He peers over his shoulder towards Meg and Rachel before turning his attention back to Melissa. She grabs his arm and leans in, whispering something into his ear. I look back to the girls, giving them privacy. “Well, think about it,” she says before she saunters off.
I laugh and eye him; he shakes his head.
My attention moves back to the girls the exact moment Meg extends her arm, and before she even makes contact, I know Rachel isn’t going to be quick enough to block her attack.
With an oomph and a punch to the side of her head, Rachel goes down.
I help Rachel to her feet; she tries to shoo me away, but there is no way I’m letting her go. She was knocked out for at least twenty seconds. I usher her to sit on the bench and help remove her gloves before taking her face between my hands.
“You probably have a concussion,” I say, trying to calm my breathing.
“Yeah, well, I’m not surprised. That hurt like a motherfu—“
Meghan appears with an ice pack and gingerly holds it out to me. Snatching it, I turn back to Rachel. “Oliver, give me a second with Meghan,” she says.
Reluctantly, I walk over to Henry. He’s not smiling, his face unreadable—the look is alien to me—and I’m at a loss for words. “She didn’t mean it,” he says. I’m about to disagree when he continues, “I was trying to get a rise out of her, and I guess it worked. Never meant for Rachel to get caught in the crossfire.”
His posture is rigid, expression forlorn. “What the fuck is going on with you two?”
He shakes his head, pinching his nose. “Honestly, I have no fucking clue.”
I look back over to Rachel as she speaks to Meghan, her head hanging low. That’s enough—I’m ready to get her back to mine or the walk-in centre if she needs it. “Sort it out, mate.”
I hear him grumble under his breath as I march towards Rachel.
She looks up, and I cringe. Fuck me, she’s going to have a shiner. I pull the ice pack away while she grimaces. “That bad, huh?”
“I am sorry, Rachel,” Meghan says as she walks away.
“Walk-in centre or mine?”
Rachel crosses her arms. “Fine, yours.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
OLLY
Buster goes berserk when he sees Rachel, practically drooling at her feet. Yeah boy, I know the feeling.
“Sit,” I say, ushering her to the sofa. She looks at me, mouth agape, her hair hanging loose from her braid.
I jog upstairs and turn on the taps to run her a bath, then head back down to the kitchen to grab a fresh ice pack from the freezer. When I round the door, her head is leaning back against the sofa, her eyes closed.
“Rachel?”
She flinches, hand rising to her chest. “Oliver?”
“You might have a concussion.” I pass her the pack, but she only swaps it between her hands.
“It was an accident, you know?” she says, her voice strained. I plop down beside her, raising an eyebrow. “Itwas. It happened in the heat of the moment. Come on, we’ve all done things we’re not proud of.”
I close my eyes and lean my head back. I know she’s right, but seeing her knocked out like that scared the shit out of me. Fingers brush my hand, and instinctively I turn it over and wrap my fingers between hers. “Yeah, but you didn’t see it.”
I sit forward and pull her hand with mine. “Come on,” I say, and she follows me to the stairs, her eyes questioning.
“Thought you’d like a bath,” I reply.
She leans her face into her underarm and sniffs loudly. “Do I smell?”
