Christian sidles up next to Jimbo, closer now, and suddenly, this moment feels bigger than me. I take that as my cue to leave and step back. Some conversations need space to breathe, and this one’s got more weight than their usual shit-talking.
An hour or so later, I slip away to the bathroom, grateful for a moment to breathe away from Christian and the way he seems to command every inch of space around him just by existing. But the second I step back into the bar, my whole body locks up like it already knows something’s wrong. I walk straight into Callan’s back, and it’s like colliding with a mountain. He’s planted in front of me like ahuman shield, arms crossed over his massive chest, and his muscles coiled tight beneath his white T-shirt. He’s not moving, not budging an inch, and the protective stance he’s taken tells me everything I need to know.
Whatever’s happening on the other side of him isn’t something he wants me to see.
“Cal?” I try to step around him, but his arm shoots out like a steel bar, holding me in place.
I peek past him and freeze. Travis is looming over Christian, his face flushed that ugly red it gets when he’s about to explode, his shoulders are bunched tight, and his fists are clenched by his sides. However, Christian simply sits there, spine straight, shoulders squared, and as calm as still water while a storm rages inches from his face.
I push against Callan, trying to move past him. “I don’t always listen to my brother, Piper, but right now, he wants you back.”
I have no idea what Travis just said, but whatever it was, it was the final straw. Christian’s up in a flash, towering over Travis like a man who’s been here before and doesn’t give a damn who’s watching. His hand shoots out, fingers clamping around Travis’s arm with a grip so tight I can see it through the fabric of his jacket. There’s no warning or raised voice; he just drags Travis toward the door, weaving through the crowd like it’s nothing, hauling him right out of sight before anyone else can notice what’s happening.
Callan follows, as do I, ignoring both their orders.
Outside, Christian shoves Travis toward the pickup with enough force to jolt him off balance. “Get in the fucking truck.”
Woah.
I’m turned on.
I’m deranged.
And I probably need therapy.
“I’m not leaving Piper here with you,” Travis slurs, swaying on his feet.
Christian’s jaw flexes, and Callan steps forward. “She’s working, Travis. Go with your old man and sleep it off.”
“Piper—” Travis’s shout makes Christian shoot his brother a lookthat says,You had one fucking job. “Did you pack your shit like I told you to?”
“No, because I’m not leaving.”
“God, you’re such a…”
“Do not finish that fucking sentence. Now get in the truck.”
Travis drunkenly shoves at his dad’s chest. “Fuck you. I’m only like this because I’m stuck in this shitty town, being dragged around for a family I can’t even stand half the time.”
Callan steps forward and manhandles Travis, pushing him toward his own truck. He shoves him into the passenger seat, slams the door shut, and plants himself in front of it like a bodyguard, arms crossed over his chest, daring Travis to try and move.
“Go back inside, Piper,” Christian says, his voice like steel. “He’s been drinking all day, and I don’t want him anywhere near you like this.”
I peek through the window at Travis, who’s flipping off his dad with all the emotional maturity of a wet paper towel.
Callan drags in a breath. “I’ll take him back to Silverpine. If you two are stuck in that house together tonight, it’s gonna end in a bloodbath.”
“We can lock up.” The words barely leave my mouth before Christian releases a heavy sigh, his eyes cutting straight to where his brother stands.
“Thanks, Cal. I appreciate it.”
Without another word, he ushers me back toward the bar with a firm hand resting on the small of my back.
My thoughts are running a goddamn marathon because I have no idea what happened between going to the bathroom and coming back. One second, I’m rinsing my hands and fixing my hair. Next, Travis is outside being shoved into a truck.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, both of us behind the bar while the regulars do a piss-poor job of pretending they’re not watching us. Christian draws in a breath through his nose, running a rough hand down his face before placing his hat on the counter behind him.
“Apparently, he went back to his mom’s and spent the whole day drinking himself stupid with his friend Adam.”
