Page 12 of Fighting For You
Maybe he’d drunk too much and was sick in the bathroom. Maybe he’d passed out. He’d only had a few beers while I was here, but sometimes he could be volatile, and he’d done this before—let me leave then called me back to get him when he’d gotten so sloppy, finding any other way home wouldn’t have been an option. It’d been years since something like that had happened, but I ducked into the men’s room to make sure. No dice.
Maybe he’d gotten a ride after all? I checked my phone, messaged him again, and pushed open the back door to see if he’d exited and was waiting by the truck.
The first thing I heard was a feminine voice saying, “No.No!”
Kurt’s back was to me, but I could still make out the smaller figure pinned to the wall in front of him.
Kurt swore violently and pulled back just enough to cock his hand and slap the woman across the face—hard enough I could hear the contact as I saw it. A sharp crycame from the woman who reached for her cheek with one hand as she attempted to shove him away with the other.
My world collapsed into a pinprick of focus as all worry and tension and anything else dropped away, and I moved. She pushed him with both hands now, her head straining as far from Kurt’s as she could, turning to the side as he pressed his face into her neck.
“Come on, sexy, don’t worry about that, just?—”
I grabbed him by the shoulder, then instantly hooked an arm around his neck and tightened, slamming a fist into Kurt’s face and releasing him as he stumbled back. The woman stood alone now, curled into herself and quietly crying.
I approached her with hands up. “You okay?”
Kurt was on one knee with his head hanging, expletives and blood spewing from his face.
“I’m, um, I’m?—”
“Is someone here with you?”
Her chin wobbled. “No.”
“That’s okay. Did you drive?”
“Yes.”
“Are you okay to drive now?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I only had two beers all evening. I had dinner between. I’m good.”
“Do you want to call the police? This was assault. I can be your witness.”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. No. I don’t want that. He didn’t—I just want to leave. Can I leave?”
The pleading in her voice made my stomach pitch. “Of course. Go.”
She grabbed her purse from the ground where it’d fallen and bolted around the corner of the building. I paced to Kurt and hauled him up.
He launched in. “You son of a?—”
“You don’t want to talk to me right now.” I pulled him along by the back of his shirt and shoved him against the passenger side of the truck where he hit with a little too much force. Hopefully, he didn’t dent it, but if he did I’d make sure he paid for it.
He got in, and the second his door closed I started driving, the familiar motions of flicking a blinker, turning the wheel, easing on the gas a balm to the blur of feelings threatening to break through.
By the time we reached the hotel, I’d decided. I turned off the vehicle and got out. He dragged himself out, his shirt bloodied enough it’d look alarming to the front desk clerk, but I’d let that be his problem, too.
I turned toward him and resisted the urge to smash my fist into his face again. My voice shook with barely shackled rage when I said, “You assaulted that woman.”
“She flirted with me all night. When I go to kiss her, she doesn’t want it? That’s not assault.” He turned his head and spat.
“It is the definition of assault, and if she contacts police, I’ll give a statement.”
He looked me dead in the eye and swore violently. “Whatever. This was nothing. Usually women give it up without a problem, and they should. They gonna get better than me? No. They should be so lucky.” He wiped his bleeding face on his shirt, then whined. “Some friend. Somebrother.”
“I’m not your brother and I’m not your friend anymore. It’s been a long time since we could say that, and I think you know it. I’m a teammate, and I’m reporting this to the unit and?—”
