Calmly, Carefully, Completely(55)

I hear the rumble of that loud-ass Mustang engine, and my body tenses. I get up from where I was sitting chatting with some of the youth boys and begin to pace. It’s dark outside, and the lights are on at the front of the house. I can see the drive but not very clearly.

“I’ll be right back,” I say quietly. The boys smirk, and one shakes his head. “What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says, grinning. “You’re one *-whipped motherf*cker, you know that?”

Yeah. I know it. And I don’t mind it. I walk slowly toward the front of the house. I stop by the bushes, hiding in the shadows. The car stops, but it’s not the douchebag that gets out of the driver’s seat. It’s Reagan. Her hair is a mess, hanging down her back in tangled waves. When she left, it was a chic knot on top of her head. Her dress is hanging off her shoulder, and she reaches to adjust it before she goes in the house. She stops to fix her hair, too. She’s carrying her shoes in her fingertips by the straps.

What the f*ck?

Suddenly, a second car pulls up behind the first, and Reagan turns. She shades her eyes and looks toward the lights. She stomps her foot, and then I see Chase get out of the passenger side of the other car. Reagan doesn’t even stop to talk to him. She goes inside her house and slams the door. The noise of it reverberates around the yard.

Chase limps over to his car. By this point, darkness is crowding the corners of my vision and I can barely think, much less see. He did something to her, or she wouldn’t be so angry. I advance on him and scare the ever-loving shit out of him when I throw him up against the side of the car and get in his face. “What the f*ck did you do to her?” I ask, my face an inch from his. He reaches up to wipe my spit from his cheek.

“I didn’t do anything to her,” he protests.

“You did something or she wouldn’t be so angry.” I hold him against the car. If I don’t, I’ll have to hit him, and I really want to hear his story before I hit him. I want to hear him say he’s sorry before I kill him.

“I didn’t do anything,” he swears, holding his hands out like he’s surrendering. That’s when I notice he has a splotch of blood under his nose. I turn him toward the light. His nose was definitely bleeding because there are gushes of it on his shirt. My heart thrills at the thought of it.

“You have until I count to three,” I say. But before I can even start counting down, he blurts out the truth. “We were dancing, and I was touching her…”

“Touching her where?” I growl. I swear to f*cking God, I’m going to kill him.

“Just holding her while we danced,” he says. But he won’t look into my eyes.

“And?” I prompt.

“And,” he says slowly. “And I might have grazed her boob once or twice. Then the next thing I knew, she punched me in the face. Then she kneed me in the nuts, and when I bent over to grab for my gonads, she hit me in the jaw with her knee.” He mimics her motions, and I can imagine exactly what she did to him. Laughter bubbles within me. But he’s not done yet. “Then she pressed the heel of her shoe on my nuts while I was lying on the ground and pressed down hard until I gave her my car keys. Then she stole my car.” He points down the road to the other car that dumped him and left. “I had to get my buddy to drive me here.”

She stole his f*cking car after she beat him up. I laugh. I can’t help it. I laugh in his face. I don’t need to do anything to him. She did enough. She completely emasculated him. “Are you sure all you did was touch her boob?” I ask.