Page 97 of Courageous Hearts

Shit, shit, shit.

Bridget tugs away from their grip, but Tan Suit doesn’t let up. I call out, but my “Hey” is lost to the noise of the bar. Bridget, though… Bridget takes the drink tray that had been folded up against her chest and shoves the person as hard as she can. Tan Suit stumbles away, their back hitting the booth, arm sending a glass flying to the floor. It shatters, shards splintering everywhere as a few gasps ring out nearby.

I press past the people between me and table nine, my pulse spiking as Tan Suit steps forward again, their jaw set in belligerent anger. My worry for Bridget ratchets when the customer’s friend is once again unsuccessful at holding them back. Heart thumping heavily, I rush to close the distance between us, but before I can reach the ensuing scuffle, Bo appears like an avenging angel.

Dressed in all black, vest goddamn billowing, they stride right up, performance long forgotten. Before I can blink, Bo is standing in front of Bridget, their heeled boots putting them eye to eye with the unruly customer in the tan suit. Bo doesn’t back down as Tan Suit shoves against their chest. In fact, Bo holds their ground, looking fierce. Fiercer than I’ve ever seen them. They look determined and strong.

But my heart…my heart beats double time because fuck. That’s my Bo. And the thought of them getting hurt in any fashion has me brushing less than politely past the customers who’ve started rising, all attention now on the booth at the far side of the room. I have to get there, get to Bo. I have to lend my aid—have to protect them—whether or not Bo needs it.

Turns out, they don’t.

Before I can reach the group, Tan Suit takes a swing. My gut sinks, but Bo reacts faster than I would’ve thought possible. Bo catches Tan Suit’s wrist, swinging their arm outward and deflecting the punch with ease. Tan Suit stumbles before righting themself, and I can just make out Bo’s harsh “Don’t” before that douchebag from table nine attempts another punch.

It all happens so fast.

Bo blocks the punch. Tan Suit unintentionally elbows the friend rushing to grab a hold of them, causing blood to spurt from said friend’s nose. There are screams. A couple shouts. Bo twists Tan Suit’s arm behind their back, rendering them immobilized.

And I have just enough time to think holy shit, my partner is a badass before I’m falling, my vision fading to black.

Chapter 30

Bo

“Shit, Jamie!” I say, hesitating for only a moment before I let go of the drunk customer in my hands. A couple other folks already rushed in to help keep the peace, and I leave them to it as I scramble forward, dropping to my knees beside Jameson’s limp form.

“What happened?” Bridget screeches, crouching carefully next to me. There’s glass on the floor all around us, and people are crowding much too closely.

“Back it up,” Dee shouts, her voice ringing loudly through the room as the music finally cuts out. She steps into the tiny circle Bridget and I made around Jameson and holds up the phone in her hand, aiming it toward the table of customers involved in the fight. “I called the cops, so if you don’t want your friend getting in a shitload of trouble, you’ll get out of here right fucking now.”

“Clifford, man, come on,” one of the friends hisses, tugging at the customer who grabbed Bridget. Clifford doesn’t want to budge, but he’s drunk enough that his friends finally get him moving, practically dragging him toward the door. The one with the bloody nose follows, napkin pressed to their face.

“Shit, Jamie,” I say again, pulling off my vest and using the fabric to brush aside the glass on the ground before I roll Jameson to his back. He’s still out cold, but apart from a small cut on his cheek, he doesn’t seem injured.

“All right, everyone,” I hear Missa call out from nearby. “We’re closing up early tonight. Listen up, please.”

She keeps talking but my attention is firmly on Jameson. I lift his head into my lap, brushing his hair back, and when Bridget hands me a napkin, I press it to his cheek. My pulse is firing faster than it was moments prior when there was a fist flying at my face, and when Jameson’s lashes finally start to flutter open, the relief I feel has me expelling a heavy breath.

“Jamie,” I say softly.

He groans. “What…”

“You fainted, I think,” I reply, running the backs of my fingers over his face. It was hard to tell for sure. One second, I saw Jameson rushing quickly toward the scuffle. The next, he was falling to the ground.

“Oh, God,” Jameson says, voice hoarse. “Blood. I…I can’t stand the sight of blood.”

With a start, my mind flashes back to that day Jameson took me to the beach, when he made a joke about that very thing. About hating blood. I didn’t realize how serious he was.

“Oh, Jamie,” I say gently, heart squeezing in sympathy.

“Don’t,” he mutters with a little smirk, looking up at me through slitted eyes. His face is alarmingly pale. “You just kicked some major ass. Looked fucking hot doing it, might I add. And what did I do? Faint at the sight of blood. We’re going to pretend this never happened.”

I run my fingers over his stubble, huffing a laugh despite myself. “But if we pretend it never happened, how can I kiss you better later?”

Jameson’s breath catches, and Bridget lets loose a little chuckle from beside me. She gives my arm a squeeze before standing up and joining the other employees who are helping clean up now that most of the customers have filtered out of the bar.

“Are you all right?” I ask my boyfriend.

He nods slightly, wincing at the motion. “Are you? Christ, Bo. I…I saw that customer turn aggressive and go after you, and I was so scared. All I could think of was worst-case scenarios in those few seconds it took for you to subdue them. How’d you even do that? You moved so fast, like it was nothing.”

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