Page 83 of Shelter from the Storm

“You’re always needed,” he said, stealing another kiss.

A few patrons began to line up at the bar, and Gretchen suspected an order she’d placed for one of her tables was probably ready in the kitchen.

“We better get back to work.” She picked up her tray. Spinning around, she stopped dead in her tracks, gasping before dropping it.

The sound it made when it crashed to the hardwood floor drew attention, but Gretchen was focused on one man.

She wasn’t sure how Theo managed it, but one second, he was behind the bar, the next, he was standing beside her.

“Is that him?”

She nodded, her gaze locked on Briggs, in his police uniform, who was standing no more than ten feet away scowling at Theo, who had placed his arm around her back.

Gretchen waited for that soul-crushing fear she experienced around him to crash down on her, but she felt none of it. Not even when Briggs walked toward her.

“Gretchen.” Briggs gave her a smile he meant to be charming. She was certain there were a lot of women who would probably find him attractive, but when she looked at him now, all she saw was an ugliness that went bone deep.

“What are you doing here?” She crossed her arms, not for protection but because she was annoyed.

Briggs frowned, clearly taken aback by her hostile tone. She’d never dared to speak to him this way in the past, but her days of cowering like a whipped dog were behind her. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Why?”

“Because I missed you.” Briggs glanced around, discovering they’d drawn an audience.

Gretchen looked around too, relieved when she realized how many Storms were now focused on them, ready to step in at a moment’s notice. The wagons were circling, shifting closer. Her initial fear that Briggs would show up in cop-mode and attempt to gaslight the Storms into believing she was mentally unstable still hovered slightly, but she pushed it away.

“Is there somewhere we can go to talk in private?” Briggs asked.

“No, there isn’t,” Theo said firmly, his hand resting on the small of her back. Knowing him the way she did, she didn’t doubt he was struggling to remain next to her rather than throwing himself between her and Briggs. Her heart swelled at his restraint, at his faith that she could handle this on her own. Now, as always, he found a way to give her self-confidence the shot in the arm it needed.

Briggs ignored him. “Gretchen. Please.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you now that I didn’t put in that letter. So no, Briggs, I’m not interested in talking to you. In public or private.”

“We were together for six years,” Briggs pressed, speaking in hushed tones. “Surely that’s worth a conversation. Trying to end things in a letter…that’s the coward’s way out.”

If he was trying to tweak her pride, he was failing.

Gretchen tilted her head, shooting him an “are you serious” look. “I don’t think it was cowardly to protect myself.”

Briggs ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Gretchen. You never need to protect yourself from me.”

She snorted derisively, and for the briefest of seconds, he let his true nature slip, his nostrils flaring with anger before he managed to rein it in.

“I know we had some rough times,” he started, in that annoyingly placating tone meant to make her feel like she was somehow being unreasonable.

“We didn’t have rough times,” she interrupted. “Rough times are falling behind on the bills or the car breaking down. You beating the shit out of me does not fall into that category.”

She hadn’t bothered to lower her voice, so her comment had captured the attention of several patrons who happened to be nearby. Peripherally, she saw at least six people look in their direction. And so did Briggs, who—true to form—had come prepared to throw his weight around by wearing his police uniform. The “mental illness” card was probably his backup plan if she didn’t come quietly.

Too bad for him, she wasn’t doing any of this quietly.

Now that they had an audience, she’d ripped that card out of his hands. She could almost read his thoughts, could see his regret that he hadn’t led with that angle.

His mistake was thinking she wouldn’t make a scene or fight back. All she’d shown him the past two years was a timid mouse, afraid of her own shadow. She hadn’t raised her voice at him since the bus station, hadn’t made a single attempt to fight back or leave. The cocky asshole must have believed his presence alone was still capable of silencing her.

“Gretchen,” Briggs murmured quietly. “Please. It’s not appropriate to air dirty laundry in public. You need to calm down so we can discuss this reasonably. Let’s talk somewhere else.”

---