He brings it to his nose and inhales. The scent of whiskey hits. His pupils flare.
I’m holding my breath.
He’s playing with fire.
Tom lets out a hollow laugh as he lifts the glass to his lips. For one terrifying moment, I’m sure he’s about to destroy everything he fought so hard for.
But just as the tawny liquid touches his mouth, wetting his lips, he stops. He lowers the glass, then deliberately licks his lips clean, whiskey dripping. His eyes stay on Calvin for a long stone-cold moment.
Then he tips the glass forward and pours it straight over the hookah.
The coals flare, thick smoke spreading across the lounge.
Calvin’s friends scramble back, coughing and waving their hands as they disappear in the clouds.
“Cal.” Tom’s voice is cold. “I can’t believe you’re necking that American paint stripper. Your standards are scraping the bottom.”
The table roars. Baby lets out a piercing whistle.
Tom doesn’t laugh.
He grabs Calvin by the collar and yanks him up short. Calvin’s twice his size, but Tom clearly couldn’t care less. His pupils go dark, fists trembling as rage takes over.
“You’re like my brother, Cal, and I love you to bits. But talk to me, or to him.” He points straight at me. “Like that again, and I swear to God, I’ll break your fucking face.”
He shoves Calvin so hard he stumbles back into his chair, bottles clattering around his feet.
Tom is looking at me now, eyes stormy, something desperate tearing through them.
I wish I knew what was happening inside his head so I could slow it down. Stop the category three hurricane from turninginto a five.
I shake my head at him.No. Don’t do it.
I send it through my eyes, through the small, silent plea between us. For half a second, I think he hears me. Then his lashes drop and he turns.
Everything slows down and speeds up at the same time.
He launches himself at Calvin, spit flying as he screams, veins standing out in his neck.
“I’LL BREAK YOUR FACE. I’LL BREAK YOUR FUCKING FACE. YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?”
Calvin’s friends pile in, hands everywhere, dragging at Tom’s shoulders and arms.
From the corner of my eye, I see security already moving to us.
Shit.
This is bad. Really fucking bad.
I grab Tom’s arm just in time to stop the next swing. A body slams into him from the side. I duck over him, taking the brunt of a hit meant for his face. Pain flares in my ribs.
I twist, using a quick jiu-jitsu move to shove them off us, sending Tom stumbling back, almost falling of the platform into the swimming pool.
“Tom, fuck!”
I wrap my arms around his chest and drag him with me to the dance floor— thank God he doesn’t fight me.
The moment we’re surrounded by people, I let go. Tom doesn't think twice and takes off.
