“And you would defend him?” he demands, red-faced and spitting. “Are you fucking serious? Or are you that brainwashed?”
“Don’t talk to her that way,” Zeke snarls, getting in his way so he can’t see me without craning his neck. “This is between you and me, asshole. And it’s been coming for months.”
“Damn right,” Dean agrees, taking off his hat and tossing it to the ground. Oh my God, he actually thinks they’re going to fight.
And so does Zeke, who is now stripping off his jacket. It’s like a nightmare. I’m standing here, watching this unfold, and I don’t seem to be making any difference in the situation. I’m powerless. I might as well not be here—ironic because this is all supposed to be about me.
“Please, don’t do this!” I try to force my way between them, facing Zeke, shaking him in a desperate attempt to get him to look at me. If he would only look at me, I might be able to calm him down. Now some of the waitstaff are standing on the other side of the glass doors, and one of them is holding a phone to record what happens. Terrific.
“You need to get out of the way.” Brad takes hold of my arms and pulls me back like he’s afraid I’m going to get caught in the crosshairs once fists start to fly. It’s all happening so fast, I don’t know what to deal with first.
“Get your hands off me,” I snap, fighting to get myself free.
“Just let them get it out of their systems.”
“I can’t do that.” When he won’t let me go after, I try again to break free, and he leaves me with no choice—especially when Dean shoves Zeke hard enough to knock him back a step. All Zeke does is laugh, but it’s a dangerous sound. Scary enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
And that’s why I stomp on Brad’s instep as hard as I can. He howls, probably more in surprise than pain, but it’s enough to loosen his grip on my arms. I pull the right one free and drive an elbow into his sternum. This time, he doubles over, the wind rushing out of his lungs all at once. It’s the most basic move, but at least I now know it’s successful.
“Stop, stop!” I throw myself between them, my back to Dean. “Please. Would you look at me? You know this isn’t right. You can’t do this.”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” I don’t even know if he actually hears me or knows it’s me begging him. He’s locked on Dean. “He knows what’s coming to him. He’s been begging for this.”
“Come on, then,” Dean mocks. “Or do you want your girlfriend here to fight your battles for you?”
“That’s enough.” I turn around, ready to murder him. I hardly even recognize him right now. He’s not the sweet, almost goofy guy who always has to make jokes. He wants blood. Zeke’s blood.
He has no idea who he’s dealing with, though, and that’s the problem. “He’ll seriously hurt you,” I whisper urgently. It’s not like I want to offend his male pride or whatever, but it’s the truth, and he deserves to know it.
Dean’s face falls a little, and I know it was the wrong thing to say—though if it stops a fight from breaking out, was it really? “So that’s really how it is?”
“Yeah. It is,” I say, my heart sinking. I don’t think we’re talking about the fight anymore. Not entirely.
His jaw tenses, and his nostrils flare like he wants to explode, but he manages to hold himself back. “Fine. Got it. You’re not worth the effort.” He spits on the ground close to Zeke’s feet before grabbing his hat off the ground. “For lunch.” He tosses a handful of twenty-dollar bills on the pavement before shooting me one last look.
A look that brings only one word to mind: hatred. He hates me. Was he ever who I thought he was?
And when Zeke growls behind me, I realize I’m in trouble with him, too. Can I ever win?
“We’re going to have a talk when we get home about embarrassing me in front of people,” he warns. “I think we should head in that direction now.”
I can only brace myself for what I know is coming—even though I doubt there’s any way I can prepare for his wrath.