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“You can’t kill him,” Denver said in a low voice to Mal, who stared at her out of slitted dark eyes. “You already did plenty. Later, you’ll thank me.”
She strode to the refrigerator and opened the freezer, pulling out an ice pack. The band had their share of hangovers, so keeping one on hand was a smart idea. She walked back to the men and tossed it at Mal.
K-Jerk whimpered. “You’re helping h-him?”
Denver crouched and dragged the guy up by the scruff of the neck, pursing her lips as his puffy black eye focused on her. She hadn’t seen Mal nail him in the face, but he’d gotten him just about everywhere else, as the canvas of bruises on his pale body could attest.
“I helped you by stopping him from killing you. Get off my bus.”
Kirk’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he started to speak. Then he shook his head and dragged his ass up. He stumbled over to the pile of his clothes, pulling them on with jerky, hesitant motions. She and Mal didn’t so much as spare him another full look. When he finally finished dressing, he wiped his mouth and pointed at Mal. “Asshole, I’ll see you again. Next time, you won’t get the first sucker blow.”
Mal didn’t even acknowledge the remark.
The guy shuffled off the bus after stopping long enough to grab his backpack—and only his backpack. Denver checked it before she let him leave. He’d cursed at her, but a single growl from Mal had shut him up quick.
Once the bus door closed behind him, Denver slumped at the small dining room table and buried her head in her hands. What a freaking night. And it wasn’t over yet.
“We have to tell Elle,” she mumbled, not expecting Mal to be close enough to hear. Definitely not anticipating the glass of sun tea that appeared at her elbow.
She gulped it gratefully and stared at the cheerful daisy pattern on the glass as if it could somehow fix all her problems. “Thanks.”
Mal grunted.
“Sorry about your dick.”
“Me too. You got some grip on you, Brownie. You must be popular.”
Instead of his response earning a snarl, she grinned and saluted him with her glass. “You too.”
Surprising the hell out of her, Mal grabbed a beer from the fridge, then pulled out a chair opposite her at the table and dropped his big body into it. He’d put on jeans while she was herding the riff-raff off the bus, which was a huge concession for him. To say Mal wasn’t one for worrying about polite social behavior didn’t come close to the truth. He rather enjoyed making others uncomfortable and delighting in their misery.
Yet he’d just kicked a guy’s ass for hurting Elle. Denver had heard Mal go off on the dude before lighting into him.
“Even if I don’t agree with your methods, what you did tonight was awfully stand-up,” Denver said. “You don’t even like Elle.”
He said nothing. Just brooded into his beer.
She didn’t mind his silence. If anything, she preferred to be the one talking. Around Mal, she didn’t feel like she had to pretty up her thoughts. She could be her genuine, unvarnished, often un-PC self and he wouldn’t judge.
“She’s going to be hurt. I don’t know how to soften that.” Denver swallowed another mouthful of tea.
“I saw your face,” Mal said after a few minutes. Denver jerked up her head to find him watching her. “You weren’t thinking it was that selfish fuck in Ryan’s bed. You thought it was Ryan.”
“It was Ry’s bed.” There was no missing the defensiveness in her voice. “What else was I supposed to think?”
You could’ve tried not believing the worst about him. You keep doing that.
Not that she hadn’t had cause, and not that some of it hadn’t borne out to be true. Those texts about the poker game tonight hadn’t exactly made her think he was telling her everything. Just because she hadn’t seen any replies from him wasn’t vindication either.
Maybe he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted in on that one, but he might’ve gone in on the next.
Too many maybes and mights, and most of them weren’t really fair. Ry wasn’t some stranger. He was an important man in her life. Too important.
And that wasn’t even touching the fact that she was hiding so fucking much from him as well. Not him in particular, but everyone. That she’d run and lied and used diversions mostly to save her own behind didn’t change the reality.
God, reality freaking sucked.
Even though Ryan hadn’t spilled his guts about the game, he was still the guy she cared about. The one she’d spent so much time with, getting to know and becoming friends.
