Running in Place (Mending Hearts) (6 page)

“Noooooooah! I need you!” My teeth grate and my jaw clenches as my eyes close in an effort to fend off the inevitable. Turning slowly to Ryder who could not be further up my ass tonight for some reason, I’m once again reminded to never, ever, ever sleep with chicks from work.
Ever.
Or to take them up on ride offers because I’m undoubtedly stuck with her shit for the rest of the night.

“Ryder,” I say as pleasantly as possible. “I will be with you in
one second
. I’m in the middle of an emergency right now, but I promise, I will get with you as soon as everything calms down.” I chance a glance at Tatum over Ryder’s head. She’s still standing on the bar, but she’s no longer dancing. Still as a statue, her eyes gaze over the crowd with her mouth wide-open. My stare follows across the bar in the path of hers, until they land on a gap-toothed hillbilly douchebag with his arm around some platinum blonde chick’s waist.
Cash.

I quickly cast my glance back to Tatum, whose mouth is no longer open, but tightly sealed with her lips pressed together in a thin line. Then, I watch as her crazy switch flips. Her eyes ignite with fury as she turns her back to the crowd in front of her and jumps
behind
the bar — pretty deftly actually — the adrenaline no doubt fueling her new-found coordination. After opening the door where the reserve liquor is stored, she reappears a second later, with a devilish and eerily calm smile spreading across her face as she exits from behind the bar. Sadie attempts to grab her shoulder, but Tatum shrugs her off as she strides toward the exit. A whirling flash of silver catches my eye as she tosses an object into the air, catching it in the palm of her hand just before the front door slams behind her. My eyes lose her at that point, but the irony that
Crazy Ex-Girlfriend
is now blaring over the sound system seems to serve as some kind of sick warning.

This is so
not
good.

Once again, I push Ryder to the side, gently of course, hearing her huff as I book it towards the exit door as fast as my work boots will carry me. Throwing it open, I end up in the parking lot, my eyes frantically searching the rows of cars for any sign of Tatum. Sadie’s high-pitched shriek catches my attention. “Tatum O’Connell! Do
not
do this! He’s not worth your ass goin’ to jail!”

What the fuck?

Swiftly turning the corner, I skid to a halt when I see Tatum standing in the bed of a navy blue, 4x4 Chevy Silverado truck, her fingers curled around the grip of the baseball bat that’s
supposed
to be tucked safely behind the bar with an inebriated, lopsided smile on her face.

“Noah! Get her out of there, please! She’s gonna hurt herself!” Sadie pleads, once again with the damn puppy dog eyes. Just as I open my mouth to try to talk some sense into Tatum, three things all happen at once, seemingly in slow motion.

Several footsteps are heard behind me followed by “YOU BITCH!” As I twist my body to see Cash running up, still with his arm around bouffant Barbie —
idiot
— I see the headlights from Trace’s truck turning toward all the commotion while Tatum yells from behind me, “Happy One
Fucking
Year Anniversary, Asshole!” The sound of glass shattering all over the place follows with Sadie screaming her head off nearly drowning it out.

I turn back towards Tatum, who’s now laughing while tears are running down her cheeks. Blood begins to trickle down her arms and legs from where shards of glass have embedded themselves into her skin. While my natural instinct is to run to her, protecting her is my first priority. So, instead, I immediately hook my arm around Cash’s neck when he tries to pass by me and drag his ass towards the bar.

“I’m going to fuckin’ kill you! Bitch!” he yells over my shoulder at Tatum while I force him backwards. Once we’re at the back exit, I throw him against the building, moving my forearm into his throat directly under his chin and pinning him about three inches above the ground. After a couple of futile seconds of him resisting me, I clench my teeth as I deliver my warning.

“You will
not
touch her. You touch her, and so help me God, your gap-toothed mouth will lose all of its poorly spaced teeth. That’s a fucking promise.” He glares at me with his beady ass eyes and starts to say something. I press my arm further into his windpipe, cutting off any words he thinks he needs to speak right now.
“What you
will
do, is turn your ass around, go into the bar, and chill with your little hooker friend until this has all been resolved. Then you are going to get your ass into your truck and drive home, minus the back window, all without touching a single hair on her head. Do you understand me?”

Lessening the pressure on his throat, I continue to stare him down until I’m sure he grasps my threat. When I feel he understands, I release my hold on him entirely. His feet hit the ground, and he doubles over, gasping for breath.

Pussy.

I stay put, waiting for him to regain lung function, just to make sure I didn’t do any real damage. Once he’s able to breathe again, he places his hands on his knees and looks up at me. “That’s my
cousin
, dude,” he says between breaths. “That bitch just broke out my window because of my goddamn cousin.”

I attempt to maintain an apathetic facial expression, but my eyes widen slightly in response to his disclosure and I shake my head in disbelief. This guy is as backwoods as they come if that’s an acceptable way to walk with your cousin in his family.

So…Tatum just blew her lid and busted out Dickhead the Douchebag’s window because he walked into the bar with a family member. Granted, the entrance was entirely unacceptable and, depending on which cousin, against state law.

The back door to the bar creaks open, pulling my thoughts away from this whole incestual debate going on in my head. “Noooooooah! Hellllooooo!”

My head drops into my hands and I simultaneously scrub my face while exhaling loudly in defeat.

Drama-free is just
not
in the cards for me tonight.

Wiping the remaining moisture from the tears running down my face, I look around at the remains of Cash’s back window surrounding my feet. Little pieces of glass reflecting the lights overhead are everywhere. I release the bat from my grasp and involuntarily flinch as it clatters loudly against the bed of the truck and shards crumble under my boots as I make my way to the end of the truck in a daze. Lifting my gaze from beneath me, I’m met with a pair of light blue eyes matching my own. And they’re furious.

“Jesus
Christ
, Tatum! What the hell is
wrong
with you?” Trace slams his truck door, tucking the back of his blue button down shirt into the back of his dark Diesels as he stalks up to me while I make my somewhat graceful exit off of Shithead’s truck. Balancing myself against the taillight, I find myself suddenly amused with the sections of red and yellow. The light bulbs behind them are so little. Like baby light bulbs. They’re cute.

Another door shuts in the vicinity and my eyes break away from the taillights to see the auburn spiral curls of Trace’s girlfriend, Harlow, aka Alex Morgan’s best friend, blowing in the night air breeze. I see her all the time at Alex and Blake’s house when I visit and here at the bar with Trace. She’s seems nice enough, always giving me a friendly pat or hug when we run into each other. It’s kind of a shame. I would probably like her if she weren’t dating my brother.

With her broadened eyes and mouth in an “O” shape as she approaches, she’s dressed in a pair of black wide-leg dress pants and a simple light pink fitted dress shirt with a fabulous pair of matching peep toe high heels.

“Stay back, Harlow,” Trace abruptly directs. The fact that she steps around him, moving towards me anyway makes me like her even more. Damn it.

Completely ignoring his warning, she walks directly up to me, and after taking in the massive amount of destruction, cups her hand softly against my cheek. It’s such a gentle, loving touch, tears once again surface. It takes everything in me not to wrap my arms around her and cry. Cry for my sucky ass life. Cry because I feel so lost. Cry because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore.

But I don’t.

Instead, I meet her gaze harshly, jerking my face away from her hand to look over her shoulder at Trace, who’s assessing the damage to Cash’s truck. Snickering, I address him. “Don’t worry, Trace. I’ll take care of
all
the damages. No need to worry. Your baby sister can take care of herself.”

His eyes fall toward the ground before he raises them to meet mine as I continue speaking. “I mean, I always have, it’s not like you ever gave a
shit
about me before. I don’t know why you’re choosing
now
to actually care.” When his stare moves from me to Harlow I add, “Oh, you’re embarrassed in front of your girlfriend.” I shrug my shoulders. “Makes sense I guess.”

Directing my attention at her, I offer her my condolences for living. “I’m the bad seed, you know. You should stay far away from me. I’m such an inconvenience to Trace and his perfect existence. Since you’re part of it, I assume you don’t want to be soiled by my presence, either.”

Laughing, I lean against the truck as the knot in my throat constricts, making it almost impossible to breathe. The admission is almost too much for me tonight. Slowly, Harlow brings her hand back to my face, stroking it once with her fingers before running the palm of her hand down my hair. “Honey, you’re not soiled, you’re bleeding —
everywhere
. And the first thing you need to know is that your brother doesn’t make any decisions for me,
I do
, and based on what I’ve gathered, solely on my
own
deductions, you’re not a bad seed sweetie. You’re just a little lost and you need help finding your way, that’s all.”

No longer able to control my emotions, I bury my head in my hands and let them flow, safe from the scrutiny of others. Harlow’s hand squeezes lightly on my shoulders, but I keep my eyes covered. “I’m going to get a first aid kit for her. Trace,” her tone full of warning, “Rein it in.”

As her footsteps become more and more distant, I wait until I can no longer hear them before peeling my fingers away from my face. Once again forced to look into Trace’s eyes, I take in an exhausted breath as he proceeds with his tongue-lashing.

“What the hell is going on with you?” When I give no response but a blank stare, his brows furrow as he shakes his head.

“She’s
gone
, Tatum. We have no one else, only each other now.” He places his hand underneath my chin, constraining me to look only at him while disrupting my attempt to stare at the cute light bulbs on the truck. “I don’t know that I will ever fully understand your hostility for her, but there’s a lot that I can comprehend on my own and this is what I think. I think you’ve hated her so much and for so long that now that she’s gone, you have no idea what to do with yourself or where to channel your anger.”

Narrowing his eyes, he almost seems as though he’s actually trying to understand. But when he makes his next few statements, I’m reassured that he’s still a judgmental asshole who will never fully recognize the shit I’ve had to endure. “Whatever it is, get over it and grow up. You’re twenty-three, but you’re acting twelve goddamn years old. And who’s left to clean up your mess?
Me
.” Throwing his hands in the air, he looks back toward Cash’s truck. “Now I have to go handle shit with your stupid-ass boyfriend so that you don’t go to jail tonight. And mark my words, you
will
owe me
. You’ll pay for this window and any other cosmetic damages regarding his truck, and you
will
be doing this by not only working here, but also working at Blake’s duplexes because we both know that babysitting his kids isn’t going to make you anywhere near the amount of money you’ll owe me and because that’s the only thing I can think of right now.”