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Before I can even process what I’m doing, I have him pushed up against the wall. My hand held tightly around his neck.
“Don’t you ever fucking touch her.”
“Aiden.”
Someone tugs at my arm, but I’m too far gone. Too out of control.
I’m thrust back to another time, a different place.
One filled with pain.
“Aiden, please stop. He’s not worth it.”
Cassidy.
It feels like cold water is poured over my head. My memories fade away, and I’m brought back to the present.
I drop my hand locked around his neck and step back, breathing ragged.
“There will always be villains like him. Don’t let him win.”
My head snaps to Cassidy. “What did you say?”
Those words. I’ve heard them before. They aren’t something I’ll ever forget because, at the moment, they were profound. It’s ingrained in my memory, never to be forgotten.
She blinks, tilting her head. “There are plenty of vain guys like him.”
I stare at her for several moments, and she holds my gaze. My eyes roam across her face, and she shrugs. “He’s not worth it.”
I’d just been in my head, remembering things from the past. Clearly, I’m losing my mind tonight.
I shake my head, trying to brush off the anger still boiling under the surface. I need to get the fuck out of here.
I look toward the front of the bar, then the window. Hockey fans, mostly women, line the street outside.
They’re everywhere. Like a swarm of vultures circling above, hungry for the kill. But instead of meat, they’re desperate for a night with a hockey player. Most likely Hudson.
Shit.
On the few occasions I have joined the guys, this was not a problem for me. For one, I typically participate when they’re going places the paps don’t frequent for news. The times they were around, they were too busy trying to get the scoop on one of the other guy’s escapades. Unlike me, they don’t mind airing their laundry.
But mostly, I simply stay home, and for good reason.
If you don’t go out, there’s nothing for them to report.
But because of my “relationship” with Cassidy, the luxury of being a recluse is just beyond my grasp. To sell the story that I have a girlfriend, I have to periodically agree to outings.
I glance from the spectacle outside to the crowded room, searching for a way out of here.
“Can we go? I have a headache,” Cassidy says, following my train of thought. “Or are we stuck here?”
I grab her hand, trying to offer a modicum of comfort. Tonight has been too much. She’s just started, and already, I think I owe her a massive raise.
“I’m going to ask if there’s a back way out of here,” I say.
When I release her hand, a bracelet falls to the ground, and I bend to grab it. Cassidy and I do some strange dance, both going for the object. I win out in the end; picking it up and grabbing for her wrist to put it back on.
She tenses under my touch, going absolutely still. I slide up the sleeve of her sweater, and my breath hitches. My finger slides over her wrist and the scar that looks like it’s been there for some time. The puckered flesh is still pinched despite the coloration that would suggest it’s been years since whatever caused this.
