Page 31 of Until Tomorrow (Love Doesn’t Cure All: The Ashwood Duet #1)

Eva

“I’m not sorry. ”

The words came out of him with such confidence. And that shrug. Who shrugged like that after knocking someone out?

There’d been a moment—a ridiculously long moment—where the rest of the bar didn’t exist as he stared at me with the most intense gray eyes I’d ever seen.

Dark hair spilled out from under a backward baseball cap while tattoos coiled up his arms and neck and hands, peeling out from his black shirt.

No doubt he had more hidden. And the piercings.

There were so many. A small hoop in his nose, a bar with a spike through one ear that complemented three more spikes along the curve, some kind of wrap-around chain in one ear, simple studs in both, and a barbell through his left brow.

Just how many piercings did he need? The scruff on his face almost hid his smirk as he glanced down at my date.

Right. My date.

Moment gone.

I couldn’t get him out of my head. I should’ve—he knocked my date out for God’s sake, even if the asshole did deserve it.

But here I stood, two hours later, outside the police station as I worked up the nerve to call Logan for help.

Nathan was determined to press assault charges against the guy.

It was clear as he sat in a holding cell waiting for a public defender that my tattoo ed knight didn’t have the means to defend himself against the likes of Nathan Whittaker.

Logan could. Maybe.

Which was why I made myself call him and hoped with every fiber of my being that my husband would answer.

“ Hello? ” The loud chatter in the background was surprising. “ Eva… shit. Hold on. Let me step outside. ”

“No, no,” I said quickly. “If you found something—”

“ I always have time for you, honey, ” Logan interrupted as the background noise faded out. “ I met Elliot for a drink, and his hookup bailed for the night, so we’ve been hanging out. ”

“Oh.” Well, crap. I chewed on my lower lip. It’d been a while since the two hung out. Maybe I could find another lawyer instead. “You know what? Don’t worry about it.”

“ Eva, I always have time for you, ” he replied.

“Would you be willing to help me bail someone out?” I rushed to ask. The silence that followed was deafening. Time ticked by as I waited for him to respond.

“ Are we bailing your date out? ”

“The guy who knocked out my date and broke his nose.”

“ And that’s who you want me to help you to bail out? ” Logan asked carefully.

“Yes,” I whispered. More silence. I knew how stupid this request was. “If it helps, he deserved it—my date, not the guy in jail. My date… oh, Logan, if this guy hadn’t punched him, I was going to.”

“ What the hell did he do? ” he demanded. I felt horrible. This was the biggest worry Logan had about me dating and meeting people. He worried about how I’d be treated.

“He expected me to sleep with him, and when I told him no, he told me in not-so-many words that women my size can’t be picky.

That I should be grateful a guy like him would offer to have sex with a woman my size,” I snapped.

Just saying the words had me fuming. When did my size become too big?

I had curves and soft spots, but I was beautiful exactly the way I was. Stupid fucking man.

Logan’s quiet spoke volumes. My husband was sweet, but there was a part of him that truly was fiercely protec tive.

“ Text me where the police station is, ” he said. “ Thankfully, I haven’t had anything to drink, so I’ll be fine to drive. I need to get Elliot home, but I’ll be there. ”

“Thank you.”

“ He’ll be lucky I don’t lay him out myself. ”

“Before you do that, will you make sure I have the numbers of two good lawyers then?” I asked. “There’s no way I’m getting both of you out all by myself.”

“ I have other ways of handling your date, Eva, ” he replied. Oddly ominous but rather sweet. “ Just let me take care of everything. ”

He hung up before I could say anything else.

I wasn’t sure what my husband’s plan for Operation Get Rhett Carson Out Of Jail was, but he had one. Unfortunately, I was left sitting outside while I waited for Logan to figure everything out.

Rhett Mason Carson. Mechanic. Small-time musician. Professional sculptor. Man with serious anger issues.

At least that’s how Logan classified him, considering he’d been arrested several times over the last ten years for getting into bar fights. But there was a reason for this time. I had to believe there was a reason for all the other times.

And why exactly did I care? That was an excellent question.

The man fascinated me. Who just stepped into someone else’s conversation and punched a guy over a comment like that? That was like something right out of a movie. My tired brain struggled to process it.

Instead of even trying, I just let my brain run rampant as I sat on a bench and watched the cars pass. For hours. Just how long did it take to get someone out of jail? The urge to just call a cab and go home for the night was strong.

But when the door opened and he walked out, I sat a little straighter.

And anything I wanted to say flew right out of my head.

I really needed sleep. Middle-of-the-night conversations weren’t my forte.

What could I even say? Thanks for punching my dick of a date?

Sorry, you got arrested? Hope my husband got you a good deal ?

And when he started walking my way, I scooted over as if half a bench wasn’t enough for him to sit down. He dropped into the farthest corner of the bench, legs stretched out and arms crossed.

“Are you the reason he dropped the charges?” Rhett asked gruffly. That slight twang in his voice made it clear he wasn’t from Boston. No one from here talked like that. Granted, I wasn’t even from here, so I noticed more.

“My husband is, yes,” I said.

“Your husband,” he replied, the words slow and drawn out as he nodded. “ Right .”

“I could’ve handled him, you know.” I decided to change the topic instead of pursuing whatever line of judgment was rolling through his head. “I would’ve.”

“And it wouldn’t have done a damn thing.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You aren’t the first woman he’s tried to manipulate, and you won’t be the last,” Rhett stated. “At least now that crooked fucking nose of his will remind him of his stupidity.”

“And do you really think that will make a difference?” I asked.

“Not a chance in hell. But it sure as fuck made me feel better,” he said. Was that a red flag? That probably should’ve been a red flag. A little red flag—that was less significant than a big one.

Good God. What was wrong with me? I was over here trying to make excuses for a man I’d probably never see again. And one I certainly didn’t care about.

“Tell your husband I said thank you.” He stood and shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “I’m assuming he has the incident report. Tell him to come to my shop and I’ll pay him what I owe him.”

“Okay.” Because what else was I going to say?

“Maybe it’s not my fucking place to say,” Rhett began as he turned back to face me, “but it’s fucking twisted that you go out on a date with some guy and then get your husband to bail me out.

Does he even know what happened tonight?

What you were actually out doing? Fuck, you know what?

I don’t want to know. You have a good life. ”

As I tried to come up with the best way to respond, he walked away. I scowled. Screw Rhett Carson and his judgmental self.