TWENTY-THREE
His fingers found my hip,his touch light and his presence steady at my back.
“Found yourself another abusive asshole to put you in place, June?” Stewart drawled.
Zed stepped around me, and I knew his body language. He was about to kick Stewart’s ass—and Stewart deserved it. But Zed could end up in jail if he did—and Stewart would be able to sue him, which could lead to all sorts of expensive shit neither of us wanted to pay.
And honestly, I didn’t know if I could ever look at Zed the same way if I’d seen him attack someone. There were a lot of shitty memories that could trigger, and neither of us wanted that to happen.
So I flung myself between the men, my hands finding Zed’s biceps. There was cold fury in the werewolf’s eyes, anger I’d never seen from the calm, rational man before.
My chest tightened in response, even as I said, “Don’t. He’s not worth it. We’re leaving.” Zed’s jaw clenched, but after a tense, silent moment, he jerked his head in a nod.
We started toward the door, Zed’s body nearly engulfing mine. The only bit of my body that he wasn’t protecting was one shoulder, which was exposed by the arm that he had wrapped around my back. “Stewart will comp our food to pay us back for being a bastard,” I drawled, loudly enough that I knew the bastard would hear.
His hand landed on my shoulder, and he jerked me backward. “That’s not going to happen, Junie.”
My instinct was to turn, and run, and hide. I’d tried to get past it. I’d done some online therapy, and in-person therapy, but some things were just ingrained too deeply to change, at least for me.
“Let go of the girl,” a sharp male voice commanded.
We all looked at the newcomer, and I found a man in a nametag. Beneath his name, it said, “Manager”.
If Stewart was supposed to take over in the near future, I assumed this guy was the one he was going to take over for.
Stewart’s hand left my shoulder immediately.
The expression on his face said he was in a shitload of trouble.
I was feeling too much panic to care that his job was probably in jeopardy, at the very least.
“Are you going to take legal action?” the manager asked me.
I blinked.
It had never occurred to me that was an option. But even if it was…
“No, I’m not.” I shook my head a bit.
Zed made a noise of disagreement, but I shot him a warning look, and he didn’t argue aloud. Though his expression told me we would probably be arguing about it afterward.
“Thank you. We’re very sorry, miss. Your meal is on the house if you choose to stay.” He gestured to mine and Zed’s very-full table.
“We’re leaving,” Zed said, his voice flat. “You should consider choosing someone more respectful to replace you.” His arm engulfed my back, and we headed for the door.
So much for closure.
All I felt was more frustrated, and humiliated, about the situation.
“Pack your things and get out of here,” the manager said behind us, his voice low and angry.
Maybe I should’ve felt relieved that Stewart was being punished, but all of the other emotions welling up inside me were too intense for me to care.
Zed opened my door for me when we reached the truck, and I climbed in silently as he took the driver’s seat. He pulled away from the diner, and we were both silent.
His fingers were clenched around the steering wheel, though.
And my heart was still pounding.