“I know.” The words hurt more than I expect. Because I do know. I knew it when I stepped through the door. I just thought I was being smart. I thought I was making the safe choice. My eyes sting. “I was typing,” I say, the words shaking now. “I texting you to tell you.”
His gaze drops to my phone still clenched in my hand, screen cracked at the corner from the fall, message half-written and unsent. His jaw works once. Then he crouches. Slow. Careful. Like any sudden movement might break whatever control he has left. He doesn’t touch me at first. Just gets closer. Close enough that I can feel the heat of him against the cold air. “Look at me,” he says.
I do.
His eyes burn into mine. “You scared me.” For a second, I think he’s going to say more. I think he’s going to tear into me, tell me I was stupid, tell me this is exactly why he said no, exactly why he brought prospects, exactly why he tried to keep me home. He doesn’t. No yelling. No cursing. No anger thrown at me. And somehow it’s worse.
My chest cracks open. “I’m sorry,” I say again, and this time it’s not about being caught or being wrong. It’s because I saw him. I saw what it did.
His hand finally moves, brushing lightly near my shoulder, not gripping, not lifting yet. Just confirming I’m there. Solid. Real. Alive. Then the hard mask falls back into place. “Can you sit?”
“I think so.”
“You don’t move until I tell you.”
This time, I don’t argue. I don’t even want to. He shifts closer, one hand supporting my back, the other bracing carefully behind my head without pressing against the spot that throbs. His touch is controlled. Gentle in function, if not softness.
I sit up slowly, the world tilting around me. Nausea rolls through my stomach. I sway.
His arm locks around me instantly. “Easy.”
“I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.”
I don’t argue that either. Because I’m not. Not physically. Not emotionally. Not in any way that matters.
The alley mouth fills with movement again. Tate comes back, breathing hard. “They peeled out in a dark van. Connor’s trying to get the plate. Eli’s on with Dom.”
Cobra doesn’t look away from me. “Tell them to stay on it.”
“Yeah.” Tate nods and disappears.
I lean against Cobra because I can’t help it. Because my head hurts. Because my legs feel weak. Because for all the ways I argued against him, he is the only solid thing in this alley.
His arm tightens around me.
The club door bursts open somewhere nearby, voices spilling out. Tessa’s voice cuts through first. “Olivia!”
Mia is right behind her. “Oh my God!”
Cobra’s body shifts, tightening like a shield before they even reach us.
“I’m okay,” I call, though my voice sounds thin even to me.
Tessa freezes when she sees Cobra holding me, sees the pavement, sees my face. She looks like she wants to fall apart and fight someone at the same time. “What happened?”
I open my mouth.
Cobra beats me to it. “She hit her head.”
Mia’s eyes widen. “How?”
I force a shaky breath. “Drunk idiots,” I say before he can answer. “There was shoving. I got knocked over.” The lie tastes bad. Necessary. But bad.
Tessa looks at me like she doesn’t believe me. Not fully. She’s too smart for that. But she also looks at Cobra. And something about his face stops her from pushing.
Good.
