Page 37 of The Dance

I balked slightly. “What? Why?” Stacey cried harder, and I leaned forward, wrapping her in my arms. “Shhh, it’s okay.”

I held her for several minutes while she sobbed in my arms, unsure what to do or what the hell was going on.

“What the fuck, dude?”

She pulled back as I turned to see Conrad in the doorway. “Yeah, sorry. Give me a minute?”

“A fucking bachelorette party just walked in. I need you.”

“It’s okay. Go.” Stacey started to stand, but I didn’t move out of the way.

“It’s not okay. Get me a bag of ice, would ya?” I asked Conrad.

“What happened?” he wondered.

“Ice, dude!” I barked.

“Yeah, one sec.”

He left, and I asked Stacey, “Did you get into a fight or something?”

“Just—can I stay here until you get off?”

“Yes,” I didn’t hesitate. “Will you be okay?”

She nodded her reply.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Just water.”

Conrad came back in, and I stood, taking the ice from him. “Thanks. I’ll be right out.” There was a case of water in the office, so I grabbed a bottle for Stacey and handed it to her with the bag of ice. “If you need anything else, come and get me, okay?”

She bobbed her head slightly.

By the time I got back to the bar, the place was packed with people. It was a booming Saturday night. Luckily, I didn’t see the chick who I couldn’t remember again. She must have gotten the hint, or she was pissed I’d left her without a drink. I didn’t fucking care. What I did care about was why Stacey looked like she’d been beaten.

I wanted answers.

Each time I left the bar for a few minutes to check on her, I found Stacey curled up on the small couch. She was in the same position when we finally closed down The Wild Pony, and I could leave for the night.

“Hey.” I shook her shoulder, and she startled. “Shh, it’s just me.”

“I—” She started to sit up, but I stopped her, scooping her into my arms. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you home.” I didn’t care if her car was in the parking lot or wherever. I was taking her in my truck and not letting her out of my sight until I had answers.

“I can walk,” she protested.

“I know, but just let me, okay?” I didn’t know why I wanted to carry her. Something inside of me was telling me I needed to protect her, and having her in my arms, her head against my chest, felt like I was doing that.

She nodded, not moving her head from my body.

Conrad got the door for us—I’d told him as much as I knew, which was something happened to Stacey—and I walked to my truck, fishing out the keys from the pocket of my jeans the best I could. It took me a minute, but I got the passenger door open, and then I placed her inside, buckling the seatbelt and closing her in before running to the driver’s side. I buckled myself in, cranked the engine, and backed out.

It took her a while before she spoke. “This isn’t the way to my place.”

“No.” I shook my head. “It’s the way to mine.”