Page 25 of Throw Down

He unlocked his truck one-handed and settled Briar in the passenger seat, awkwardly arranging his limbs until they looked comfortable.

Then he got the hell out of there.

Derek had done a lot of things he wasn’t proud of when he was a kid.Stripping stolen parts for Sutter and Wade wasn't even the worst of it.The only reason he'd never been caught was because he knew how to cut and run at the first hint of trouble.

He gunned the engine, taking the familiar winding roads with enough speed to kick up a trail of dirt devils.Town faded in a blink, taking the light with it. The darkness of a backwoods night closed around them.A jackrabbit darted across the road, eyes glowing in the glare of his headlights.

Every so often, he glanced at Briar, slumped against the window.He looked so fragile. The curve of his neck was long and pale, almost delicate, with deep hollows by his collarbones.Derek had always found that spot on a man fascinating, but Briar's collarbones were so thin they would have crumbled beneath Sutter's fist.

He didn’t think his heart started beating properly again until those big gray eyes fluttered open.

“Wha the…” Briar slurred, reaching up to clutch his wounded face.

His cheek had taken the brunt of the attack.The side of his face was swollen and flaming red, and a laceration oozed sluggishly above his left eye.

“Just sit back and relax,” Derek said gruffly, ignoring the way Briar flinched in surprise.“We'll get you patched up. It's not as bad as it probably feels.”

“Oh, goodie.” Briar's words were muffled.

Derek barked out a grim laugh.“Kid, if you’re going to try playing hero, you need to learn how to take a punch.”

“I know how to take a punch.”

“Doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting.”

“He just took me by surprise,” Briar muttered defensively.“Trust me, this isn’t any big deal.I’ve been hit worse.”

Derek’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.He didn’t know what kind of life Briar had lived back in the city, but it had been enough to give him the darty, nervous energy of a man always looking for an exit.All Derek wanted was to be locked in a dark room with whoever had taught him that response.Just five minutes; that’s all he’d need.Maybe less.

“Where are we going?” Briar asked, finally clocking the lodgepole pines as they whizzed past in the dark.“Just drop me at my apartment and I’ll sleep it off.”

“You lost consciousness,” Derek said grimly.“You can’t be left alone.”

“I’ll call Nate to stay with me.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Derek said, shooting him a wry glance from the corner of his eye.“Someone needs to watch you for the night.Unless you’d rather go to the hospital?”

Briar snorted and lifted a middle finger to express how he felt about that suggestion, and Derek smiled despite himself.He’d already clued in to how important it was to Briar to be seen as independent.He hated feeling helpless.

“So, you need someone to watch you,” he said brusquely.

“It doesn’t have to be you.”

It shouldn’t be him—for a lot of reasons.But the idea of turning Briar over to someone else didn’t sit right with him.

“You want me to turn around and drive you to Nate’s place?” he asked through his teeth.

“No.” Briar managed a lopsided grin through the pain.“You were right. I wasn't going to call him.I guess I’ll settle for bothering you…if you’re offering.But it’s really not necessary.I’m a big boy.”

Derek scoffed.

“I’ll prove it to you one day,” Briar murmured wearily, resting his temple against the window and closing his eyes.

“Just stop doing dumb, impulsive shit,” Derek growled.

Briar’s lips twisted into a ghost of a smile.“I’ve got a knack for that around you.”

It wasn’t long before the familiar outline of Derek’s cabin materialized.It was a simple, one-story structure halfway up the side of Strawberry Mountain, far from town but close enough to the scrapyard that it wasn’t a burden.It offered all the peace and quiet a man could want, something he’d desperately needed by the time he moved out of the cramped family farmhouse. The place was practically falling off its foundation when he bought it as a stupid teenager.He'd gutted it and shingled a new roof with his own two hands. The front porch was made from rough-hewn logs he’d carved himself, decorated at one end by two rocking chairs—even though only one had ever been sat in.A bare bulb swung in the breeze above the door, beckoning them with soft yellow light.

---