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Chapter eight
Mikaela
His eyes hone in on Max’s fingers, still resting on my thigh from his pleas moments ago, and my heart hammers. It hammers in the sort of uncomfortable way that tells me I either need to run or stay, stop or go... make a decision.
I feel the color drain from my cheeks.
A spark of ice cuts through his gaze and freezes me to my core as he makes his way over to me, his jaw set and his smile fixed in place with a saccharine kind of superficiality. He walks with steady control and there’s something familiar in the way his eyes seem to skate over the scene; something uncanny in his detachment.
“Hey, beautiful.” Josh places one hand on the back of my stool while the other remains in his pocket. My breathing hitches. “We’re leaving.”
“We are?” Can he hear the tremor in my voice? See the fire in my bones? The way his eyes fix on mine tells me he can’t. Or he doesn’t care.
I shake my head slightly, clearing the fog from beer and tequila and memories that I wish would stay locked up, before glancing back to Max. Josh still hasn’t spoken and waves are crashing in my gut in the silence.
Something in me must be screaming for help because Max shakes his head slightly and moves to stand.
“Mr Lucas.” He offers the hand that was just resting on my leg to Josh as he gives one of his effortlessly beautiful smiles and Josh turns to him stiffly. “It’s so nice to officially meet you. I’m Max.”
“Yes.” Josh’s tone is clipped and a current of flames simmers beneath it. “And we’re leaving.”
His fingers wrap around my arm and I stumble from my chair, the alcohol making it harder to stand, as his fingers dig into my skin. Floods of pain and anger threaten to overwhelm me, threaten to spill from my eyes, as he grabs my bag from the counter and yanks me out of the bar with him.
I haven’t said a word.
I can’t find my voice.
Am I about to do this again?
As the crisp evening air slams into my skin and my mind starts to shift into action, I register the pain. His fingers are leaving angry marks of white around his tips where he holds fast to my arm, and the lack of circulation causes my muscles to ache.
“Josh,” I whimper. “Josh, you’re hurting me. Stop.”
I pull my arm back, trying to free myself, but he pulls harder and my body crashes against his. He holds my arm still and my tears fall.
“Who the fuck is he?” His voice is low. Dangerous.
“What?” I can’t stop shaking.
“I asked who the fuck the guy is that had his hands all over you, Mikaela.”
“Max.” I wince when his grip tightens. “It’s Max. From work. The EA I told you about.”
His eyes widen slightly as my tears spill, a sense of self beginning to settle back into the cold blue, and he lets go of me.
I step back instantly, my own hand flying to where his had been, holding in the pain as if it will somehow wipe it away.
“Shit. Mik, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” He steps forwards and I step back. “I just - shit - I saw his hands on you and I just - I like you, Mikaela, and I thought for a second that it was a date I’d stumbled in on and I hated it. I hated thinking you were there with another guy and that he was making you laugh and touching you. Shit. I’m so sorry.”
“You hurt me.” It’s all I can muster.
“I know. I’m sorry. Fucking hell, Mik, I really like you and this isn’t me. I’m not like this. What the hell are you doing to me?”
It took seconds, just seconds, for his anger to fade and shame to take its place and when he looks at me with pleading eyes I stare up at him.
He is not Matthew.
“Mik.”
