I shifted my gaze away from him before we could make eye contact. Not my problem.
I spent the next hour ignoring everyone else in the group. They shared stories, gave each other smiles and nods. Someonecried about a bar fight while Blair leaned in and made eye contact.
He said things like, “Thank you for being vulnerable.” The type of nonsense I’d expect to hear if we were all hugging at a yoga retreat in the woods.
I kept my focus locked on Blair.
On how his upper lip twitched when someone brought up something particularly violent. On how he wouldn’t glance directly at me for more than a few seconds at a time, no matter how many times I shifted my weight in the chair.
On how he kept his pen poised, ready to either write down words I hadn’t yet said or use it to defend himself against an imaginary attack from one of the attendees.
Blair was obviously curious about me. But something unnamed lurked under his curiosity. I wasn’t sure if it was fear—close, though.
My thoughts were interrupted by a low chuckle from Travis.
He leaned forward in his chair and rested his inked-up forearms on his knees. An actor settling in for a performance.
“Bet you enjoy this,” Travis said, his voice so loud it filled the room. “Sitting there like you’re above us, taking notes, waiting for someone to fuck up so you can call the judge and feel important. Does that do it for you, counselor?”
Blair froze for a second before he fixed his expression. A mask he’d probably rehearsed and polished in a mirror. But his hand gave him away, tightening so hard around his pen I thought it might snap into two pieces.
“I’m here to help,” Blair said evenly.
I counted the space between them. Five steps, two chairs, and one bad idea.
“To help?” Travis laughed. “Is that why you wouldn’t remove the safety hold the other day? Sure, that’s helpful. Now I’ve got asit-down with my parole officer in the morning so he can decide my punishment. All because of a hold.”
“We’re all here to help each other learn ways to manage our anger, our emotions,” Blair said. “It’s my job, to help.”
Travis snorted and it echoed through the room.
“Help, sure,” he said. “That’s what a judge said when he shoved me in here the first time. Second time’s a charm, I guess. Missed a few classes the first go-round. Broke a few bones. The judge wasn’t impressed.”
“And can you see your actions had consequences?” Blair asked. “Do you understand that’s the reason you’re here?”
Travis’s grin changed to a scowl. “The reason I’m here is my ex-girlfriend’s new man had the nerve to tell me where I was allowed to go. I left him on the floor coughing up blood. Poor guy didn’t leave the hospital for a month.”
A couple of people shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, avoiding eye contact with Travis. He examined the room, a dare in his eyes for someone to open their mouth.
I’d heard the whispers about him from other attendees. This was Travis’s second time through because he’d skipped half the sessions the first time.
Court-ordered.
He’d put his ex-girl’s new boyfriend in the hospital with broken ribs and a concussion.
I didn’t tolerate his type. Guys who went after whoever they assumed were a weaker, easier target.
And I hated how Travis’s voice crawled over Blair, a dare for him to react.
His voice alone irritated me. Hairs on the back of my neck rose and I shifted forward in my chair before realizing it. I wanted to shut Travis up.
I preferred quiet. Sometimes I took it.
Blair’s eyes flicked over to me for a second. He could sense the shift in me, the weight of it. He straightened his shoulders, inhaled, and continued, redirecting the group as if he could erase the moment.
But the group wasn’t on my radar anymore. My mind had been consumed by how much I despised Travis’s smirk, and how close I was to wiping it off his face.
If I swing, I lose. But if Travis swings, he disappears.
