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With a grunt, I drag Adam out of the apartment. “Car keys.” This kid is in no shape to drive, and he might not care, but I’m not letting him kill someone in a crash just because he got dumped.
Adam looks at me like I’m an idiot.
“Do you want to have the shit beat out of you?” I slam him against the wall. “Because I’m about to lose my fucking patience.”
He lets out a terrified noise, fumbling in his jacket pocket before pulling them out. I snatch them from his hands. “You’d better watch your back, kid. Because you’ll pay for hurting Wren.” I shove him down the hallway so hard he stumbles and falls. “Get lost,” I snap. “And don’t ever call her babe again.” I don’t move, watching until he flees down the hallway and into an elevator.
When I step back into the apartment, Wren runs into my arms.
“Are you all right?” I pull away from her, tugging off her coat and pushing the sleeve of her shirt up. She winces when I touch her shoulder, and the simple movement solidifies my resolve.
Adam will pay. Tonight.
“I’ll be fine,” she says in a failed attempt at a cheerful tone. But her voice is shaking—along with her hands. “Thank you for pulling me out of the way. I think I was too stunned to move.”
I pull her into a hug, pressing my lips to her hairline. He was aiming for her head. An image of Wren crumpled on the floor, bleeding, flashes through my mind, and I hold her tighter.
“Rhett,” she wheezes, pushing against me.
Shit. I release her, and she gasps in a breath, clinging to my shirt. “Sorry,” I mutter.
But she just shakes her head, giggling, before pressing her lips to mine. I let it ground me, deepening the kiss and cradling her face in my hands.
When she pulls away, it’s with a contented smile. But it disappears the second her eyes leave mine.
It’s then that I finally get a good look at her apartment. I was wrong earlier—it’s not a mess. That implies a lack of cleaning. This place is trashed.
The cabinets in her kitchen are open and empty, most of the dishes smashed. The same thing is true of her bookshelf, and there are broken picture frames littering the floor.
“Oh no,” she says softly, picking up an old book. Half the pages have been ripped out and are scattered over the ground. “I’ve had this copy since high school.”
When I get a look at the spine, that uncontrollable anger comes back full-force. It’s A Tale of Two Cities.
I’m going to rip that motherfucker to shreds.
“Where’s your broom, Wren?” Oliver says.
She looks up, glancing between the three of us. Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “No, don’t. It’s my mess to clean up, and it’ll take hours. I’m not destroying your weekend like this.”
I almost tell her that sending us away is the thing that actually would destroy our weekend, but I hold my tongue.
Thankfully, Elliot steps in. He pulls her close, taking the book from her hands and kissing her nose. “It won’t take that long with all four of us. Let us do this for you, love. And then let us take you home so we can help you forget that this ever happened.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and he wipes them away as they fall. When she nods, the three of us let out a collective sigh of relief.
We get to work, Oliver with the broom and Elliot helping Wren put everything back on her bookshelf. I work on getting all the broken dishes off the counters, careful not to cut myself.
After fifteen minutes, the apartment is already looking much better. Except, I notice, now there’s blood on the floor by the bookshelf. For a moment, I’m not sure where it’s from, but then Wren steps into my view.
She’s limping, and when she moves forward, she leaves a little pool of blood behind.
“Wren.” I’m moving toward her before I even realize it, sweeping her into my arms. “Why did you take your shoes off, sweetheart? There’s glass everywhere.”
“What?” She tries to squirm out of my arms, but I nod to the floor. When she sees the blood, she frowns. “I didn’t even realize I was bleeding.” She raises her foot in the air, watching in surprise as blood trickles down her heel.
Both Elliot and Oliver turn at her words, but they get back to work when they see that I have her.
“Your foot was hurting you, and you didn’t even—” I stop before I say something I’ll regret. Her ex just trashed her apartment. She’s flustered and exhausted. Don’t scold her. “Let’s just get you cleaned up.”
