Page 80 of Broken Souls

“I can’t.” He shakes his head again. “It’s not my story to tell.”

“Tell me without the names.”

He gives me a comprehensive look and bites the inside of his scruffy cheek. “Something… bad happened to her a few years ago, and I—” He cuts himself off, clearly looking for the right way to tell the story without revealing too much. “And I was a part of the reason her brother didn’t get to her on time. I didn’t like dodosomething to her, but I was a part of that night, you know?”

I have a bad feeling where the story’s going. And I also think I know who we are talking about. The guy downs another drink, and I’m thinking of taking his keys, so he doesn’t end up in a ditch to add to his current problems.

“Want more?” He takes the bottle and offers it to me.

“Nah, I’m good for tonight.” That wasn’t my plan, but it’s changed since I met this guy. My plan is to drive his drunk ass to his house so he can go and make up with his lady.

“Your loss.” He shrugs and pours the rest into his glass. “So yeah, the last time I saw her, we knew it would be the last.” He slurs the words. “But at least she let it all out, you know?” He waves his hand in front of my face. “Shecleansedher soul. It was beautiful.” He swallows. “And terrifying.”

“Did you talk with her after that?” At this point, I’m invested.

“No-o-o.”

“Why?”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot, and the answer is obvious. Well, not to me. “Because she hurts every time she sees me.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“No.” He snorts. “She’s too polite for that.”

“I think you should talk to her.”

“And I think you talk too much.” He waves at Rory to come over, and she rolls her eyes.

“People who went through what she went through—”

His head snaps toward me, and he gets into my personal space. I hate it, but I decide to tolerate it from him because he isn’t in the right headspace. “How do you know what she went through?”

“Figured from your story. And you need to back off before your face ends up on the floor,” I warn. I fucking hate people in my space.

He pulls back, his brows furrowed. “All right. I’ll bite. Why do you think I should talk to her?”

“Because people who are considered to be victims often blame themselves for what happened to them, and they think other people see them as…” I look for the right word. “Unclean.”

He recoils with a look of pure horror on his face. “That’s a pile of bullshit.”

“I agree, but society is not always kind to them. So, in their minds…” I watch his whole body change with my words. His shoulders drop, and he looks smaller, even though the dude is huge.

“Fuck. I didn’t think about that.” He scratches the back of his head. “Do you think she thinks that too?”

“I think you should talk to her.” I give him a pointed look, and just when I’m about to go into a philosophy of a victim, the pretty bartender finds the worst time possible to come check on us.

“What’s up, Mark?” She looks him over, concerned. All her flirting toward me is forgotten since she’s busy with Mark.

“Ca’ I get anoda one?” He flutters his eyelashes at her. “Pitty please.”

She snorts at his sudden inability to formulate words. “You’re done for tonight, buddy.” Then she grabs a huge glass and fills it with water. “Drink up, big boy.”

He furrows his brows even more, and I’m afraid the crease is about to wrinkle his brain. That’s how deep it looks. “You no fuun, Rory.”

“I know.” She sighs. “Do you want me to call Austin to come pick you up?”

“Ma boss?” He snorts. “Nah, thanks.”