Bitter Sweet Heart (Lies, Hearts & Truths #2)(26)

We fist bump, and he heads down the stairs, off to wherever.

I spend the next hour trying to work on an assignment, but my brain is on overdrive, and I can’t settle. It’s approaching midnight, but there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep at this point. So I decide to go for a run.

I pull on my running shorts, then layer on a T-shirt and a hoodie, grab my baseball cap, and head downstairs. My running shoes are shoved into the corner. I shake out the deodorizer balls, jam my feet in, and tie the laces.

Once I’m outside, I tuck my earbuds in and blast my running playlist, taking a right on the first side street, then another right and a left until I’m out of the student housing section and into the regular subdivision—houses owned by people who manicure their lawns and care about curb appeal.

When I reach Hackett Street, I make another left. I don’t usually take this route, but then I don’t often go for a midnight jog either. Halfway down the block, I notice a gaggle of guys approaching someone putting out their recycling. It’s a ballsy move to do that now. I always wait until morning, because putting it out at night is a crapshoot as to whether some drunk dickbag is going to kick it all over the road.

The guys down the street are so loud I can hear them over my earbuds. I click the pause button, so the music no longer drowns them out.

From the sound of it, these guys are drunk and looking for trouble. And the person putting out their recycling seems to be on the receiving end of that. When the three of them spread out, circling the person at the end of the driveway, I speed up.

“Come on, baby, show us what’s under the robe! I wanna see those titties!”

I see red as I realize they’ve surrounded a woman in a bathrobe. My throat tightens as they close in on her, and I pump my arms and legs faster, eating up the distance between me and them.

“Hey, assholes!” I shout, hoping to draw their attention my way.

I push through their circle toward the woman, who is currently holding her garbage can like a shield, her recycling strewn across the sidewalk. She doesn’t seem to know where to focus or what to do as she spins around, searching for a way out. One of the guys yanks the garbage can out of her grasp. She stumbles back and lands on her butt on the sidewalk, then tries to crab walk backwards, losing a slipper. A bunny slipper. Her long hair covers most of her face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I step in front of the woman, turning myself into a human shield as I shove the guy holding the garbage can. He stumbles and loses his balance when he steps off the curb. The garbage can lands on top of him, and he smacks his head on the concrete.

The other two step forward, but one is distracted by his friend on the ground. They look like they might be in their forties, and like maybe life hasn’t been the easiest.

“You need to mind your own business, kid,” the one closest to me snarls, revealing missing teeth. He smells of booze and cigarettes.

None of them is in particularly good shape, but they’re definitely wasted, and that means they’re not thinking clearly and may be looking for a fight. Which is fine. It would give this woman plenty of time to get inside, and they’re making enough noise that hopefully a few of the neighbors will hear the ruckus, even if they can’t see it through the large trees lining the sidewalk.

“So you and your loser friends can go back to harassing some poor woman trying to put out her goddamn garbage? I don’t fucking think so.” I glance down at the guy’s jacket and notice a company logo on it. And I know the place. It’s where I take my truck for servicing, and I’ve talked to the owner a few times because he knows my dad. “Don’t think Hank would be very happy to find out his employees are sexually harassing random women.” I flick him in the chest, and he comes at me, which I anticipate. I block his shot and go low, shoving my shoulder into his stomach, setting him off balance too.

The guy who ended up on the ground is struggling to his feet. The third one, who looks like he hasn’t eaten a good meal in weeks, takes a couple of steps back, maybe realizing his odds aren’t great.

He raises his hands in the air. “I don’t want no trouble.”

“Too fucking bad, ’cause you’re in a heap of it.”

The guy who tried to take a swing at me manages to get up on one knee, huffing and wheezing. He struggles to his feet and mumbles something about fucking me up, but his skinny friend grabs him by the shoulder. “Marty, man, we should get out of here.”

I pull my phone out of my pocket and start snapping photos.

The big guy lunges at me and basically runs right into my fist. It’s almost comical the way he stumbles back, again, and this time knocks over both of his friends. The three of them struggle to right themselves.

“I’m calling the cops,” I warn.

They scramble to their feet and rush down the street, Hank’s Automotive Repair in big red letters across the guy named Marty’s shoulders.

“What a bunch of fucking idiots.” I turn back to the woman, who has managed to pick herself up off the sidewalk.

One side of her hair is tucked behind her ear now, so I can see half of her face.

Clover.

Professor Sweet.

I try to catch her eyes. “Hey, it’s Maverick. Are you okay, Professor?”

She nods once, obviously shaken, clutching the front of her robe as her eyes dart around.