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Sheriff Marlin pushed between the men while Blaine shoved back. Dean merely stared, not defending himself, a man all too accepting over what unfolded.
Why? Why wasn’t he fighting?
She threw herself at him and latched onto his arm. He moved to shove her behind him, clearly not eager to have her defense. Amongst the fray, someone’s elbow connected with her cheek, the forceful impact sending her to the ground.
She slapped a palm over the searing pain of her face—her eyes stinging, warm liquid coating her fingers. Not tears. Blood.
Stunned, she mused at the glossy red on her hand.
“Sarah.” Blaine’s voice tore her focus to his pinched stare, his drawn expression hinting something akin to regret. Maybe his elbow had struck her?
Dean pushed forward, as though he’d finally found his fight and meant to go to her, but Blaine swung around and shoved him into the already splintered door. “Don’t you fucking talk to her. Don’t you fucking dare.”
Blaine’s voice was a low growl, even the obscenities so unlike him. She’d known this man for years. Never would she have guessed him capable of so much anger and resentment.
“Blaine.” A sharp pain twisted and dug at her heart. She just wanted to understand. She wanted this to stop. “Let him go.”
He grabbed the front of Dean’s dark blue shirt and shoved at him again. “Let him go?” The door groaned, suggesting the wood frame might shatter completely. “This man deserves to rot in prison.”
Why would he say something like that? To a man he’d never met?
Blaine didn’t understand. Dean had come to mean the world to her and right now her world was imploding.
“Please.” She lifted her voice, wanting nothing more than for all the violence and hatred to stop. “Please, I love—”
“No.” Dean’s voice boomed over hers, harsh and commanding, enough to fracture her delirium. “Don’t!”
Don’t?
Hot blood trickled down her neck, and pain still cracked her focus. She hadn’t admitted to those feelings yet—not to herself, not to Dean, not to anyone—but she’d been ready to declare her love for him to a room filled with everyone she knew. All to defend him.
Don’t?
Dean’s response was… don’t?
She glared up at him and shook her head. How could he be so cold?
“Now, you boys break this up.” Once more, the sheriff squeezed between Blaine and Dean. “Or by God, I won’t hesitate to stick the both of you in my holding cell tonight.”
Blaine released his hold on the front of Dean’s shirt, only to give him one small and final push.
Blaine turned to her, shoulders dropping as though he’d cooled down some, his gaze soft and suspended somewhere between surprise and pity. Meanwhile, Emilia’s muffled sob overpowered any silence, her reaction to Dean having been nothing short of terrified. Why?
Sarah refocused on Dean. His eyes creased at the corners, his taut stare on her expressing intense sorrow. Or maybe an apology. She’d always considered herself a strong judge of character. Had she read this man completely wrong?
“What did you do?” Her question poured out on an unrecognizable rasp, so hollow and grave.
His gaze fell to the ground, and he said nothing.
Blaine stabbed his thumb over his shoulder in Dean’s direction, the sheriff holding him back from instigating another fight. “This piece of shit helped Anthony take Emilia from me ten years ago. Dean here attacked me. He split us up. That’s how I wound up back here in Harlow, instead of staying in LA. Sarah”—he paused, shaking his head in a slow and pleading sort of gesture—“please don’t tell me this is the guy you’ve been seeing?”
Her mouth fell open, an instinctive move to answer the question, though no sound came out. She turned to Dean, seeking denial, but his attention on her stayed hollow and unreadable.
The sheriff turned to Dean. “Is all that true?”
He pulled his focus from her and nodded, his gaze falling to the ground. She gaped at him, the denial coming from her, not him. A surge of bitter bile pushed past her throat and coated her tongue while her whole world froze.
Or maybe her heart froze.
If only that were possible, death would yank her right out of this moment. Out of this excruciating intersection of lives. Her. Blaine. Emilia. Dean… She didn’t want any of it to be true. That love could fool her twice. This second time was even worse. This man she loved, so rotten to the core.
The sheriff stepped closer to Dean. “I’ll spare you the handcuffs if you come quietly now.”
Dean nodded again, and the sheriff cupped his palm over Dean’s shoulder, turning him through the door.
Save for the door’s dull thwack, the room maintained its long and shocked silence, the hiss of low whispers developing a slow, but distinct build. Those whispers. All about her. Her failure. Her life once again on display.
She stared at the ground, trying to block it all out, only for a pair of red suede shoes to step into view. She peered up. Blinked against the lights. At Ally frowning down. She didn’t so much as reach out a hand to help Sarah stand.
“Good for you.” Despite the seeming praise, Ally’s voice spun a flat delivery, her expression just as cold. “Maybe it’s not so bad that I’m a wallflower, after all.”
