“Get the fuck out of here,” I say, turning back to the asshole, my voice low and deadly serious. “Before I change my fucking mind.”
For one stupid second, I think he might argue.
I almost want him to. That is the worst fucking part of it, standing here with my fist unclenched, my jaw aching, and every part of me still wound tight, almost hoping he gives me the excuse.
But he must see it on my face, because whatever he planned to say dies somewhere behind his teeth. He swallows it and says nothing—the smartest thing he has done since I turned that corner.
He steps back, still rubbing his throat. His eyes slide to Skylar, something ugly in them, that last petty grab for power from a man who has run out of every other option.
I take half a step without thinking.
His gaze drops and then he turns and walks away. Not quickly enough for my liking, but away is away, and right now that is the only thing keeping my fists glued to my sides.
I watch him go as Skylar releases my arm. I feel the loss of her fingers immediately.
I glance down as she crouches beside me, gathering the groceries from the pavement, picking up the tin, and the apple that have seen better days, moving with the focused efficiency of a woman who needs something to do with her hands right now and has found it.
“Sky,” I say, already bending down beside her.
“I’m fine.”
I pause for half a second because I know that tone. She is absolutely not fine.
“Here, let me help.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“Yeah, I heard you.”
“Then maybe try listening.”
I crouch anyway and pick up the flowers. They are a little crushed and bent, yet somehow still trying to be pretty about the whole situation.
Skylar snatches them from my hand.
“Careful,” I mutter.
Her head snaps up and I see the fury blazing in her eyes. Skylar has never been able to hide anything from me, no matter how hard she tries, and right now she isn’t trying very hard.
Fuck. That stare lands somewhere it has no business being.
“Careful?” she repeats. “That is rich coming from you.”
“I meant the flowers.”
“Of course you did.” She shoves the flowers under one arm and grabs the last tin off the ground with more force than it deserves.
“Men,” she mutters, dragging out the word as if it has personally offended her. “Always so fucking helpful right up until they make everything worse.”
I stare at her. “That directed at anyone in particular?”
“If your ego wants to stand in front of it, who am I to stop it?”
Even when pissed, she can still take a clean swing.
And because I am apparently still the same idiot I was seven years ago, some part of me wants to smile at that.
Skylar pushes herself to her feet, both bags awkwardly in her arms, one of them sagging badly where the corner has torn.
