Page 67 of On the Line

“You trying to make me jealous, Laur? Because I don’t think you’ll like what happens when I get jealous.”

I take a step closer.

“I’m not trying to make youanything, Justin. Unless it’s making you go away.” She uses both hands and pushes hard against his chest, which knocks him back just enough that she starts to step away, but he’s faster, reaching out and grabbing her upper arm so hard that she lets out a little squeal of pain.

I don’t even think. I just grab Justin’s tuxedo shirt right at his neck, my fingers crushing the bow tie. His top button goes flying from the force with which I twist that fabric in my hand. Justin sputters in surprise—without any coherent words leaving his mouth—while my fist presses up against the base of his neck. It takes every ounce of self-control that I possess to keep from slamming my other fist into his face. I never shied away from fighting on the ice, but I’ve always worked hard not to lose control off the ice.

“Take. Your. Fucking. Hand. Off. Her.” I spit the words at him. “While you’re at it, remove her number from your phone and her name from your memory. And do not ever speak to her like that again.”

I push Justin away with a flick of my wrist before I wrap my arm around Lauren. She pushes me away, and I’m so shocked that I almost don’t know what to do.

“I’ve got this,” she tells me, and her voice is so strong and sure that it makes me smile. She sure as shit does.

She turns to face Justin, who’s still standing there sputtering. “You ever touch me again and I will not only remove your balls from your body, I’ll tell everyone that your huge ego is hiding a tiny dick. Get the fuck away from me and don’t ever come back.”

“You’ll regret this,” he says, then scurries away like the rat he is.

His threat has my spine prickling with anger and the need to protect her. She might think this is over, but it isn’t.

I pull her close, and she doesn’t resist me this time. I press my lips to the top of her head. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” The word is shaky.

“Did he hurt you? Because I will—”

“I’m fine,” she insists.

“We’re leaving.”

“I should say goodbye to my family first.”

“If they find out what happened, they’re going to go kick his ass,” I warn, “and probably ruin the wedding.”

“What do you propose instead?”

I just want her out of here, away from Justin. “Let’s just sneak out, and then after the wedding is over, we can tell your family why we left. Hell, I’ll go with your brothers to kick Justin’s ass. But it shouldn’t be here. It’s not fair to your cousin and his wife.”

“I feel like I should at least say goodbye to my parents ...” she says, but if we go find her parents, there’ll be questions and hugs goodbye. I sense she knows it’d be better to just leave than to make a production of it.

“How about if you text them instead, and we’ll take them out to breakfast tomorrow before we head back to Boston?”

“All right,” she says as I lead her around the dance floor and toward the entryway where the coatroom is. I keep my head down when we pass her brothers. I’m sure they were watching that interaction, and it’s better if they think I lost control because I was jealous. “And what exactly should I tell them?”

“Tell them you have a headache. Or cramps. Or tell them I don’t feel good. I don’t care, just make an excuse that they’ll believe for tonight.” I’m not trying to be short with her, but I’m practically vibrating with fury from seeing Justin’s hand on her. In my mind, it substantiates everything she said she thought happened when she broke up with him.

She types out a quick message while I get our coats, and then I’m leading her out the door and across the parking lot to my car.

* * *

“Why are we just sitting here?” she asks. I’m behind the wheel of my car, gripping it tightly with both hands.

I take a deep breath through my nose, and the sound fills the air over the quiet humming of the engine. “Because I’m trying to calm the fuck down.”

I don’t know how to explain it, except that when I saw Justin lay a hand on her, I wanted to rip his fucking throat out, bash his teeth in, and stomp on his fucking face—all at once. It wasn’t jealousy; it was the thought that he might hurt her.

“Hey.” She runs her hand along my arm over my suit coat. “I’m okay.”

That’s all that matters, yet it still doesn’t soothe me.

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