31. Jackson

The echo of my footsteps in the stairwell was the only sound loud enough to cover the pounding in my ears. I was barely on time if that meant being ten minutes late, and although Mandy had given me far more grace than I deserved lately, I didn't want her to have to.

Sucking in air through my teeth as I set foot on flat concrete, I tugged the knot of my tie, giving myself just an inch of breathing room. Fuck, I hated these offices. Freezing cold or boiling hot — but somehow, the stairwell was always humid.

The door out into the parking garage squeaked violently as I slipped through the gap. The harshness of the biting wind was enough to kick me into overdrive, beating away every little drop of sweat I'd accumulated or drying it into my skin. I just needed to get to my car in — I checked my watch — ten seconds.

God, I was so screwed.

The taillights of my BMW flashed twice from across the lot. Thankfully I hadn't been enough of an idiot to ride my Harley in this morning.

I shuffled my laptop case into the hand that held my keys as I slipped my phone from my pocket with the other, pulling up Mandy's contact details in a flash. If I could just text her, give her a heads up that I knew I was being a piece of shit but I was on my way, maybe it would take a little bit of the sting away.

She'd already been kind enough to agree to meet me there so we could be somewhat on time for our reservation, anyway.

"So your phone does work."

My head snapped up.

How the fuck?

In the five seconds it had taken for me to look away from my car and pull out my phone, stained sweatpants and a far too baggy hoodie had come between me and my BMW far too silently for my liking. Messy, short blonde hair and dark-circle-laden grayish eyes stared me down.

"Why are you…?" I asked, words failing me as I checked over my shoulder. Part of me wanted to imagine that maybe, just maybe, in some weird and helpful way, Harry had driven Mandy to me instead. But there was no one there — just a handful of cars, most of them ones I recognized, but there, in the corner, idling…

Was I that sleep deprived that I missed it entirely?

Harry's ass leaned onto my car. I couldn't help but dread whatever stain he'd leave on it. "Heard you had a date tonight," he said. His gaze drifted from me and out toward the opening between floors of the garage, the sun long set and the moon just slightly out of view. "I thought I'd made myself clear with my texts. But apparently, I hadn't."

Made himself clear?

His jaw steeled as his hands came to rest on the curve of my BMW's trunk, his nails pushing into it. The little scratching noise it made was almost as bad as nails on a chalkboard.

"So… I'm sorry, what? You're here because you sent me a couple of texts?" I said, the words falling from me and not even making sense out loud. I didn't understand—couldn't—and in my spiraling thoughts surrounding him, one thing came out clear.

I still needed to get to fucking dinner.

"You didn't even bother to respond." Another crunch of the paint on my car. "You didn't even consider it, did you?"

"Honestly, Harry, I can't deal with this right now." I pressed down on the little button on my keys and the engine roared to life behind him. I couldn't imagine dealing with this at any point, let alone now, but I'd say whatever I needed to get him out of here and get me to Mandy. "I'll, uh, call you later or something. Okay?"

"No."

Adrenaline rocketed through my veins as he pushed himself upright, abandoning the scratched paint of my paint and turning to look directly at me.

"I'm not letting you see her." The words dripped from him like venom, his chest broadening, his chin stealing. He was only a few inches shorter than me, but god, he looked like a fucking pipsqueak, like a seething chipmunk.

I looked him up and down, took in his disheveled state and the hint of booze on his scent. If any part of him wanted a fight, he would lose. "Look, respectfully, you don't want to do this."

"I'll do what I damn well please," he snapped, spittle flying from his mouth and smacking me in the face. I wiped it with the back of my hand and leaned forward over him, crowding him, not giving him the space to breathe that he wanted. He didn't shy away, but I could hear the quickening of his breaths, could see how easily I made him uncomfortable. "Hey?—"

"What do you want out of this?" I asked, letting the words drip from me like venom. "What do you gain from coming here? Do you realize how much training I've had, how easily I could put you in the goddamn ground?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze flicking between my hardened stare and the ceiling. He didn't even do me the justice of answering my question — just held his position, stupidly bold.

"You're making me late," I hissed. "I'd suggest running back to whatever hole you crawled from if you don't want to get run over by my fucking car." Another press of a button, and the driver's side door popped open.

His lips pressed into a thin line, the breath from his nose fogging the air between us. "You know what you're doing."

I blinked down at him as my brows knitted together.

"And you don't give a shit."

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I took a step back, keeping my eyes locked on his. "Don't tell me what I do and don't give a shit about," I snarled.

The wind whistled through the garage as I turned. I needed to get to dinner, needed to get to her, and all I was doing was allowing this to make me even later. Fuck it, I thought, and headed straight to the goddamn drivers side.

"You're actively hurting her!"

I turned on my heel, my hands curling into fists. "And you're not?"

His eyes widened, the little red veins almost darkening. "I'm not the one who fucked her and tore her into pieces."

Anger burned the back of my throat in an instant. "Don't talk about things you know absolutely nothing about," I spat, throwing my bag and keys onto the passenger seat and slamming the door shut without getting in. If this is what he wanted, then fine. "You want to sit there and act all high and mighty, act like you have everything figured out, act like you know who she is and what happened between us — but you have no goddamn clue the shit we've been through. You don't know where I've been. You don't know who I am."

He crossed his arms over his chest, his sneer forcing my hand, forcing me to move. My vision tunneled, my mind overriding every normal thought. "I know enough about you to know you're a piece of shit, sorry excuse for a man. I know enough to know that you don't deserve her. I know enough to know that you don't have her best interests at heart, that you're just going to break her again, that you're going to chew her up and spit her out for fun?—"

Pain exploded through my knuckles as a thwack echoed against the concrete around us.

Blinking through the haze, my vision slowly came back, revealing a bloodied-nosed Harry on the ground, his upper half held up by his elbows. Wild eyes met mine, the same shit-eating grin stapled to his cheeks, and — yeah, his nose was broken.

But he laughed.

"God, she's going to love this."

My body moved again of its own accord, reaching down to fist the front of his hoodie and haul him to his feet. I walked him back, shoving him against the concrete pillar two spaces down my car, and spat in his blood-covered face. "You knew better, didn't you?" I sneered, pulling him forward before slamming him back into the concrete. "You wanted this. You practically begged me."

Blood coated his teeth as he spoke. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he laughed. "You're just digging your own grave, Jack."

"Do you want to fucking join me in it?"

My hand left his shirt, only to bloom with pain again as it collided with his jaw.

He caught himself against the pillar, spitting blood and saliva out of his clenched teeth. "Fucker," he rasped, wiping his face with the back of his arm and hissing from the pain. "You probably would have done this to her, too."

Nope. No, no, no.

I saw red.

Taking the front of his hoodie in my hand again, I acted on instinct. I fisted it, held on for dear life, and wrenched him from the pillar before releasing at the last second, sending him skidding across the concrete ground beneath us. The distance closed as I followed, one booted foot hitting him square in his ribcage with an audible crack.

And another.

And another.

It took everything in me to stop. Every ounce of control I had after sleepless nights and endless work. I left him there as he spat blood and cackled, clinging to his ribs. I must have broken at least two, if not three. Must have done enough damage to keep him down.

"You're fucked up, man," he yelled to me as I opened my car door. Red coated the front of him as he slowly, achingly, pushed himself up to a seated position.

"Yeah, well, I warned you and you still made me late." I flexed the fingers on my right hand as I slid into the driver's seat, the smallest droplets of blood leaking from the broken skin.