I hang up on Brett.
Toss the cell.
Stride over to Asia.
She’s trembling and, when she looks up at me, I read terror in her eyes. There’s something else. Something I can’t put my finger on. What is it exactly. Guilt? Regret? Shame?
“Is this the guy from the pictures?” A man glares my way. He’s tall—though not as tall as me. His slender arms ball at his sides.
I turn fully to Asia. Notice the way she’s responding to him.
Wrinkles pool between her brows.
Her bottom lip trembles slightly.
I spent all of last night watching her shift between crying and pretending that she was okay. I know the signs of her particular brand of emotional devastation like the back of my hand.
“Hey.” I gently take a hold of her shoulders. “You need to breathe. Okay?”
She nods. Starts inhaling deeply.
“Get your hands off her,” String Bean yells.
Her eyes dart to him and her body locks up, undoing all the calm I’d tried to pull out of her.
She’s freaking out.
Unravelling from the stress.
Her hands lift blindly as she presses against the wall to hold herself up. Worried, I start to wrap my arms around her when String Bean takes a threatening step forward.
“I said hands off!” He grabs my wrist.
“Stop,” Asia whispers. Her voice is so low it sounds like a wheeze.
I sneer at String Bean. “You need to leave.”
“You’re the one who needs to leave!” String Bean throws out a wild fist.
His knuckles bounce off my shoulder with the force of a mosquito bite.
I hear bones cracking.
He jumps back, skittering like a frog over an open flame. Muted groans and ‘ow, ow, ow’s pour from his lips.
Nursing his bruised hand, he whips his head up. “I’m going to kill you for that.”
I almost snort.
Like to see you try.
“Thad,” Asia screams, “that’s enough.”
I freeze. “Thad?”
She pushes my arms away and settles against the door. Digging her fingers into the wall, she bends slightly. Her long, black hair covers her face, but I can hear her struggling to breathe.
“Asia.” I hover over her, trying to straighten her up. “Asia.”