“Yeah, yousuredidn’t.” I smile. That’s the normal reaction, being a girl standing at over six feet and formed from years of rugby and training turns the heads of men, and not in the good kind of way. I’m pretty used to them being more scared of me than turned on, and I don’t mind.They can’t handle me anyway, and scaring them shitless is more fun than sex.
I turn around to face the idiot who grabbed Sunday and cock my head to the side, looking at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see both Boone and Judd approaching as Brighton watches on from the bar. I have a choice to make: let them handle it or do it myself.
Derek opens his mouth to defend himself, but I’m in the kind of mood to hit first and ask questions later.Handle it myself then.My handcomes up, and before Derek can even register the movement, my closed fist collides with his face, and the bar erupts in gasps and chatter.
Blood pours from his nose, and an explosion of pain ripples across my knuckles, but when he drops his hands, pride bubbles up in a sharp, wicked laugh at the sight of the ring imprints littering his skin.
“Okay, that fucking hurt,” I choke under my breath.Why is his face so hard…
Derek looks at the blood in his hand and back up to me with vicious intent. He charges me, but I’m quicker and drop my stance in preparation for his attack, wrapping my arms around his middle and pushing him back into the crowd. His back hits a table, and glass goes flying. He tries again, his movements sloppy with unbridled rage and his feet slipping in the spilled drinks beneath him.
“Oh fuck off, you water buffalo! We were just having fun!” he grunts and tries to attack again.
“Let it go, Derek.” A hand wraps around the back of his neck as he makes to hit me, and Brighton hovers behind him, fingers digging into his skin. “It’s bad enough you’re a creep, don’t stick around to get your ass kicked in front of all these people.”
I expect him to make a girl joke, they all make them, but Brighton doesn’t; he just squeezes Derek tighter when he tries to fight the hold. He gives it one more go, but Brighton hauls him backwards, “Get. Out.”
Derek scrabbles away, his idiot friends on his tail, and Brighton looks at Sunday, “I’m good. Nothing he hasn’t tried before.” The muscle in his jaw ticks at her answer, but he looks to me, his eyes doing a quick scan.
“Good here too,” I say quickly to get him to stop, unprepared for the tingle of warmth his gaze gives me. “Fine, promise. Super chill!” I spit out between my laughter.
When Brighton finally turns away, he runs into Boone, who says a few things before starting to clear out the bar. I look down at my hand, flexing it sorely and slip off the rings one by one and shove them into my pocket before they get swollen on.
“Nice punch,” Cosy says, coming up beside me and tilting her head back. “His nose will be crooked even after a trip to the emergency room.
“I wish it would stop him from being a creep,” I say, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins.Fuck, I love punching men.
“Just means you get to punch him again in the future.” She winks at me and backs away to find the other girls.
“You’re not wrong,” I call out with a tipsy smile on my face.
Derek barks insults all the way around the corner and out of sight. “I’ll clear out the front,” Boone yells, and slaps my shoulder on his way past. I scan across and spot the Hillcats that stuck around, huddled in a tight circle, talking, and lean on the bar with both hands flat to the surface as I watch them.
Rhea handled herself well—better than expected—and I admire her for sticking up for Sunday. My sister may be tough; she may come into the Hollow covered in bruises from rugby or exhausted after a twelve-hour shift. But she’s still my little sister, and those are things I can’t stop from hurting her. Creeps inside my bar are a different story. I try to keep my distance, give her space—but tonight, with Derek… Sometimes I wish self-control weren’t my best trait.
I wet my bottom lip and stare at the liquor above my head, calling to me like a bad habit. Rum makes the tremor stop, but it would make everything else worse. I roll my neck out and listen to the string of complaints as Boone clears the bar forty-five minutes before closing. There’s an impossible knot between my shoulders, created from tension and the weight of my own bullshit.
"Brighton?” A voice breaks through the thick blanket of stress fog and settles at my feet. I look down to see Rhea standing there, cradling her hand.No one really calls me that anymore, I want to say to her, but she speaks again. “Do you think I could get some ice?”
“You hurt yourself?” The words slip out with a hint of concern, and I grind my teeth together to keep my mouth shut.
"It’s not that bad—”
“Killjoy!” Boone cuts her off with a sharp bark of the name they call me on the field to get my attention, ‘it’s because you’re a fucking buzzkill, Bri. Loosen up.’I turn to see him at the other end of the bar, waving me down. I close the gap, running my hand through my hair as I go, trying to get straight before my mind wanders too far and I can’t get it back.
“What?” I snap, leaning into his gravity.
“Cosy is too drunk to drive, so I’m going to play taxi driver,” he says, “let Rhea know to meet us out front in five?”
I look over my shoulder at her, still standing by the bar. She looks smaller than usual as she tries to hide the pain on her face.
"I’ll take her,” I blurt out.
“You’ll what?” Boone’s face curls up in confusion.
“I should check out her hand, just in case. I don’t want her suing the Hollow cause she broke something and can’t play rugby,” I say.
“Suing—” Boone stares at me like I have five heads. “Never mind. Just don’t screw any of Sunday’s friends. That's not a mess I’m equipped to clean up,” Boone says quickly as if I’m the brother with that kind of agenda.
