Something deep inside me, something primal and full of rage that I didn’t realize existed within me until this moment, roars at the thought. It bares its claws and howls, giving me the strength to squirm free of Seth’s grip just enough to bring my knee up between his legs. Hard.
“Fuck,” he groans, his hand slipping from my mouth as he reaches for his crotch.
“Help! Help me!” I shout in a raw voice as I go for Seth’s eyes with my nails. He catches my wrists before I can do any damage, but I’m already bringing my leg up between his thighs again when the bar’s front door opens, and a familiar voice calls my name.
“Melody?”
Nick! Thank God.
“Nick, I’m here, in here! Help!” My words end in a sob as I twist free of Seth, snatch my purse from the bar with one shaking hand, and bolt for the door. For a second, I’m certain Seth is following me, but then I realize the thudding sound is just my pulse pounding in my ears.
I reach the front of the room as Nick steps inside, the door sliding slowly closed behind him. With a panicked sound, I grab his arm and drag him backward, toward the sliver of lamplight outside on the street and the promise of safety.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Melody—”
“Let’s get out of here, please just-get-out-of-here,” I pant, my words running together as I hit the door and push hard.
Nick follows without another word, staying close behind me as I tumble out onto the sidewalk. With a quick glance to my left and right, I jog across Main, bound for the door of the tattoo shop, where I plan to lock Nick and myself inside, where we’ll both be safe.
Seth isn’t following us, and even if he did, Nick is probably capable of taking him out—Seth is more muscled, but Nick is taller and seems like he could handle himself in a fight—but I’m not thinking rationally. I’m thinking with my survival brain, and my survival brain wants a locked door, or three, between Seth and me as soon as possible.
We reach the shop, and I grab the door, a whimper rising in my throat when it doesn’t budge in response to my tugging.
“Just a second.” Nick’s hand rests lightly on my shoulder as he digs his keys from his pocket.
Instantly, comfort flows from his hand into my clenched muscles. What his touch does to me is so dramatically different from the terror inspired by Seth’s that it’s almost dizzying.
When he moves away to fit the shop key into the door, I feel the loss of his warmth like a punch in the gut.
If someone had told me ten seconds ago that I’d be dying to be held in a man’s arms—any man’s arms—I would have said they were crazy.
But as soon as Nick closes the door behind us and flips the lock, I launch myself at him, twining my arms around his neck and burying my face in his white button-down shirt, the one that still smells of wedding food and spilled wine and the other hazards of cater-waitering.
It’s a comforting smell, safe and familiar, but not nearly as wonderful as the feel of Nick pulling me close.
Chapter 11
Melody
“What’s wrong, Mel?” Nick runs a hand over my hair. “What happened? I heard you scream, but when I opened the door, it was so dark I couldn’t see what was going on in there.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I take a shaky breath and squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m just glad it’s over.”
Nick tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip on his neck. After a moment, he relaxes and resumes petting my hair. I’ve always thought it felt weird when other boys did that, but I soon decide it’s one of the nicest things ever—so long as Nick is the one doing the petting.
We stand, swaying together for several long minutes, until the storm inside me begins to calm, and my heartbeat slows. Finally, I loosen my arms, pulling back far enough to look up into his face. The lights in the shop are off, but there’s enough illumination from the streetlamp outside for me to see how worried he is.
“It was a guy, wasn’t it?” he asks through a clenched jaw.
I nod, still not wanting to say Seth’s name or talk about what he did out loud. Talking about it will make it more real, and I don’t want it to be real. I want to pretend it was all some terrible dream and forget about the terrifying feel of his hands on me forever.
“Did he hurt you? Do we need to call the police?” Nick asks.
I shake my head quickly, panicked by the thought. “No, I don’t want to call the police.”
“Mel, if he hurt you, we have to—”