Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(51)

“Fuck it,” Mel says, waving a hand in the air, her eyes half slits. “Why not. Not like I have anywhere special to be tomorrow. Not like I’m picking up my new Breakout.”

“Aw, come on,” Jesse plies her. “Who the f*ck is this? Since when do you whine like a little bitch?”

My hackles raise. I know this is their typical banter, and it works for them. I really don’t want to be that guy—the one who demands a girl drop her friends for him. We’re not even to that point yet, and I wouldn’t request it, regardless. I hate those guys. But this isn’t about me and her, us. It’s about her recovery. And this guy is toxic to Mel.

“Fuck you, bitch,” Mel tosses back at him. “I can act anyway I want. I’m not the one who totaled his bike and mine. I think you owe me some cash on that one.” Her head sways a little, following the loose movements of her body on the stool. “Actually, duce, you owe me a lot more than that, like a—” Biting down on her bottom lip, she cuts herself short.

For a quick second, I watch her battle her drunken state; blink hard, shake her head. Lick her lips, as she tries to fight something back. I glance at Jesse, feeling like the third wheel between them. His expression is sheet pale. What she just said to him has no real meaning for me, it’s all drunk talk—but he looks like he’s two seconds from either bolting or exploding.

With a less than steady hand, he reaches for the shot glass in front of him and throws it back. “I don’t want to do this here,” he says, low, intended only for Mel to hear.

Mel takes a fast glance at me, blinks, then swivels in her stool to face Jesse. “I figure here is the proper place, wouldn’t you agree? Here is where—”

“Stop!” he shouts. “Not here. Not now.” He sends her a stern glare that makes Mel sit up, her lips trembling. But it’s not from fear; it’s anger.

Whatever they have to level between them isn’t going to go well at this point. Jesse’s holding his liquor better than Mel, but he’s on something. He talks a little too loud, looks around a little too much, paranoid—the opposite response to alcohol.

He groans and runs a hand through his messy hair. “I knew this was coming,” he says. “I f*cking knew it. We should’ve just hauled ass out of this town. Got the f*ck away.”

I push the glass of water to the front of the bar, ready to move in a flash if one of them gets physical. My eyes are on Mel, waiting to see if she snaps or welcomes the lethargic effect of the liquor. She’s teetering. Could sway either way.

Her hands are gripped into fists by her sides. Her eyes are watery, on the verge of angry tears, and she’s eased herself to the edge of the stool. The heels of her knee-high boots pressed to the bar under her seat, ready to spring.

The music overhead changes, a new song starting up. And in the quick moment of quiet, I hear Mel’s deep breaths. She reaches for her shot glass and swallows the amber liquid in one gulp. “Fuck this,” she says. “I’m through, Jess. I need to get out of here.”

He turns and faces her. “That’s what I’m saying. We—”

“No,” she cuts him off. “I need to get the hell out of this bar. Right now. You’re missing the point, like usual.”

His thick eyebrows pull together. “What the f*ck does that mean?”

She shakes her head, pushing herself away from the bar. “Have a good night, prospect.” Then she’s off the stool, and I’m on my feet.

Jesse grabs her arm, stopping her retreat. “You’re not leaving. Come on.” He pulls her toward him as he hops off his own stool.

“Let go of me, Jesse. I’m out. I can’t do this—”

“Like hell,” he snaps. “We’re doing this.” He hauls her toward the back of the bar, and I’m moving to break in-between them.

I’ve kept my cool this whole night—told myself I’d just make sure Mel got home safely. Didn’t get too f*cked up. Slip from her record drug-free month. Wouldn’t get involved in her personal business. But I’m not idly standing by while this guy—friend or not—hurts her. And I’m not thinking physical, though in his state he’s not taking no for an answer. He could, unintentionally, strike out. It wouldn’t be the first time something went down that way.

In the few seconds it takes me to reach them, Melody has broken away. She sways some on her feet, then notices me, frozen, waiting to know my next move.

“Back off, bare-knuckle.” She slurs a bit, but the words are still delivered with a stinging clarity. They’re true. Truth sucks. “Not looking for any hero action tonight, okay? I got this.”

My teeth grit under the pressure of my clenched jaw. “Maybe a little hero action is just what you need.” Soon as it leaves my mouth, I deflate. Fury evaporated. My anger wasn’t supposed to be directed at her, and I hate that I’m so easily provoked.

She doesn’t seem to notice, though. She’s smiling, amused. “Got a white steed, guy? Or you planning to whisk me away on your heroic bobber?”

Jesse’s the one who speaks next. “Bullshit. Mel, you don’t even know this *. It’s not like you…you’re acting like—”

“What? Who?” Her head whips around. “It’s not like me, it’s like Darla? Huh? Is that what you were going to say?” Her whole body tightens with rage. “You calling her a slut? You calling me one? You’re f*cking slut-shaming me?” She shakes her head, laughing. “You are such a f*cking hypocrite!”