many women would stand up to a guy like Dave, not when he’s wasted. She did it, and she got Bell safe, giving him a bloody nose in the process. Sorry, bro, but your chick is a badass, and she should know it.”
“She also could have gotten herself hurt, or worse.”
“She’s still right here listening to you talk about her like she’s not,” I point out, kind of drunk now. “I told you I’m okay.”
“You tell me you’re okay one more time, and I’m going to lose my goddamn mind and tan your hide, Leah.” He glares at me.
“I’d like to see you try to spank me,” I hiss, leaning toward him.
His eyes narrow, and he lowers his voice. “You’re going to experience it, baby, so prepare.”
He’s not joking. I can tell by the look in his eyes. I narrow my eyes on his and hiss, “Try it.” Then I look at Alan. “It was nice to meet you, and thank you for the vodka.”
“Anytime.” He grins at me, then claps Tyler on the shoulder. “Hopefully, I’ll see you soon, man.”
“Yeah.” Tyler takes my hand and leads me out of the bar and down the sidewalk to his truck. He doesn’t talk or reach for my hand as he drives us back to the cabin, and I can tell he’s still pissed, which is beginning to piss me off. When we get inside, his phone rings, and he pulls it out of his pocket.
“Fuck, it’s my dad. Go on up to bed. I’ll be up in a bit,” he says, not even looking at me.
I want to tell him to fuck off, but I don’t. Instead, I stomp up the stairs, strip out of my clothes, put on a tee, and brush my teeth before I get into bed. I don’t expect to fall asleep because I’m so annoyed, but somehow I end up passing out.
Suggestion 14
FIGHT IT OUT
LEAH
I lift my right hand to bring it up under my cheek, then groan when pain shoots through my fingertips. With the pain, memories of what happened last night at the bar flood my mind. I punched someone. Not just someone but a huge guy who deserved it but could have hurt me.
“Crap.” I blink my eyes open and slowly sit up, looking at the place next to me in bed and then around the room. Tyler is nowhere in sight. I don’t even know if he came to bed last night after his phone call with his dad. On that thought, worry starts to fill my stomach. I get up, go to the bathroom, and do my morning routine sluggishly, the pain in my hand slowing me down.
After I’m done, I start down the stairs, calling out to Tyler. I frown when he doesn’t respond, and I go in search of him. He’s not in the living room or the kitchen; he’s not even outside on the back deck. When I go to the front door and look out the glass window, I see that his truck is gone.
“He left,” I say to the empty room as the unease that’s settled in my stomach grows, and my heart actually aches. I knew he was mad at me, but I didn’t think he was mad enough to leave me here without a word. Feeling like I might cry, I go to the kitchen. I need to get my phone so I can call him and some caffeine to help me think and come up with a plan.
If he’s so mad that he’s not coming back, I need to go home. I know if I called my mom or my brothers, they’d come get me without a question. I also know that I can get a cab to the airport and book a flight once I’m there. I’m not crazy about the idea of waiting at the airport for hours and hours to catch a plane on Thanksgiving Day, but if I have to, I will. When I reach the kitchen, I find a small white piece of paper propped up against the coffeepot. I unfold it and close my eyes after I dissect Tyler’s horrible penmanship.
Ran out to get you some pain meds. Be back soon.
He didn’t leave me. He just went to the store. Relief hits me hard, and I lean against the counter. After a moment, I pour myself a cup of coffee and add milk and sugar, and then I start to go outside, needing some fresh air, but