Page 404 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

“Baby, look at me,” Mrs. Robinson begs, grabbing his face. “They’re gonna call the police.”

Andrew jerks back, ripping his face out of her grip, and shoves his hand out to put space between them. “I said don’t fuckin’ touch me,” he spits, breathing ragged. “You got no right to touch me. None.”

“Whoa, whoa, chill!” Marco slams into Andrew, throwing him backward until his spine hits the concrete wall. “The fuck’s wrong with you? She’s a woman, bro!”

Andrew gets into his face.

“Nah. Fuck that. How many fuckin’ times I gotta tell her not to touch me before I’m allowed to take her hands off me, huh?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and tears his arms free, pointing over Marco's shoulder with a bloody finger. “You should be locked the fuck up,” he grinds out. “And if you ever touch her again? I’ll make sure you are.”

I turn statue under the mouth of the tunnel, holding up thirty pounds of his gear.

He said her. Not me.

Her.

The realization burns down my throat.

He’s no longer staring at Mrs. Robinson.

He’s staring right at Raymond.

Peter grabs Andrew’s bicep to pull him back. “Harding, hands down. You look insane. And you’re already on thin ice⁠—”

Andrew rips free. “Don’t.”

“No, I’m gonna don’t nothin’. You don’t fight. You never fuckin’ fight.” His eyes cut over Andrew’s bloody face. “I see guys beat the piss outta you outside bars. You just stand there.” He shoves his chest. “Now what? Andrew Harding’s suddenly fuckin’ Rocky Marciano?” He steps in close, forehead almost to his. “I don’t know who the hell I’m lookin’ at right now.”

Andrew wipes his forehead.

“I just want Allison, and I’ll go,” he says, defeated. “Where the fuck is Allison?”

The panic in his voice thaws me, and the Gatorade slips from under my arm, hitting the tile with a loud, hollow clatter.

Andrew spins at the sound,

his frantic eyes scanning the crowd

until his stare collides with mine.

The relief is a collapse,

every ounce of fight draining from him.

There. Her. Breathe.

In the next heartbeat,

he breaks, heading my way,

moving to the mouth of the tunnel

as if he’s running out of air.

“Allison,” he says, exasperated, hand at the back of my head, gripping my cap, eyes wet and wide and looking straight into mine.“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”

He pulls me into him, his face burying into my neck, his breath escaping in desperate gasps that burn my skin.

“Let’s get out of here.