Page 119 of Worth Every Game

“Apologise to her,” Jack snarls. “Apologise, or your face and my fist are gonna get really fucking friendly.”

Oh, God.“No—”

“Who the hell are you?” the man bites out, glaring at Jack and ignoring me. “I’ll say whatever the fuck I want to her.”

Jack’s expression warps with a degree of wrath I’ve never seen on him. It looks like it takes every ounce of his self-control not to pummel the guy. But the man must be on a death mission because he barrels towards Jack head first, like he wants to use his skull as a battering ram.

At the last second, Jack pulls back his fist and strikes the man’s jaw in a neat uppercut, sending his head whipping back. The man lets out a raw scream.

I squeal.

“Shit. Fuck!” someone shouts.

“Fight, fight,” comes another voice, others quickly joining the chant.

“I fucking warned you,” Jack grits out, pacing towards the man, whose face scrunches in terror as he stumbles to escape. His foot slips off the stage, and he loses balance, arms flailing. Almost in slow motion, he topples off the edge. His head cracks against a table, knocking pint glasses flying. A woman erupts from her seat, hands covering her mouth, as he collapses to the ground at her feet.

The event unleashes a torrent of latent chaos in the room, and everyone surges from their seats, yelling and bumping into one another. The heckler seemingly has friends, who forge through the crowd, surrounding him and hauling him up so his face is visible, revealing what looks like a broken nose, blood gushing down his chin.

Jack stalks towards the group of them, undeterred by the fact he’s outnumbered.Holy fuck, there’s going to be a proper brawl in here.

Fear seals my feet to the floor, my body seizing up and going numb with the shock of it. He can’t possibly fight all those men. It would be violent and awful, but the thought unlocks something in my heart, unleashing a heat that scorches my lungs.He wants to fight for me.

“Stop,” Kate screeches. I turn to see her pushing her way through the tables. Nico, Seb, and Matt jump from their seats too, heading towards Jack. Nico reaches him first, grabbing his arm and pulling him away, shouting something in his ear that I can’t make out. Seb and Matt hover nearby, no doubt ready to make sure Jack isn’t charged with murder by the end of the night. Whatever they’re saying to him, it must be registering, because he isn’t making a move, despite the powerful, frustrated energy coming off him that tells me he’d rather be turning the man’s brains to pulp.

The heckler’s friends are lurching at Nico, Matt, Seb… anyone in the area. They look desperate to fight, but Seb looks more preoccupied with keeping his suit clean, stepping out of reach, whereas Matt and Nico are like bodyguards, rigidly sticking to Jack’s side, preventing him from getting involved. Not that the men notice; they’re so drunk that they start fighting with each other, throwing hapless punches and swerving into furniture. One of them knocks into another punter, who shouts back, and the brawl spreads through the bar like wildfire.

Marcia is suddenly beside me, grabbing my arm. “Quick. Out. Now.”

But I resist, pulling back against her. “I’m not running this time.”

Leaving my guitar on the stage, I hop down, scooping up a full beer from a table nearby, ignoring the shocked expression of the man whose drink I swiped.

When I reach the scuffle, the heckler is sitting on the floor, being propped up by a friend, and it’s then, as I look closer, that I realise these are the same fucking men from the last time I was heckled in here.Bastards.

The man’s bloodshot gaze shifts towards me. His face is a bloody mess, but I know he sees me, because he chokes out, “Go on. Take your clothes off.”

I step right up to him, and in that moment he represents every single one of the people who’s ever heckled me or abused me online.

I lift the pint of beer high over his head. “Fuck you.” And then I pour the entire thing over his face, delighting in the way the bastard coughs and splutters, bringing up a mixture of blood and alcohol.I hope that fucking stings.

It’s then that Marcia appears, yanking my arm and hissing in my ear, “Jesus, Elly. You’ll scare all the punters away for good.” Before I know it, security is ushering me out the back door.

It’s only when I’m standing out on the street, the cold night air biting my cheeks, that I realise there’s one person who really deserved a beer thrown in their face.

Lydia.

I can’t do anything about that now. But there is one thing I can do that will show her I don’t care about what she did. That I’m big enough to get through it. That I can really let all this shit slide off, just the way Jack urged me to. That she can’t fucking touch me, no matter how low she’s prepared to stoop.

I take out my phone, bring up Robert Lloyd’s contact, and call. But when he doesn’t answer, I send a text message.

Me: Hey Robert, it’s Elly Carter. Sorry it’s taken me so long to get in touch. If you still want to meet regarding representing me, you can get me on this number, but I understand if you don’t. Please let me know, either way.

I wake to the sound of my phone ringing, the name Robert Lloyd flashing on the screen as I scrabble for the phone. “Hi, Robert.” I sound stupidly breathy.

“Elly. Great to hear from you. I thought you were going to do a runner again…” He trails off, then collects himself. “In answer to your question. Yes, I still want to represent you.”

My heart leaps, but I have to check he knows what he’s saying. I need to know he has the full picture. “What about… the photos?”

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