Page 104 of Just Ten Seconds

No sooner does he make the hit than Dean is back over the guy, holding a fist in the air in a threatening way. The guy is still on the floor, wiping the blood from his nose. A group of people rushes to his side. Joe and the bouncer are making their way through, pushing the crowd apart to get to him.

Dean is back up, out of the mob, and over to Jackie and me by the back door. Another bouncer starts to walk over, presumably to kick us out.

Dean holds up a hand to the bouncer and declares, “We’re leaving.”

He kicks the back door open, and it slams against the brick wall. We’re in the parking lot behind the bar. There are a few people having cigarettes. They don’t seem to know or care that we came out here.

“I never knew he had it in him.” Jackie’s stunned expression is slack-jawed. I move to go to Dean, but she pulls me back. “I don’t think now’s a good time.”

“That’s the problem. It’s never a good time,” I explain to her.

Dean’s hands are gripping the metal rail of the ramp outside the door. His knuckles are white from him clenching his fists, and his back is rigid with angry breaths. When he looks at me, his eyes are discerning despite the bite of his jaw.

Jackie puts a protective hand on my shoulder. “While I’m all about the hot alpha-male thing he has going on right now, I’m not leaving you here with him. Not when he’s this angry.”

“It’s okay,” I reply without taking my eyes off of him. “Dean would never hurt me.”

She seems wary, but she honors my request and steps away from us, walking toward the metal door. “I’ll be back to check on you.”

My head is still a mess of tequila, but the frigid air is slapping some sense back into me. As the door closes behind Jackie, the ground seems to shift, so I grip the wall to keep myself from falling over.

“You’re drunk,” he accuses.

He’s not entirely incorrect. I’m buzzed. “That’s the least of my problems.”

“What the hell’s going on, Mara?” He pushes off the railing with a grunt.

My hands are on my stomach as it churns. “I had every intention of telling you about Benjamin.”

“What exactly were you going to tell me about Benjamin?”

I swallow hard. His hands rub his eyes and travel down his face in aggravation.

“He’s not dead,” I whisper.

His nostrils flare as he turns his back to me.

I walk toward him with an outstretched arm. “For the record, I never actually said he was dead.”

He spins back to me. His forceful body steps toward me, taking away the space between us. “That’s supposed to make this better?”

“No! No … it’s not. I was going to tell you. After the lake house. After we … I just couldn’t seem to get you alone.”

“A phone call would have sufficed.”

His hand has a tight grasp on the back of his neck, and I hate that he’s upset. I hate that I’m the one who is making him upset.

“I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Why?” His question is laced with bitterness.

“Because I—” I hold back my words. This is no place to be professing anything. It would come out like a cheap ploy. “Because you’re important to me.”

His eyes close as if he’s trying to search his brain for any form of understanding. When they’re open, his eyes are red with ire, and his nostrils flare. “If I was that important, you wouldn’t have lied to me.”

“I didn’t intend to lie. I just … it all snowballed so fast, and I didn’t know how to get out of it without hurting you.”

“Hurting me?” His focus is back on me, and it’s fierce.