Page 92 of Sixty Days Of Summer

Scarlet

I’m still buzzing from the rush of seeing my face on the posters and signing my first autograph on something that’s actually mine. The crowd’s energy has me floating, like I’m on top of the world. But then, slicing through the noise like a razor, I hear a voice that stops me cold. My heart kicks into overdrive. I look up, and there he is—Beck, my ex. Standing right in front of me.

The noise of the room fades into a dull hum as panic rushes through me. He’s not supposed to be here. Not now. My first instinct is to run, but I’m rooted in place, frozen by the fear that he’s here to finish what he started.

Before I can react, his hand shoots out, clamping around my wrist, trapping me. My heart hammers in my chest, a chill slicing through me as his twisted gaze meets mine. That smirk on his lips—it’s smug, taunting, a sick satisfaction that tells me he knows exactly the effect he’s having on me, and he’s savoring every moment of it.

“Hello, babe,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a dark edge that cuts through me. “Long time, no see.” His grip tightens, not enough to hurt but enough to make his threat clear, like he’s daring me to pull away. That twisted glint in his eyes churns my stomach, feeding off the fear he’s stirred up. It’s not just my wrist he’s holding—he’s dragging me back into all the dark memories I’ve fought hard to bury. And the worst part? He knows exactly what he’s doing.

I yank my arm, desperate to break free, but his grip is unyielding, fingers clamped around me like a vice. Panic claws at my chest, stealing my breath. “Let go of me!” I gasp, my voice trembling, but he doesn’t flinch. Every time I pull, he tightens his hold, pain shooting up my arm, each struggle fueling his twisted satisfaction. It’s like he’s feeding off the control, enjoying every ounce of fear he’s forcing through me.

Then it happens in a blur. Someone steps in front of me, and before I can register it, Beck’s ripped away, a hand around his throat, yanking him back with brutal force. I gasp, my heart pounding in my ears, as I look up and see Ace, his face twisted with rage, inches from Beck’s. His voice is cold, lethal. “Let her fucking go.”

The crowd’s chatter vanishes as every eye snaps to the scene unfolding. Beck’s face twists in panic, his wide eyes full of fear as he chokes on whatever words he might’ve dared to say, but Ace’s iron grip silences him completely. I stand frozen, my heart still pounding from the sudden shift, caught in the gravity of Ace’s fierce protection.

Theo’s there in an instant, right beside Ace. “That asshole is her ex,” he spits, his voice a low growl, the barely contained rage simmering in his eyes, like he’s ready to explode and make Beck pay for everything he’s done.

“So, you’re the fucker who hit her?” Ace’s voice is low and deadly, his grip tightening around Beck’s throat.

The room stays eerily still, the weight of the moment hanging thick in the air. Everyone’s frozen, watching, waiting for what’s about to go down.

Xander steps in, gripping Ace's arm, and tries to pull him back. “Not here, Ace,” he says, his tone calm but laced with urgency. But Ace doesn’t budge, his gaze fixed on Beck with an intensity that crackles in the air, his hand still gripping Beck’s throat like he can’t bear to let go. Every second stretches as Ace’s fury remains unshaken, refusing to back down even a step.

“Time to go, asshole,” Ace growls, dragging Beck toward the door we walked through earlier.

I need to stop this, to do something—anything. But before I can take a step, Theo steps in front of me, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed, a look that leaves no room for argument.

“Let him handle it, Scar,” Theo says, his voice calm but firm. “He’s just doing what Nate and I would’ve done.”

Xander strides over, concern written all over his face. “You okay, Scarlet?”

“Yeah,” I manage, swallowing hard, trying to shove the fear back down where it belongs. He gives a quick nod, silent but reassuring, before turning to Kit.

Kit steps in, her presence commanding as always. She clears her throat, cutting through the hushed murmurs. “Alright, listen up, everyone!” she calls out, her tone sharp and authoritative. “We’re getting back to the signings. Let’s keep it moving. One asshole isn’t going to ruin the night.”

Her words snap the crowd back to focus, and the tension in the room starts to ease.

I slide back into my seat next to Jack, who gives me a sympathetic smile, leaning in just enough to be heard over the noise. “Fuck me, is this shit always this tense?” he asks, shaking his head slightly.

I manage a small smile in return. “No, only when assholes show up.”

He lets out a low chuckle, but my eyes shift back to the crowd. The fans are gradually falling back into their excited chatter, the tension loosening its grip, yet I’m still rattled by what just happened. As the line inches forward, my heart’s pounding, and my mind is a storm of worry and adrenaline. I force myself to focus on the faces in front of me, signing posters, making small talk—anything to drown out the lingering dread and the unsettling reality of whatever’s unfolding between Ace and Beck.

Every time I sign my name or muster a smile for a fan, my mind slips back to whatever’s unfolding beyond those doors. Is Ace all right? What if Beck tries something else? The questions spiral, twisting tighter and tighter, making it harder to hold up the mask of normalcy.

I’m on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, as the last fan leaves the room, and Ace is still nowhere to be found. As we all head back into the green room, my heart pounds louder with each step. As I enter, my gaze instantly falls upon him, slumped on the couch, a cold beer in his hand.

But it’s his fists that grab my attention. Swollen, bruised, the skin cracked and raw—there’s no mistaking what happened. As soon as I sit beside him, I can’t stop the words from tumbling out. “What did you do, Ace?”

Theo stands beside me, but Ace’s gaze never leaves mine. There’s a cold edge in his voice when he speaks, low and steady.“I did what I had to,” he says, his expression hard. “Just know, that asshole isn't coming near you again.”

“What if he presses charges?” I ask, my voice shaky, worry gnawing at me more than anything else.

“He won’t,” Ace replies, calm but firm.

“You don’t know him like I do, Ace. You should’ve just left it alone.”

He lifts his battered hand, his fingers grazing my cheek as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The tenderness in his eyes catches me off guard, offering a brief moment of calm in the chaos. "He hurt you," he says. "Not just in that room, but those fucking bruises he left on your face. I had to look at them for days—almost a week. That asshole had it coming."

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