He looks at me, his eyes narrowed and threatening. “I’m not going anywhere. And get your hands off me.”
Taking a deep, calming breath, I move my hand to his shoulder and squeeze. “You’ve had enough for today, Jake. Let’s go.”
His cloudy gaze turns challenging. “Or what?”
I squeeze my jaw tight and hiss, “Let’s. Go.”
He stares at me while he grinds his molars.
I put more force into my squeeze, hoping he’ll listen—I don’t want to make a scene here and bring his reputation down even more than it already is. And it’s not because we both know I’ll put him face to the floor in seconds, but it’s more so that he won’t go down without a scene and a few nasty phrases. People always remember that, even if you forget. They remember all the nasty shit you’ve ever said. And locals can sure hold grudges that aren’t so easy to shake off.
Still watching me with hateful eyes, he’s clearly contemplating if he should go the easy or the hard way, but finally downs the rest of his beer, drops cash on the counter, and stands up.
Passing me, he sends me a glare and walks out the door.
I glance at Rory. “What happened?”
“The dude,” she points at the guy who clutches his arm but has managed to peel himself off the ground, “said something that got Jake off the rails in a second.”
“Do you know what?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “But I’ll have to ban him soon if he won’t get his shit together. He’s scaring customers.”
I lift a brow and pointedly look around—it’s a fucking bar. Half of the reason people come here is for the fights. Rory rolls her eyes and goes to the back room, dismissing me.
I look at the guy and quickly assess him. A typical frat boy. They usually like to run their mouths, but it’s no reason to attack anyone. Jake is in trouble this time. I don’t think I’ll be driving himhome.
“Hey,” I tell him. “Do you need an ambulance?” I nod at his arm.
He looks down and, as if just remembering that he’s still clutching it, drops it to his side. “Nah, I’m fine. Just bumped into something. That’s all.”
I level him with a stare. “Are you sure? That,” I nod at the arm again, “didn’t look like nothing.”
“Yeah, sir. Officer. Sheriff, I mean.” He forces a smile. “I’m good.”
“Do you want to press charges against that something you bumped into?”
His eyes dart around, and I soften my expression, understanding that I’m coming off like a small-town, asshole cop who chooses to protect locals. The urban legend states that cops in small towns will do everything to protect people who live there. That part of the legend is true. But we also protect those who come into town for a quick visit or a week. Who deliver our packages. Who help maintain our systems when we don’t have qualified people. Those who are not qualified as well. We protect everyone—that’s the partthe legend got wrong.
“It’s okay if you do. That’s your right.Somethinghurt you, and you have the right to press charges.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m fine. Really. I’m sure it’s not going to happen again.”
I pull my card from my pocket. “Give me a call if you change your mind.”
“Will do.” He nods and dismissively pushes the card into his back pocket. Part of me is happy that he chooses to let Jake down easily; part of me wishes he would teach him a lesson. But part of me knows that Jake is currently in a bad place, and it wouldn’t do him any good to kick him when he’s down.
“Alright,” I respond and go outside, half expecting Jake to bolt. Rory has his keys—I don’t even need to ask about that. She’s good at keeping drunk people away from the wheel and saving us all a lot of trouble. I should probably hire her.
To my surprise, Jake’s waiting for me outside, leaning on the driver’s side of my cruiser. Once upon a time, he drove one and was a good cop until he let his personal demons come to work with him.
“Are you charging me with anything?”
“No, but—”
“Cool.” He pushes away from the car and walks away.
He’s not my problem. Not mine.
