Page 48 of Hung Up
Faith takesoff running down the hall and making a beeline for the emergency exit. I take a step forward, ready to run after her and hug her, hold her, tell her it’s okay and remind her she’ll never have to deal with that asshole again, but a hand falling onto my shoulder stops me. I glance to my left and see Wyatt looking at me with an unreadable expression.
“Are you sure about this, kid?”
“I’m not just gonna let her run out of here on her own when she’s so clearly upset,” I tell him, my confusion evident. He continues to stare at me, so I say, “Of course I’m sure.”
Wyatt sighs, dropping his hand. “If you go after her now, you might find that you’re always going to be chasing her.”
“Then so be it.”
I take off at a light jog, following the same path she had until I emerge into the alleyway. I scan both ways before seeing a shadow disappear around the corner to my left. Picking up my speed, I reach the end and turn the corner, only to see Faithrunning across the street toward the hotel that I can see up on the hill a few blocks away.
“Faith!” I yell after her, but she must not hear me because she doesn’t stop.
Hastily looking both ways to make sure no cars are coming, I sprint across the road and chase after her, quickly closing the distance between us. I catch up to her one stoplight later and reach for her, pulling her to a stop. She refuses to face me, and it’s only then that I see her shoulders are shaking.
“Sweetheart,” I whisper, giving her wrist a gentle tug, trying to get her to look at me. She sniffles before she turns, looking up at me through tear-filled eyes.
I pull her into me, wrapping one arm tightly around her shoulders while the other cups the back of her head. She hesitates for a moment before a shudder runs through her. Faith’s arms wrap around my waist as she buries her head into my chest, her tears soaking through my shirt. I run a comforting hand up and down her back, resting my head atop hers as she sobs.
That asshole is going to pay for making her cry like this, I think to myself, my grip on her tightening slightly. When Adam approached her at the bar, I had just broken through the crowd on the dance floor with Stetson. I instantly wanted to go over there and break them up, but Stetson warned me not to get in the middle of something where I had no idea what it was. So we had posted up at the bar two groups over—close enough to keep an eye on her but not close enough to hear what was being said.
We saw her looking for us out on the dance floor before their heated conversation began. Her shoulders were tense, and it was hard to ignore the hurt laugh that had tumbled out of her. But still, we stayed put. I knew she could take care of herself and would likely be upset with me if I interfered. Faith was the typeto want to handle her own battles, and I didn’t want to take that from her.
But once he laid a hand on her, it was game over.
I saw red and was moving before I comprehended that I was. Stetson had called after me before trailing behind, trying to get me to leave it alone—it’s clear he hadn’t seen him grab her. But when I stepped up behind Faith, and Stetson appeared right behind me, I felt the shift in him as he must have realized how he had been holding her.
Everything that came after happened so fast, but I didn’t miss how all the riders, my friends, came not only to back me up, but more importantly, to protect her. Faith might not realize it, but she’s made an impact on so many of the riders in her time with us. The way she acts like a big sister to the younger riders, how she stops and listens to those who just need to express their worry and fears, and the fact that she always finds a way to make all of us laugh before she cheers us on whenever she can means more to us than I think we can ever express.
Most reporters who came through before her were just here for a job: get some quotes, some footage, and leave. They only ever got the bare minimum from us, only getting what was needed to get the job done—no follow-up, no appearance, nothing. But Faith asks the personal questions and wants to get to know who we are as people, not just riders. She enjoys the time she spends around us, even if we drive her nuts on occasion. She never judges, never makes fun, never acts like we’re below her.
She doesn’t seem to realize just how special she really is.
And that asshole is partly at fault.
“It’s okay, Sweetheart,” I whisper as I feel her body start to relax slightly. “Let’s get you back to your room.”
She doesn’t say anything, just nods against my chest before letting her arms fall away from my waist. She doesn’t pull awayeither when I interlace our fingers together and give them a gentle squeeze before we walk the last block to the hotel. The ride up in the elevator is a silent one, but still her hand stays tightly in mine. I keep glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. At first, her eyes looked distant, detached. But now she’s biting her lip, a slight furrow between her brow, her eyes downcast.
What I wouldn’t give to be in her head right now.
The doors open, and we step off side by side before she leads me down the hall and toward her room. We stop outside room 618 and she slips her fingers out of mine to grab her key card. She holds it over the pad above the handle and we watch as the light turns green. Twisting the handle, she hesitates as she looks up at me, her eyes slightly swollen from all the crying.
“Will you stay with me?” she asks in a shy whisper, something I haven’t heard from her in the entire time I’ve known her.
“Of course,” I respond just as quietly.
Faith nods, pushing the door open and slipping inside. I let the door fall closed behind me as she disappears into the bathroom without a word, the door open just a crack. I sigh as I kick off my boots near the door before fully entering the room. It looks exactly like mine: one queen-sized bed, a small chair and table in the corner, a television on top of a small dresser. The only difference is her personal touches on the room.
A black robe thrown on the bed, her laptop on the table with movie, show, and book quote stickers all over it. Her white slippers are resting at the foot of the bed, three scrunchies and a bottle of perfume on the dresser, along with some rings that I recognize from the vendor fair—some of which I noticed she was wearing tonight. I glance at the bed and notice a tiny picture frame resting on the nightstand, but before I can look at it, the bathroom door opens and Faith emerges in nothing but her white lace bra and matching panties.
“Faith,” I whisper, scanning her body in its entirety; the tattoo on her ribcage, the way her nipples press against the fabric of her bra, the scar on her collarbone. “I don’t think?—”
“Please,” she pleads, closing the space between us. She wraps her arms around my neck, her fingers digging into my hair and gripping them with obvious desperation. “Please, Jesse.”
Fuck. I don’t think this is a good idea, I really don’t. But the way she’s looking at me, the way her eyes are still glossy with leftover tears, I know there’s no way in hell I can turn her down right now.
“Whatever you need, Sweetheart,” I whisper, dipping my forehead to rest against hers, my lips ghosting over her plump ones. “Tell me what you need.”
