Meet Me Halfway(66)

“You little cu—”

My front door shot open, the hinges creaking in protest, and a freezing gust of air filled the room, introducing the six feet of male standing at the threshold. He was practically naked, sporting only a pair of checkered boxers, and his broad chest heaved in and out like he’d sprinted straight from his bed. His eyes zeroed in on me—or more specifically, the hand still clutching me—and his features turned feral.

Aaron immediately went off, cursing Garrett and calling me a whore in every drunken, uncreative way possible. He was like a defective bomb trying to detonate but failing to take anyone out. His words bounced off Garrett’s statue form, tumbling to the ground.

The second Aaron released his hold on my jaw and turned toward him, Garrett moved. There was no stopping, no pausing, no taking a moment to blink. One second, he was at the door, and the next he was punching my ex straight in the face.

Aaron’s head snapped back with such force, I was surprised he didn’t break his neck. He collapsed to the floor in a heap at my feet, groaning and smearing the back of his hand through the blood pouring from his nostrils.

Stooping down, Garrett grabbed him by his collar, hauling him up only to smash his fist into his face a second time. I cried out, banging into the single-standing stool next to me in my effort to move.

“Garrett, stop!”

Even in the fog of his anger, he froze at the sound of my voice, locking eyes with me while Aaron dangled like a rag doll from his outstretched arm. His eyes were swirling storms of fury, agony, and despair. They flicked away from me, wincing as they looked at something over my shoulder.

My heart fell when I followed his gaze to see Jamie standing in the hall, wide-eyed. His back was plastered to the wall, both hands gripping my phone to his chest.

Garrett let the unconscious body in his grip drop to the floor, and when he spoke, the words were hoarse. “You all right, J-man?”

Jamie’s head bobbed up and down, but he didn’t attempt to move from his spot.

“I’m proud of you.”

The way my child’s face lit up at Garrett’s words of praise was all at once amazing and devastating at the same time.

I expected Garrett to look at me next and ask if I was all right or what happened, but he didn’t. He didn’t even look at me. He curled his arms underneath Aaron’s shoulders and began dragging his body out like a corpse.

I jolted forward, my eyes darting from the morbid-looking scene before me back to Jamie. “What are you doing? Garrett!”

He continued ignoring me, retreating through the open front door and down my porch, Aaron’s body thumping after him. Indignation flared inside of me, and I chased him down, closing the door behind me so Jamie wouldn’t follow.

It was pitch black and freezing out, and I bounced from one foot to the other, pulling my sweater tighter around me.

“What are you—oh my God, what are you doing?!” I called out as he threw Aaron into the backseat of his Nova like a sack of rotten garbage and slammed the door.

“Garrett, talk to me.”

He slapped both palms on his car, leaning forward to rest his head between them. Positioned the way he was, with every naked muscle in his back and legs on display, he looked like a fallen angel who’d lost his wings. It tore at me. “I’m sorry you had to—”

Flat hands turned to fists, and his shoulders tensed and shifted. “Don’t stand there and fucking compare me to him, Maddie. I am not him.”

I threw my arms out, “What are you talking about, I’m not!”

“When your gut reaction is to apologize every time I help you, you’re comparing me to him. When you second-guess how I’ll respond and feel the need to grovel to maintain my approval, you’re comparing. Stop fucking apologizing.”

I pulled my lips into my mouth, pressing down until it felt like my teeth would slice through. He hadn’t looked up from his car, but he might as well have laid me out. His words lashed out at me like a whip, digging into everything I was, and showing all the cracks.

I didn’t know how to stop over-thinking and second-guessing. I didn’t know how to be different.

“This is a little more than fixing my dishwasher or cleaning my fence, Garrett. You have a body in the back of your car, and you’re obviously upset with me. You won’t even look at me.”

He shoved off, twisting to me with a speed that didn’t seem possible. In only a few strides, he was flush against me, the skin of his stomach pressing against my sweater. His fingers dove into my hair, tangling in my curls as he gripped the back of my head and tilted it back.

“You want to know why I can’t fucking look at you? Because looking at you reminds me of what you told me last week. It makes me want to rip that motherfucker out of my car and finish what I started.

“I can’t look at your face without seeing the ghost of his fingerprints and remembering what they looked like on you, without remembering how you look when your eyes fog over in fear. It’ll be seared into my mind until the day I die.”

I subconsciously reached up, placing my hands on his chest. His grip tightened, pulling at the hairs along my nape, but I barely noticed. Hell, I was barely breathing.

“As long as that piece of shit is within arm’s reach of me, I can’t keep fucking looking at you, or tonight’s story is going to have a completely different fucking ending.”