She knew how the police would view his appearance.
He was affluent.
Well put together.
He could charm the pants off of pretty much everyone.
If the police came, he’d say something to smooth it over.
She sighed and shook her head.
"I should talk to him."
Seaton started toward the steps, but she felt a hand on her arm.
"Don't, Seaton." It was Zharia’s voice.
"Yeah." Lincoln moved until he was nearly in front of her. "Seaton, wait."
"He's making noise," she insisted, "So many of our neighbors are elderly. They're trying to sleep."
As soon as she stepped off of the porch, she heard Sam curse under his breath.
"Take this, Abe."
Sam caught up to her halfway to the sidewalk.
His arm bumped up against hers, but he didn't put his hands on her.
Something she was thankful for.
Seaton was still riding the current of emotions from Zharia's story and now she had to deal with Daryl, the man she'd worked so hard to leave behind.
If Sam touched her, she had a feeling that she would’ve broken down into tears.
She could handle pain and derision from people.
Softness? Support?
Those just might break her into pieces.
Sam fell into step with her and she kept walking.
Daryl hadn't seen her yet, but she could see that he was seething.
As soon as he started back around the car, heading for the driver's seat he saw her.
He stopped like he'd hit a wall of solid air, almost bouncing back before he swung around and nailed her with a look.
"Where the fuck did you come from?"
If she had to guess, he’d been drinking. Yelling like he was, wasn’t what he did.
She held up her hands, physically pleading with him. "Daryl, please. Most of my neighbors are elderly. Please don't make a scene."
"A scene?"
She sagged a little, her energy dropping.
