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“Stop it! Just stop!” I barely recognize my voice as I yell at these grown men acting like children.
Liam - typically the peacemaker - springs into action. He vaults over the bar and rushes at Walker like a pro wrestler ready to take him down. And Walker watches him come before he’s taken to the ground by Liam’s powerful frame. Liam’s bulky form is a blur as he tries to wrestle Walker into submission while Daniel lands a few cheap shots. But there's an elegance to Walker's movements, a controlled power that makes my breath catch in my throat even as I plead for peace.
“Enough!” I shout, but they pretend not to hear me as their egos clash and their personal attempts to dominate the situation continue.
I'm caught in the moment, unable to look away from Walker—this brooding bad boy who commands the space around him with an unspoken authority. Every fiber of my being vibrates with the intensity of the moment, fear and undeniable attraction flooding my veins.
“Stop!” I yell again hoping against hope that my voice will break through the chaos and reach the man whose troubled past is written in every motion of his body. I think he likes to fight, and that makes me feel all sorts of ways.
“Back off, or I'm calling the cops!” I say as patrons begin to slip out the door, skirting widely around the fighting men. I rush toward them, ready to wade in and settle the chaos with calmness. I know it’s a stupid move, but what else can I do?
Suddenly, an elbow crashes into my cheekbone, white-hot pain exploding out from the point of impact. I stumble back, my vision blurring as my body forgets how to move. But before I can hit the ground, strong arms wind around me. Walker's arms.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in the chaos. There's a gentleness in his eyes and touch that contradicts the fury I'd just witnessed. He’s almost… tender and everything about the moment sends my heart skittering.
“Let go of her!” Liam's roar fills my ears and I'm torn from Walker's grasp as if I weigh nothing. Walker’s warmth lingers on my skin, even as cold air floods in. Daniel and two bouncers clamp down on Walker, dragging him toward the exit. I’d swear Walker looks… satisfied? Amused? Happy?
“Are you okay?” Liam's concerned gaze searches my face as he sets me on a stool. His hand takes my chin and tilts my face as he assesses the damage.
I nod, still stunned about everything that had just happened. “Yeah, I think so.”
He walks around the bar, scooping some ice into a bag and turning to me again. “Here.” He wraps the bag in a clean towel and gently holds the cold material against my throbbing cheek. “Keep this on it.”
“Thanks,” I say, the cold compress numbing the pain, but not the confusion rising in me.
Daniel looms over us, his expression hard as stone. “You should go home, take the rest of the night off.”
“Why did he come back?” I ask, wondering if anyone understands.
“Just to fight. It’s Walker. He lives for a good brawl.” Daniel sounds convinced, but I’m not so sure.
“Did you throw the first punch?” I ask, blinking at Daniel. I know I’m pushing my luck, but something in me says there’s more to the moment than any of us know.
“I think you should go home,” Liam says, obviously trying to get the conversation back into safer territory.
Home. I don’t want to go home. All I’ll do there is think about Walker. How his eyes had softened the instant before he caught me, how his grip had been firm yet careful. Is he truly the villain they say he is? This dangerous ex-gang member who has somehow burrowed under my skin.
His touch lingers in my mind, and I try to make sense of the whole situation. Was his instinct to protect me genuine, or just a reflex? Maybe a remnant of a life he's supposed to have left behind?
“I don’t want to go home,” I say.
Daniel and Liam glance at one another, and Daniel lifts his shoulders. “I won’t try to make you, but it’s an open invitation. Go home whenever you’re ready, early or not.”
“Thank you,” I say as I press the ice harder against my face, seeking relief from the aching throb. But all I find is an ache that goes deeper than the bruise forming on my skin — the ache of not knowing whether Walker is the monster they claim, or the protector my foolish heart wants him to be.
*
The next day…
The clink of glass against wood pulls me back to the present, and I blink away the memories that have kept me company for the past hour. My best friend Amber is sitting across from me at the bar, her eyes narrowed in concern—or is it impatience? —as she waves a shot of tequila under my nose.
“Earth to you. Are you still thinking about him?” Her voice is a mix of amusement and exasperation.
I nod, unable to find the words to explain the confusing thoughts and feelings that have been warring within me since yesterday. The scent of his cologne, the intensity of his gaze, the gentleness of his touch—it all lingers like a vivid dream I can't shake off.
Amber's lips curve into a smile as she leans forward, resting her elbows on the bar. “So how is Chase?” The question is casual, but I know exactly what she’s doing; she’s reminding me that I’m with someone else and shouldn't be so focused on Walker.
“Chase is great,” I hear myself say, the words automatic, practiced, even. “We talk every day. He's... so sweet.” It's true; Chase is the kind of guy you bring home to your parents, the kind that sends good morning texts and remembers your coffee order. Chase is safe, and I love that about him.
