Page 82 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

She smiles and pushes herself away from the doorjamb, swaying closer and pulling me into a hug.

I love Mia’s hugs.

Because they’re rare.

And special.

I guess I can blame her father’s death for that one. Well, her father’s death and Shorty’s borderline abusive behavior. Her walls have always been high, but by some miracle, I was able to scale a few of them. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Love the crap out of you,” I murmur.

“Ditto.” She pulls away and smiles. “Seriously, though. You and Colt are adorable together. As soon as you give the word, I’ll stage a break up with him, and he’ll be all yours.”

A loud knock echoes from the front room, interrupting us.

“I’ll get it,” Mia says as she heads down the hall to answer it.

There are hushed voices, but I can’t make out what anyone’s saying or who’s at the door, so I peek down the hall to see if I can catch a glimpse.

When I do, my breath hitches.

Shorty’s here. And he looks pissed. He’s towering over Mia, his face hard and red as he says something in a low voice. Mia shakes her head and takes a step back, her hand wrapped around the edge of the door as if it’s the only thing keeping her from collapsing onto the floor. Like a snake, his hand darts out, and he grabs Mia’s arm, wrenching her closer to him and out of my line of sight.

Shit.

I take a step back into the bathroom so I won’t be caught snooping as I search for a solution that doesn’t wind up pissing off the hockey player in our foyer even more.

I need to do something, though.

With a deep breath, I pretend to be oblivious to the shitstorm brewing at the front door and yell, “Hey, Mia!” I pop my head back into the hallway. “Colt’s calling you!”

The door swings further open, and Shorty’s grasp on Mia’s arm disappears as I head toward them with a smile. “Oh. Hey, Shorty.”

“Hey, Ash,” he returns. “Sorry about you and Logan.”

“It’s fine. We weren’t exactly meant to be. What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to say hi to Mia.” He tilts his head toward her, and she rubs her tender arm.

“Apparently, she’s a hot commodity today,” I reply, turning to Mia. “I told Colt you’d call him right back.”

With a fake-ass smile, she says, “Nice chatting, Shorty. I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” he grunts. “You will.” Then he heads down the steps.

Mia closes the door, turns the lock faster than a tornado in Texas, and rests her back against it.

“Mia,” I start, but she holds up her hand.

“Not now.”

“You should call the police.”

“He’s been staying away. Today was a fluke.”

“And if I hadn’t been home to save you?”

“I would’ve figured it out.”

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