Page 32 of Mr. Not Nice Guy

“Notyou, Hawkins!” he snaps. “Youcome to the back exit! Grab Liza. Comeimmediately.”

The line goes dead, and I stare at the screen as the weight of anxiety bears down on my shoulders. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s clearly bad.

I pocket the phone and smile at Rhoda and Sylvia. “Can you both excuse me for a little while? I have to go help him with something.”

We exchange quick goodbyes, and I catch Liza’s attention across the room with a wave. Her expression is pulled tight with worry, her face is a little pale like she already has a vague idea of what’s going on, and she approaches me immediately.

“He called you?” she asks under her breath as we both speed-walk through the crowd. “Did he say if she was okay or not?”

“What?” My brow pulls low. “She who?”

“Scarlett,” Liza hisses, shouldering past a group of mingling people. “He said that guy she was talking to was messing with her drink, and watching her strangely, and standing too close to her for a while before he actually talked to her.”

“What?” The heavy anxiety flushes cold through my veins. “I saw her flirting with some random guy. Does Brennan think he drugged her?”

She hitches one shoulder as we exit the opposite end of the ballroom through double doors and enter a long, dark hallway. “He just said the guy was acting weird, and touching her drink, and then she was suddenly clinging to him, and he was walking her out of the room.”

My stomach turns, and I gulp. “Yeah, I saw that.”

We reach the end of the hall and I push open the door under a bright red exit sign, holding it open for Liza, and there are the three of them.

The same random guy who was all touchy-feely with Scarlett only about fifteen minutes earlier is now on his back in the alley with a bleeding lip. Brennan’s holding him in place with his black, polished Oxford shoe wedged under the guy’s chin. And Scarlett is curled up on her side on the concrete, in a fetal position, motionless and limp.

“Oh God,” Liza gasps, darting to Scarlett and kneeling at her side. She picks up her hands and places her fingers to Scarlett’s wrists as if checking for a pulse, then glances up at Brennan. “Did you call the police?”

He presses his shoe more firmly against the guy’s chin, and a muscle in his jaw pulses. “Yeah, I called the fucking police.”

The guy sucks in a breath as if he’s about to protest, but only manages to wheeze out a couple of syllables before Brennan growls, “Shut the fuck up. If you so much as move, I will flatten your fucking airway. You can talk to the fucking police when they get here.”

All I can do is stand there in borderline shock as I take in the scene. A pitiful, pained moan spills from Scarlett’s lips, and Liza strokes her hair back.

“You’re okay, hon. You’re okay, Scarlett. You’re okay. Help is coming.”

Sirens in the distance grow steadily louder and closer, and the guy is dragging in ragged breaths under Brennan’s shoe. Scarlett whimpers again, and Liza continues to stroke her hair.

“Feel sick,” Scarlett mewls, and I could swear that someone is driving a dagger through my chest.

“I know,” Liza murmurs. “Help is coming. Just hang in there, honey. We’ve got you.”

That seems to trigger Brennan, who huffs loudly. “Why the fuck weren’t you with her?”

Both Liza and I cut our eyes toward him, and it’s clear he’s addressing me.

I’m at a total loss, and my jaw goes slack for a second before I reply with a brisk, automatic, “I was only away for fifteen minutes while I was meeting with Sylvia and her parents.”

“Why didn’t you take her with you?” Brennan snaps, brown eyes flashing with anger and righteous indignation. He flips his hand in my direction. “You can’t just leave heraloneat a party like this.”

Dread and panic and sickness are setting in alongside the realization that this is my fault. This is actually my fault because I wasn’t with her, because I’ve been avoiding her, because I’m grasping at straws to avoid the inevitable repercussions of the collapse in the emotional boundary I erected between us. And my doing so put her in serious danger.

“Both of you stop,” Liza cuts in before I can say anything. “It doesn’t matter right now. It was a close call, but she’s safe.”

Scarlett mewls again, a little louder this time, and with a tiny, hitched sob in her throat. “Help. Help me.”

Liza shushes her soothingly, hand still stroking her hair, and the sirens and flashing lights descend upon us. Police officers and paramedics rush into the alley, and Liza pushes herself up off the ground and approaches Brennan, who’s released the piece of shit responsible for this awful scene. The officers cuff the guy and drag him up off the ground, and the paramedics start an IV on Scarlett, checking her vitals and fitting an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. They uncurl her limbs from the fetal position, and she whimpers again as they lift her onto a stretcher, and I can’t just stand here anymore.

“I’m going with her,” I mumble to Liza and Brennan, who glance at me.

“Okay,” Liza says. “We’ll be by later to check on her.”

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