Page 42 of Don't Fall

My heart is pounding so hard in my chest, even it is drowning out my screams.

I feel my feet begin to skid over the floor, my body being pulled forward and fear barrels through me at the realization that whoever is on the other side of this door is about to be inside. With me. With Cara. And God only knows what he’s after.

I make one last desperate attempt to ram my knuckles into the fingers wrapped around the door when another set of hands appears from behind. Big hands. Strong hands. Definitely not Cara’s hands. Every instinct to turn my head and see who it is, is thwarted by a far more intense need to face forward because these new hands aren’t jamming the door shut, they’re here to shove it open. As soon as they do, they reveal the man on the other side of it. I recognize him instantly. He was here all night. Drinking Jim Beam on the rocks and keeping to himself from his corner seat at the bar. He’s not the only one I recognize now.

I’m barely piecing the current events together, when the whirlwind picks up. Swiftly moving me aside and out of harm’s way, is Lane.

Frozen in panic and absolute confusion, I stand along the wall, watching as Lane takes on a guy who has at least fifty pounds of muscle on him. Lane’s not exactly lacking in that department, but this dude is all bulk. Surprised and pissed off bulk!

The two go at it, fists flying. I see Lane take a hit, but dodge the next. From there he lands two solid punches to the guy’s gut before landing him the final blow to the jaw, causing him to drop back and collapse on the ground.

I watch as the guy scrambles to his feet and for a second I think he’s coming back for round two, but Lane lunges forward, getting in his face. “It’s done! Get the fuck out of here!”

A moment’s hesitation is all any of us needs before we hear it. Sirens. The guy bolts and Lane slams the door shut the second he’s out.

Then, he’s hovering over me.

I’m on the floor. How did I end up on the floor? My knees must have buckled at some point. That explains why everything seemed larger than life while it was happening.

“Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” His hands are moving gently over my skin, tracing my arms, my shoulders and down my back, checking for marks along the way until he reaches my waist and begins to lift me up again.

“I’m fine,” I mumble, taking mental inventory of my body. I am fine. The back of my head is a little sore, must have bumped it on my way down to the floor. “Where did you come from?” I ask, running my fingers through my hair and hoping he won’t notice me trying to investigate the small egg forming behind my left ear.

“Restroom.” His hand follows mine into the tumbleweeds that make up my thick mane. God, he’s observant. “Was this my fault?”

He’s worried. Upset even.

“No, I barely touched the wall when you moved me out of the way. Must have happened after.” For the first time since all hell broke loose, we meet each other eye to eye. Something inside me crumbles. Aches. A longing that stems from something far deeper and far more dangerous than the physical escapades we shared last night. It scares me. Only slightly less than the intruder did.

“You got hurt,” I rasp, my hand reaching for his face and the bruise already forming on the side of his jaw.

“I’m fine. Believe me. This is nothing,” he says softly, eyes still locked on mine, conveying things I’m not sure I’m ready to know.

“Cops got him,” Cara announces, breaking our intense moment of silence. “Saw it from the front window. He’s cuffed and standing alongside the car.” The words are barely out of her mouth when a loud banging at the front door draws us all out of the back room and toward the front to meet the police.

Lane leads the way outside, while Cara tucks in beside me, holding my hand. “That was some scary shit,” she whispers. “Thank God he was still here.” She nods toward him, standing there, greeting the cops, his button up shirt sleeves rolled up a quarter of the way, revealing just enough of his ink to remind me of the constant contradiction this man represents.

“Yeah,” I agree quietly. “Did you know?”

“No. I was running back to help you when he came out of nowhere, passing me and yelling out for me to call the cops.” She shrugs. “I don’t even know how he heard you shouting. It took me a second to even make out that you were in trouble. Sound travels horribly in there. Someone really ought to tell Burt.”

Burt.

“Speaking of, he’ll probably want to know the cops are here.” Automatically, my hand slides for my back pocket. It’s empty. I turn my head back over my shoulder, as if glancing at the building will help me remember.

“You left it by the register,” Cara helps me out. Then she takes it a step farther and begins to dial Burt’s number on her own phone. Turns out I couldn’t have called him anyway. I’m being waved over by two police officers, both standing beside Lane whose serious expression warms slightly when it’s directed at me.

“Guess it’s my turn to talk,” I mumble, releasing Cara’s hand and making my way over to them. Heart jumps up to my throat before I ever get there and I don’t know if it’s the thought of reliving the last ten minutes with a newfound clarity or the pull of Lane’s blue eyes, dragging me under until I’m dizzy and I can’t catch my breath anymore. It’s probably the latter.

––––––––

LANE

I shake out my hand. I’ve been clenching it up every few seconds since I walked out of the men’s room to the sound of Tessa screaming for help. The other thing I can’t seem to rid myself of is the image of her being dragged out into the alley right along with the door. The fear in her face. The loss of control. The helplessness. Something inside me rages to life every time it flashes in my mind. Doesn’t matter that it’s over. Or that she’s safe, here beside me. It never should have happened. Worse, it could happen again. And next time, I might not be there.

Just like that, I fucking hate her job. The feel of my nails digging into my palm again tells me I hate it a lot. It also reminds me I care. More than I want to admit. More than I know what to do with.

Maybe I should let her go on hating me. Maybe it would be best for both us in the long run if she went on not speaking to me, or looking me in the eye. And maybe the thought alone just made me ball my fist so hard, my nails drew blood.

---