“Stop disrespecting Savannah or fuck off.”
He says it with enough volume and authority that several people standing near us turn their heads.
“Or what?” Spencer challenges.
I don’t catch what Warren says next, because I can’t hold it together for another second. With a hand over my mouth, I turn and run through the party for the nearest bathroom.
21
WARREN
Iplanned on giving Spencer a piece of my mind until his face turned blue, but when Savannah ran off toward the office located behind the party, I followed her immediately. Before stepping inside the door to the building, I glance over to the parking lot and see Spencer and Emma getting into their cars, parked next to each other.
I understand now how everything that Savannah believes about herself has been filtered in a negative light. It’s no wonder she doesn’t easily buy into every feeling that I’ve tried confessing to her. She’s used to people putting her down, even those closest to her. I don’t know if her parents are exactly like Spencer is around her, but if they are, I have half a mind to never let her be alone with any of them again if I can help it.
The lights are off inside the office space, except for an exit sign and a few desk lamps. I pass several cubicles on my way to the hall and scan each door looking for the bathroom. Before I find it, Savvy comes striding down the hall with a washed-out complexion and a napkin in her hand.
Tears gather in the corners of her eyes as she looks up at me. Without asking questions, I take her hand and lead her back toward the desks.
“Is your purse in here?” I ask.
She nods and points to a particularly organized desk not far from where we’re standing, complete with a line of perfectly spaced pens and exactly zero family photos. I spot her purse underneath and grab it, heading straight for the door.
We walk the short distance to my truck in silence, and I glance over at her a few times to check that she’s okay. She seemed to be holding up even with the Spencer and Emma interaction, but seeing her now, I realize she must have been feeling sick again.
After I open the passenger door, she steps inside my truck with no protest, and I set her purse gently on her lap. I like it when she lets me do things for her, but right now it worries me. If she was feeling fine, she probably would have put up a bit of a fight and insisted that she didn’t need me to drive her anywhere.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
“Do you want me to take you home?”
I wish she’d say no so that I could take her back to my place.
But she nods. I make my way to the driver’s seat and take off reluctantly in the direction of her house.
When Westridge is finally starting to disappear in the rearview mirror, I reach my hand across the center console. A burst of warmth blooms in my chest when she takes it into hers so effortlessly. I clear my throat while tightening my grip on her hand before asking her a question.
“Did you get sick in the office?”
“Yes. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, it’s like every few days I puke my guts up.”
Her head is leaned back against the seat, but she covers it with her free hand for a moment.
“Sorry, that’s gross,” she says. “Pretend I didn’t just tell you that.”
“I work on a ranch,” I reassure her. “I’ve seen and heard a lot worse, trust me.”
“Right,” she laughs softly. It sounds weak and I really don’t want her to stay alone tonight. If she lets me, maybe I can convince her to let me stay with her.
Ten minutes later, I’m about to turn into her driveway, but stop the truck before driving toward the house.
“Is—that your mailbox?”
I squint my eyes and lean forward in my seat. Savannah sits up in her seat to look out the windshield and her mouth falls open in shock.
“You’re kidding me,” she huffs. “Who would do that?”
The white mailbox with hand-painted floral designs on the outside is lying on its side, a few inches from falling into the ditch on the side of the road. Tire tracks surround it and I realize what most likely happened.
