Page 31 of Fighting for You
It’s not the first time I’ve bailed on a fight. It is the first time I’ve let Hayes know. And the first time it’s for a woman, not that I’ll ever tell him. But Margot and her safety are more important than a stack of cash and a boost to my ego. I swing my leg over the seat of my motorcycle, slamming my helmet on my head at the same time.
I let the wind calm my anger the closer I get to Louie’s. I should be happy she’s calling me when she’s in need. But hearing her drunk when I know she doesn’t drink struck a nerve in me. I should think it’s great she’s expanding her horizons, but it’s not like her, she’s made it abundantly clear.
By the time I’m pulling up to Louie’s, I’m convinced I’ve caused this. I’ve made it seem like smoking and drinking aren’t a big deal. I poked fun at her by telling her she didn’t look old enough to drink. Maybe this is her trying to prove some point to me, and now I’ll be to blame for anything that happens to her because of it.
Fuck, is she alone?
Pulling my helmet off, I look around the area for her. Louie’s closes early this time of year since it’s off-season, so she won’t be inside anymore.
Suddenly, a familiar laugh rings out, it’s not Margot though. It’s Thea. My focus shifts across the street, where I see not only Thea, but Ripley and Margot. They’re all sitting at one of the small tables in front of Grayce’s Cafe. Thank fuck Thea and Ripley had the sense to stay with her. I see Margot shivering from here. It’s close to freezing tonight, and the temperature is only going to continue to drop.
I hang my helmet on the bike before I stomp in their direction. Thea sees me first and starts to sing-song my name. Drunk Thea is fun, I’ll admit, but not right now. Right now, I’m more concerned about the woman in front of me whose freckle-covered face haunts my dreams.
“Margot, let’s go.” My words are clipped.
Thea pouts out her lip. “Oop, Brooks looks mad; he must be the fun police tonight. Ripley, we better gooooo,” she says, stumbling a bit as she pulls Ripley up from his seat.
Margot’s striking light green eyes find me in the dark, she looks me up and down before saying, “You’re not Hayes.”
My face scrunches in confusion. “Uh… no, I’m not. And thank fuck for that.”
She tilts her head. “No, I mean I called Hayes.” It clicks then that shethinksshe called Hayes, not me. This whole time, she thought Hayes was the one coming to her rescue.
“Right. Well, sorry, Freckles, you got me instead. Seems to be a running trend.”
Ripley and I lock eyes as he says to Margot, “Margie, you good?”
The asshole is so drunk, he can’t even remember the woman’s name.
Margot looks to me then back to Ripley. “Yeah.”
Without missing a beat, Ripley shoots back at me, “Brooks, behave.”
I scoff. “Me? Fuck off, Ripley. Go get some water into Thea.Margieand I will be just fine.” Sometimes I wonder why I like the dude. He shakes his head in amusement as he holds up a loose peace sign and pulls Thea into his grasp. I watch as they stumble down the street toward Ripley’s house. “Let’s go, Margot. Where’d you park?” I ask her, already turning for the parking lot.
I hear her stumble a bit, and the chair screeches against the concrete as she pulls herself from the seat. “Oh. I… umm… I don’t know.”
Turning around to face her again, I say, “What do you mean you don’t know?” It’s then I realize what she’s wearing—or rather, what she’s not wearing. “Margot, the fuck are youwearing?” She’s dressed in a sweater dress and ankle boots. Her legs are bare from mid-thigh down to her shoes. I slink out of my jacket, my own rage keeping me warm enough, and drape it over her shoulders.
Her teeth chatter as she answers, “I don’t remem—remember what s-street I parked it on—” She guffaws in the middle of her sentence and continues laughing for a long moment. When she finally gets a hold of herself, she says in between giggles, “I t-took a rideshare.”
She ignores my other question which is honestly the smartest decision she’s made all night. I imagine all the guys inside Louie’s who must have been drooling over her, and my simmering anger ratchets up to just below boiling over.
“It’s fine, we can just—damnit! No, we can’t go to my place. I’ll have to take you to my parents’. It’s closer than your house.”
Hayes called me yesterday morning asking if Max and his brother could stay in my apartment. Apparently, things had gotten worse at their uncle’s. I agreed since I’m staying at my parents’ house while I’m renovating. But it means taking Margot upstairs isn’t happening.
Margot is so drunk, she’s barely listening to me, only furthering my resolve on how to handle the situation. I grab her hand, pulling her toward my bike across the street.
“Where—” she pauses to hiccup, “are we going?”
I look both ways before crossing the road, not that there’s much traffic at this time of night, still pulling her behind me. “To my bike.”
She hiccups again before saying, “Your… motor… bike–cycle?” Confusion laces her tone, but I just keep walking. This girl needs a bed.
“Yes.” I walk her down the sidewalk to the curb where I’m parked, immediately grabbing the helmet. “Do you have a hair tie?”
The question makes her giggle as she nods her head and pulls a scrunchie from her purse to hand to me.
