickering behind him. “Whole town knows, man. Heard you bent her over in the picture books. Real classy, Brooks.
Fury is a living thing in my chest.
Tate’s hand finds my arm. “He’s drunk. Not worth it.”
I breathe. Nod. Turn to leave.
“That’s right,” that fucking fool says. “Walk away. Always walking away. But don’t worry, Brooks—” He’s loud enough now that everyone in the vicinity can hear. “When you’re done with her, I’ll take my turn. Bet she’s so tight, she whimpers when you?—"
He doesn't finish.
I don't remember crossing the distance, just the sickening crack of my knuckles against his jaw, the shock on his face, the satisfaction that floods me even as I know I just destroyed everything. I put everything behind the swing, all my weight, months of restraint snapping, a hundred whispers and a thousand looks about her. About Molly.
Three days of holding it together. Of being assessed and judged.
I knew something was going to break.
I just didn't expect it to be me.
CHAPTER 49
STAND UP
MOLLY
Time slows with the crack of bone on bone, the sound carrying across the space between us.
The man Grey hit flies back a few feet and lands on his friend, taking them both down, and Grey dives at them fist first.
In the twenty feet separating us, everyone is shouting, chaos exploding, too many bodies to see what's happening until a knot of them in red Ramblers jerseys steps back, pulling Grey with them. It takes four of them to hold him back, and still he almost gets loose, roaring, teeth bared, trying to get away.
My parents are pulling at me, but I can't hear what they're saying. I shake them off.
"No! I need to--"
My dad steps in front of me, saying sternly, "We're leaving. Now."
I try to get around him. "I can't leave him! He needs--"
"He needs to deal with what he's done." Dad's hands are on my arms, his grip too tight. "You being here makes it worse. We're leaving."
"Molly," Cass warns, "he's right. You should go. And don't fight your dad or Grey's gonna--"
