Page 15 of Forgiving Utah

“Christian.”

I freeze in place without glancing over my shoulder.

“…Thanks,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

“Don’t make this weird. You still owe me five grand.” With that, I shut myself inside the bathroom and rest my forehead against the door.

All the adrenaline leaves my veins at once, the sudden drop enough to send me sliding to the tile.

“Fuck,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand down my bruised face.

Tonight could’ve gone so much worse. One bad move, one wrong word, and someone might’ve been hauled out in a body bag.

I did that. I'm the one who put Owen in danger by waltzing into that bar. This is the shit that happens when I let my fucking impulses run the show.

And yet, as I peel off my clothes and hiss at every sting of pain when I step under the hot shower spray, I realize that I don't regret it. Dev may have been the one to lose his life tonight, and the fucker doesn't even realize it. Or maybe he does, but he doesn't care.

Either way, despite the financial hole I probably put Taylor and myself in by using TOT's business account…

I'm glad I was there when he needed me.

CHAPTER SIX

Devon

Arnie’s neon sign flickers in the dark, mocking me with every flash.

I can't even count how many times I've come back to this place, even when I swear I won't. My ribs scream on each inhale as I stand across the street, hood pulled tight around my face.

I shouldn’t be here.

Christian’s couch is probably still warm. Safe. Part of me wants to turn around and walk back into his apartment, snuggle down. Let him take care of me again, like he did earlier.

That part of me can shut the fuck up, though, because the other side of my brain that freaked when I woke up to someone lifting my shirt just wants some goddamn peace.

I cross the street before I can talk myself out of it, dirty Chucks scraping the pavement eagerly. The bar door sticks when I tug it open, and heads turn the minute I step inside.

Home sweet hell.

Arnie’s already watching me from where he leans against a pool table, greasy smile stretching wide. “Well, I’ll be fucked,” he drawls. “Look who crawled back.”

My jaw tightens, and I barely smother a wince at the ache. “I need an eighth.”

Arnie chuckles along with his cronies around him. “You got some nerve showing your face here again.”

“I don't want to start shit,” I mutter, eyes scanning the room nervously. “Just need something to take the edge off.”

His smile sharpens. “That so?”

“Just a little. Last time.”

God, I hate how easy that word comes out. “Last time,” like every time I do this shit couldn't potentially be the last. Christian’s medicine cabinet was empty, though. Not even a bottle of cough syrup. His shed had been locked up, too, so I couldn’t lift any of his tools for some money. I'm out of luck.

Arnie pushes off the table and strolls closer, invading my space. “Looks like your hero friend paid all that money for nothing, huh?”

“Don’t talk about him,” I snap, cursing internally when Arnie lifts an amused brow.

“Oh? He your boyfriend, party boy?”