Page 43 of Holding The Reins

“I-I’m sorry, CeCe,” Andrew says from below me on the sidewalk. His hands are moving to cover his face in fear that Nash might hit him again.

“Now, get out of my town and don’t ever fucking come back,” Nash growls at him as he pushes him away, then he turns his back to Andrew with zero vulnerability. Not a fear in the world that Andrew might retaliate.

This whole scene just got bumped up to the top of my Saturday night roster.

Andrew scrambles. “Nice company you keep, Cecilia.” He points at Nash. “And you’re going to hear from my lawyer, pal,” he yells from the safety of the other side of the street.

“Looking forward to it, Drew,” Nash calls back, not even giving him a glance.

“Are you alright?” he asks me. His whole demeanor has shifted 180-degrees in all of two seconds flat. Both his hands are on my arms which are now covered in goosebumps from standing out in the misty rain. His thumbs run over my forearms.

“Nash, can you unlock the doors?” Shelby yells as she makes her way over to his truck. He moves to unlock it immediately.

“Shit. I’m so sorry, Shelby. I’ll be right there,” he mutters than looks down at me. “Shit…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I…we had dinner,” he says as he flexes his bloody knuckled hand, assessing any damage.

I put my hand on his arm and look up at him.

“What are you doing, Nash?” I ask. “I mean, thank you, at least he’s gone now and probably won’t come back, but you’re clearly on a date. A date that’s probably now ruined.”

He goes to say something but I cut him off.

“Take her home. I’m going to get out of these wet clothes. I’ll just see you tomorrow.” I start walking to the safety of my truck.

“CeCe,” Nash says from behind me.

I turn to face him expectantly.

He looks tormented, like he’s carefully planning what to say. But, “I’m sorry he hurt you,” is all he musters out.

I nod and head to my truck while Nash goes back to his date like I told him to.

I’m sorry he hurt you? What the fuck is wrong with me?

I turn and walk back to my truck. I can’t even believe Shelby is still standing here after the worst date she’s probably ever been on. I’m surprised she didn’t just start walking home.

Even before I saw that flash of her hair out the window of Dolcettos, it was a bland night, but the moment I saw that piece of shit put his hands on CeCe, I was out the door, red lining my vision as I made my way to where they were on the sidewalk.

Everything else that happened, I’m going to admit I had zero control over but I meant every word. I don’t care what I have to do, CeCe will never face Andrew alone again.

I get into my truck and turn to look at Shelby.

“I wish I could rewind this night for you. I’m so sorry.”

She grins and pats my hand. “Dinner was nice and you weren’t terrible company.”

Shelby is a pretty girl of thirty-three, recently divorced and she teaches fourth grade at the elementary school. Wade and I went to school with her.

Cole’s been trying to set me up with her forever, so he was pretty excited when I asked for her number. She is friends with Gemma, and Cole says he has no idea why, she’s too nice to be friends with his ex. Tonight, she’s been nothing but funny, sweet, and gracious through my beast-like theatrics with CeCe. I should like her, I should be ready to go back to her place and do what I intended at the start of this night—which was have a good time, and hopefully push CeCe Ashby from my mind, even temporarily. But somewhere between appetizers and the main course, I just felt guilty, like sleeping with her would be wrong. She called me right out on it during dinner and I decided to just be honest with her.

“You seem like your head isn’t in this date, Nash, although I’m not complaining. I’ll never turn down dinner at Dolcetto’s.” She smiles at me and I notice how pretty her smile is, but it doesn't take me out at the knees the way another blonde's does.

“You’re right, maybe I shouldn’t have asked you. I have a lot on my mind. I apologize for that. You’re not getting me at my best.”

“Or you can admit another woman is eating at you,” she notes.

“That obvious?” I ask.

“I’m a good listener, no strings attached,” she says, and I smirk because it isn’t the no strings attached I had in mind but I’m grateful she’s a good sport nonetheless.

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