Ruth caught sight of him and gave a slight smile. She’d asked him to come with her tonight. Not with her—she wanted to spend time with her sister. But to be there, in case. She hadn’t said in case of what, and he hadn’t had to ask.
She was nervous. So he’d do this as often as it took, until she wasn’t nervous anymore.
As time passed, Evan relaxed into his seat and into his conversation with Zach. He nursed his Coke, Zach nursed his lager, and hours ticked by while they talked shit about work, T.V., childhood—anything. It was the kind of easy friendship Evan had found in the army, but beneath it lay a foundation of trust that had snuck up on him. Zach was a good guy. A really good guy, the type that was hard to find. He was also fucking hilarious.
Until he paused mid-joke, the laughter fading from his face, and said, “Evan.”
Evan didn’t have to ask. He followed Zach’s gaze to the pub’s back door, saw Daniel come in from the beer garden with a group of laughing men. They all had drinks in their hands, smiles on their faces, except Daniel. He was subdued, glowering—much as he had been at work, recently.
Evan saw the exact moment that Daniel caught sight of Ruth. The man jolted as if he’d been bitten, his pale cheeks flushing.
Without a second thought, Evan stood. But then Ruth looked over at him, and instead of the worry he’d expected to see on her face, there was only calm. Not the forced blankness that set his teeth on edge, but real, actual calm.
She gave a slight shake of her head.
Evan dragged in a breath. And then, feeling as if his every joint was suddenly stiff, he forced himself to sit back down.
“Take a breath, mate. Relax.”
He didn’t even look at Zach as he answered. His eyes narrowed, pinned to Ruth’s table, Evan said, “No.”
“You okay?” Hannah murmured.
Ruth straightened in her seat, because a month ago she would’ve slouched. Would’ve made herself small to shrink away from the men approaching their table.
Things were different. She was different. She said, “Yes.” And then she added, “Are you?”
Hannah’s gaze darkened. “You mean, will I control the urge to glass him?”
“Hannah!” Sometimes, out of nowhere, Ruth’s proper, sensible, caring sister would come over all terrifying. It was, frankly, fantastic.
“What?” Hannah demanded, feigning confusion. “Glassing him would be quite restrained, all things considered. Don’t you think?”
And so, when Daniel and his gang finally arrived at their table, the sisters were laughing.
Daniel glared down at them, arms folded, as if he were a teacher catching out unruly students. Ruth felt the carefree humour coursing through her fade away, like champagne going flat.
But fear didn’t arrive in its place. No; the emotion that filled her at the sight of Daniel’s sharp, green eyes was anger.
She stirred the straw through her vodka and orange, and said calmly, “Can I help you?”
Daniel couldn’t have looked more furious if she’d insulted his long-dead mother. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. His voice, already deep and strong thanks to his barrel chest, carried. He was drunk.
Oh, great.
Ruth raised her brows. “I’m having a drink with my sister. You know Hannah, Daniel. You identified her—”
“We were at school together,” Daniel interrupted sharply. “Obviously, I know Hannah.”
Hannah, who was currently staring at him with more disgust than she would stare at dog shit on the pavement. Hannah, whose gaze he studiously avoided.
Ruth didn’t miss the feverish gleam in Daniel’s eyes or the slight flush on his cheeks, the one that spoke of panic, of pressure. She took a sip of her drink, watching him closely.
Then she said, “Anything else?”
He shifted. Around him, his friends hovered like dandelion seeds half-blown from the clock. Usually, Daniel surrounded himself with men who made their presence intimidating, men who punctuated his every word with supportive jeers and pats on the back.
These men were familiar faces to Ruth. But they weren’t acting in a familiar manner.
He set his jaw and took in a deep breath—which meant he was searching for the best possible insult. But he must be very drunk indeed, because all he managed to come up with was, “I know you spoke to my father.”
“I’m sure,” Ruth said. “It wasn’t a secret.”
He appeared nonplussed by that. And Ruth noticed, slowly, that the pub had grown quiet. Tense. Whispers bubbled beneath a thick film of silence, and all eyes were