I will fight back.
He continued to approach, cursing when he staggered into a barstool. I glanced back at the hall, considering making a run for my phone, but the thought of him cornering me in a room with Jamie and only one exit had me nearly gasping for air like a fish out of water.
“Please, Aaron, it’s late. I promise we can talk tomorrow.”
“You’re lying.” He was only a foot away now, pinning me between two of the stools while he continued mumbling incoherent words under his breath.
“I’m not.” I was. “Whatever it is you want to talk about, I promise we can talk tomorrow when you’re—when we’re both feeling better.”
“Liar,” he drew the word out, shaking a finger back and forth. “You think I’m drunk. You just want to kick me out like the bitch you are.”
He lunged, wrapping his fingers around my neck, and pushed against my windpipe until my back bowed over the bar. He squeezed just enough for pressure to build, and I did the first thing I could think of. I spit in his face.
He yelled, recoiling, and I took my chance. Flinging my hands up, I aimed for his eyes, but before I could make contact, he dropped forward, smashing his body into mine. One of the barstools crashed to the floor, and my back screamed as the edge of the bar etched itself into my spine. I tried, but I couldn’t hold back the cry that slipped free.
Using his free hand to steady himself with a barstool, Aaron leaned down, his hot, acidic breath landing on my cheek and stirring up memories best left untouched. Panic clawed its way up my throat when the hand gripping me migrated to clamp around my jaw.
“You little cu—”
My front door shot open, the hinges creaking in protest, and a freezing gust of air filled the room, introducing the six feet of male standing at the threshold. He was practically naked, sporting only a pair of checkered boxers, and his broad chest heaved in and out like he’d sprinted straight from his bed. His eyes zeroed in on me—or more specifically, the hand still clutching me—and his features turned feral.
Aaron immediately went off, cursing Garrett and calling me a whore in every drunken, uncreative way possible. He was like a defective bomb trying to detonate but failing to take anyone out. His words bounced off Garrett’s statue form, tumbling to the ground.
The second Aaron released his hold on my jaw and turned toward him, Garrett moved. There was no stopping, no pausing, no taking a moment to blink. One second, he was at the door, and the next he was punching my ex straight in the face.
Aaron’s head snapped back with such force, I was surprised he didn’t break his neck. He collapsed to the floor in a heap at my feet, groaning and smearing the back of his hand through the blood pouring from his nostrils.
Stooping down, Garrett grabbed him by his collar, hauling him up only to smash his fist into his face a second time. I cried out, banging into the single-standing stool next to me in my effort to move.
“Garrett, stop!”
Even in the fog of his anger, he froze at the sound of my voice, locking eyes with me while Aaron dangled like a rag doll from his outstretched arm. His eyes were swirling storms of fury, agony, and despair. They flicked away from me, wincing as they looked at something over my shoulder.
My heart fell when I followed his gaze to see Jamie standing in the hall, wide-eyed. His back was plastered to the wall, both hands gripping my phone to his chest.
Garrett let the unconscious body in his grip drop to the floor, and when he spoke, the words were hoarse. “You all right, J-man?”
Jamie’s head bobbed up and down, but he didn’t attempt to move from his spot.
“I’m proud of you.”
The way my child’s face lit up at Garrett’s words of praise was all at once amazing and devastating at the same time.