Robin had done well for himself, his arm slung around one of the female students, holding court with his mates.
‘She’s inside,’ Nate called back, gesturing to the pub.
Robin’s eyes flitted over to the local’s table and he stood up quickly.
‘By herself? Jesus, Nate,’ he said, winding his way through the melee.
‘What? She’s a grown up,’ Nate said, standing. What was Robin’s problem?
‘Yeah, but George fucking Hibbert isn’t, Nate,’ Robin said pointedly, frowning at him. Nate glanced over, and yeah, George Hibbert wasn’t there, but his half-drunk pint sat on the table.
‘He’s not going to follow her into the toilet, Robin,’ he said, rolling his eyes, because surely not.
‘Who fucking knows?’ Robin’s jaw was tense. ‘How long has she been gone?’
Nate didn’t have time to answer because Laurel’s voice cut through the air.
‘George, I’m not talking to you about this right now.’
‘That’s right,’ he slurred. ‘Laurel Fletcher, too good for the likes of me.’
He was too close behind her, trailing across the pub patio. George Hibbert’s face was blurred and his ruddy, dirty blond hair was cropped short against his head. Nate took two steps toward them. Laurel’s eyes were fixed on the ground, shoulders curving in as she hurried over to them.
‘George, no,’ she said, not looking around at him.
‘Don’t fucking “George no” me,’ he said loudly.
George Hibbert grabbed Laurel’s arm and jerked her backwards sharply. Grabbed her. No.
Nate moved quickly, reaching her before Robin, and pushed George violently, hands smacking flat in the middle of his chest. George Hibbert stumbled back, confused and sneering. Nate put an arm protectively around Laurel’s shoulders and she tucked herself into him.
Robin launched himself at George, his swinging fist connecting with George’s jaw with a thud.
‘Don’t you ever fucking touch my sister,’ he yelled. ‘Don’t even think my sister’s name, you fucking bastard.’
George Hibbert stumbled again and spat disgusting blood onto the ground. It looked like he was about to take a running jump towards Robin, but spotted Robin’s band of feral boys like greyhounds barely restrained, begging for a fight, just behind him.
‘You Fletchers think you own the fucking town, and you don’t,’ he said, red eyes flicking between Robin and Laurel.
Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Laurel was shaking under his arm and he squeezed her tightly.
‘You should go home,’ Nate said, voice low and harsh.
‘I’ll take him, come on boy.’ One of the older men from the local’s table ambled over and ushered George Hibbert away, shooting Laurel a dirty look. What was the deal with these fucking people?
‘Fucking Fletcher bitch. You’ll get what’s coming to you, you better watch yourself,’ Hibbert shouted as he stumbled away.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked her.
She didn’t seem to be physically hurt, but she was scared and shaken. She nodded.
‘Robin, you absolute idiot, what did you do that for?’ Laurel smacked him half-heartedly on the shoulder.
‘No one grabs my sister,’ he said vehemently, glancing at Nate. Anyone with that kind of protective instinct over their sister deserved some respect.
‘Are you alright?’ she asked. ‘How’s your hand?’
Robin grinned. ‘It’s alright, Laurel. Besides, girls love the hero look.’
