Everything hurt. The kind of pain you knew had been living in you for years but was just being exposed for the first time. It was what I would’ve wanted for Clara.
I swallowed hard. “Thanks, man.”
“Fucking piece of shit!”
The rage in Gabe’s tone had me lurching to my feet.
He stumbled as he shoved me hard. “You just can’t stop fucking up my life, can you?”
Holt and Nash were by my side in a flash.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped.
Gabe’s eyes were bloodshot, his gait unsteady. He was clearly trashed or high. Maybe both.
That bloodshot gaze cut to Nash. “Set your pig friends on me. Do you know what it could do to my reputation to have cops showing up at my damned office?”
I stiffened.
Nash didn’t show even a flicker of reaction. “We’re talking to everyone who’s had a run-in with Grae lately. You’re the one making a scene now.”
Gabe whirled on me. “I know this is you. You think Dad will get wind of it and turn more control over to you.”
“I have nothing to do with an official police investigation, Gabe.”
“The hell, you don’t. Nash and Lawson are in your back pocket. Ditched us and practically moved in with them in high school. I know it’s you.” His rage-filled gaze snapped to Grae. “You think I’m going to lose my birthright over a piece of ass like you?”
I shoved Gabe hard, making him stumble. “Get the hell out of here before I do something I’ll regret.”
I didn’t have time to react. For someone inebriated, Gabe moved surprisingly fast. His fist struck out, connecting with my jaw with a vicious snap.
Nash was on him in a flash, pulling Gabe’s hands behind his back as Holt helped. “That’s assault. Want me to arrest him?”
I shook my head, holding my jaw. “Just get him out of here.”
“You sure about that?” Nash pressed.
“In his goddamned back pocket!” Gabe yelled.
“Just get him gone.”
People were staring now.
Nash jerked his chin in a nod, and he and Holt forced Gabe through the crowd.
Grae’s hand slid into mine. “Come on.”
I didn’t have time to argue or ask questions. She tugged me through the throng of people looking at us like we were the best soap opera they’d seen in years.
Grae led me down a hall and through double doors into a kitchen. “Hey, Cam. Got any ice?”
A large cook took one look at me and motioned to a machine. “Towel’s in that drawer there.”
Grae grabbed a towel, filled it with ice, and then motioned for me to follow her. She slipped into a back office and closed the door behind us. A second later, I had cool ice pressed to my jaw.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s not your fault.”
