Page 38 of Protecting What Is Mine

Clint’s voice drops when he speaks. It would be too low to hear, if the band were still playing. “Have you talked to them?”

I shake my head. “Talked to who? The sheriff? No, why would you…” And the pieces finally fall into place. My eyes go wide. I lean back as far as I’m able. Until I’ve pushed myself deep into the vinyl upholstery of the booth, overwhelmed by the thoughts swimming in my head.

“You…” My finger points at him as hard as my glare. “You had something to do with it! Didn’t you? That’s what this is about? That’s why you’ve been coming around and that’s why you are so concerned about my dating Hank. You don’t care about me!” A laugh slips out, loud and cackle-like. “Why would I ever have thought you were concerned about me. You’re afraid I might’ve told someone something.”

Clint shakes his head as he sits back. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s insane. Can you even hear yourself?”

But there’s something different. His usual cocky, I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude is M-I-A. He’s…he’s…NERVOUS. “Oh my God, Clinton! What have you done?” I think of Hank’s brother, lying in that hospital bed. And then I think of Hank and the look on his face when he realizes my own cousin was involved in Chet getting shot. Misery floods my heart, overflowing into a giant sloshing ball in my stomach. The feeling is so intense, I’m not paying any attention to Clint. Which I quickly learn is a mistake.

He reaches across the table, grabs me by the wrist, and pulls me to him until our faces are only inches apart. Anger distorts his so wildly, I feel like I’m looking into the eyes of a stranger. A very ugly, terribly mean stranger. “Mollie, you need to stop. Right fucking now! I’m on fucking parole and this shit could seriously jam me up.”

I fight with everything I’ve got to free my arm, but he’s easily three times my size. “You’re hurting me. Let go!”

Clint turns his head and cracks his neck. “I need to know you understand what I’m telling you.”

Wincing, I nod. “I understand.” I understand all too well.

He releases my wrist just in time for the waitress to return with his whiskey. She sets his glass on the table and looks at me, rubbing at my wrist. “Everything alright over here?” she asks with concern.

I look to Clint, who’s coldly staring back at me and then up at the waitress whose name I still can’t recall. “Yeah.” I nod, proud of myself for keeping my calm. “I was just leaving.”

The waitress shoots a disapproving look in Clint’s direction and nods as she moves on to the next booth.

Clint sips his whiskey as I stand. “Thanks for the visit, cuz.” He tips the glass in my direction. “Remember what I said, or I’ll see you again soon.”

I can’t get out fast enough, like smoke has filled the room and I can’t breathe. Even after my feet hit the sidewalk, I find myself looking back multiple times as I race to my car. I’m not completely sure what I think could happen, but then again the man didn’t hesitate to put his hands on me in a public place.

I click the button to unlock the car as I approach, slipping inside and immediately locking the door behind me. Even still, I don’t feel safe. I wonder if I will ever feel safe again. And then I think of Hank. I remember how I feel when I’m with him. Cared for. Watched over. Protected. I pick up my phone and dial.

The moment I hear his voice, my lungs find the air they’ve been starved of. My heart begins to calm. “Hey, beautiful. What did I do to earn a phone call?”

There it is, that feeling of peace and well-being.

“Mol? You there?”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I’m here. I know it’s late, but are you up for company? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

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