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I stepped in. “Theo, stop it.”

But he held up a silencing finger in my direction. “Just a friendly match between men, Nina.”

Patrick said nothing. He picked up his drink, gestured for Theo to get on with it. “Throw your darts, Teddy.”

Theodore’s eyes flashed. He threw with violence. Two darts hit a twenty. One missed the board.

“How’d he do?” Donny questioned. “Someone tell me the score.”

“Forty to twenty-one,” a gruff voice called. “The swank leads.”

The game continued, Theo throwing with middling results but Donny throwing worse. Twice he missed the board completely and once struck the wall an inch from someone’s head.

“Sorry, sorry!” Donny hollered at the shriek of yet another woman. “Teddy! Do your worst.”

Theodore took the darts from the board, but instead of taking his shot, he sauntered over to where I watched, the lip of his shoes dragging. “Blow on these for me, would you, Nina?” he asked, the words laced in poison. “For luck.”

Well-versed as women often were with men and liquor, I knew better than to prod. Some of them turned into bulls, scoping for red. It was best not to move too quickly, not to say too much. Theo was fraying quickly. I pressed my lips firmly together, begged him silently to stop.

“Go on,” he said, more forcefully now. “Blow.”

And I felt Patrick stand from his seat, the chair scratching a path in the dust.

Quickly, I blew on the darts in Theodore’s palm, a simple action made somehow degrading. And Theodore gave Patrick a satisfied smile. He held his stare.See, he seemed to say.It hurts to watch, doesn’t it?He threw the darts in quick succession. Triple elevens and a bullseye. The onlookers clapped and caterwauled.

“She’s quite the lucky charm, don’t you think?” Theo said now, turning back to Patrick. He picked up another pint from the nearest table. “Willing, too. Always has been,” he winked at me, but his sights quickly returned to Patrick, who remained standing, his hands in his pockets, face indecipherable.

Except for his eyes, which had turned glacial.

“Has she blown on anything of yours yet, Colson?” Theo continued, ignoring the blood in the air. “You need only ask her to.”

A cold, sick hurt filled me. A thousand gentle touches and soft words from years past, now broken.

A hush followed Theo’s rambling, broken only by the sound of Gunner’s pistol falling heavily onto a tabletop. He regarded Theodore hungrily. “Just say the word, Pat.”

But Patrick’s head was tilted to me. His eyes trickled down to my hands—fisted and aching. “Take your turn, brother,” he said evenly to Donny. He didn’t spare Theo a glance. “One hundred and eighty to win it.”

Theo grinned his drunken grin, but beneath it was a landscape of boiling anger. He barely paid attention to Donny’s smirk, the way the man stumbled toward the dartboard, the lazy lift of his arm.

One, two, three, the darts flew, landing precisely where they needed to. Perfect triple twenties splitting the cork. A miraculous win.

The spectators cheered, slapping Donny’s back. Patrick collected a pint. He stalked casually toward Theo, who backed away several steps, mouth agape. Patrick pushed the glass into Theo’s chest. I did not miss the vigor with which it was done, or the way half the liquor slopped over Theo’s clean shirt. “Have another,” he told Theo. “It’ll take the sting out of it.”

“Fuck you,” Theodore spat, so filled with unspent rage I feared he might implode. His fists shook. He breathed heavily through his teeth.

“Yeah,” Patrick said slowly. “It’d feel good, wouldn’t it? To take a swing? Don’t ever seem to find the courage, though, do you, Teddy?”

Patrick set the glass on the table and leaned down to speak into Theo’s ear. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I’ll give you a free shot, right here in front of her. Show her you’re a big man. Get it out of your system. But I don’t promise to be in control of what happens after that.”

The moment hung there, free for the taking, but it seemed Theo had finally had enough. With one last furious glare, he left with his tongue tucked into one cheek, with red ears and smoke fuming from his nostrils. He pushed through the crowd. I could just barely make out his dark hair quickly receding into the night.

And I followed.

I had to run to catch him. He kept up a frenetic pace down the lane. “Theo!” I called. And if he heard me he didn’t show it. He passed the tea shop and turned a corner. “Theo,wait.”

I caught his shoulder, and he turned so abruptly that I flinched.

“What?” he asked, swaying where he stood. “What do you want from me, Clarke?”