“The fuck it was!” Mike bit out. “Dunk was drunk. And he was going to drive home, and you were going to fuckin’ let him.”
“I don’t have control over him.”
Mike looked toward Christina, his face pale and his voice shaky. “Jesus, fuck, Tiny. You barely got your feet inside the door of your car before he hit you. If you hadn’t, your legs would have been amputated right here in the parking lot.”
She sucked in a quick breath, his description not erroneous but slamming into her. Clay swung around, his eyes wide and filled with fury. Lightheaded, she feared he would spend the night in jail for assault if she couldn’t calm him. She grabbed his arm and said, “Honey, I’m fine—”
“Babe, swear to God, if you don’t stop saying you’re fine, I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.” His gaze cut toward Steven, and he added, “And you’re the one I’m coming for right after Dunk.”
“Me?” Steven squeaked.
Mike stepped forward and said, “Clay, please, take her home.”
He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, the inward battle visible in the muscle tick of his jaw and the tension radiating from his body. He nodded, then pulled out his phone. “Need a favor. Got a wrecked car in the parking lot of the Irish pub on Bellweather Street and Chaps Drive. Haul it in, and I’ll call tomorrow to see what needs to be done.” Softening his voice, he asked, “Sweetheart, is there anything in there you need to get?”
Jamie answered for her. “I’ve got her purse, boots, and violin. I didn’t see anything else in there.”
“Okay, let’s go, sweetheart. I’ll take you home.”
She nodded, the fatigue from earlier now slamming into her with full force.
Steven stepped closer but halted as a growl emitted from Clay. Glancing between them, he settled his gaze on her and said, “I’m sorry, Tiny. I should’ve kept a better handle on Dunk. I never meant for anything like this to happen, and I sure as hell don’t want anything to happen to you. You’re the best out of all of us.”
“It’s nobody’s fault except Dunk’s. He’s the one who’s responsible. No one else.”
“Will and I’ll get everything back to my place. Go home, rest, and take care of yourself.”
She nodded and watched as Steven jogged over to the van where Will was waiting. Jamie and Mike both moved directly to her, pulling her into a hug before they headed to their vehicles as well. As they drove away, she turned and looked back at her car, the smashed driver’s door making it useless. Swallowing deeply, she sighed. “My car is so old, I’m sure it’s going to be totaled. And I have no clue if Duncan even has insurance, so this may all fall on me.”
“It’s a good thing the police have already carted him off,” he said. With his hands on her shoulders, he gently guided her toward his SUV. With great care, he scooped her up and settled her inside. Closing her door, he jogged around the front and climbed behind the wheel.
“Steven will bail him out tomorrow once Dunk has had a chance to sober up.”
As they drove down the road, Clay said, “Steven is not going to bail him out. Dunk needs to spend some time behind bars to learn his lesson. I’m looking into all of them and not liking what I find.”
“What do you mean you’re looking at all of them? You’re looking at the band?”
He scrubbed his hand over his face and sighed. “Look, Christina, I care about you. So yeah, I’m going to investigate the people that are around you.”
“Wait, wait, wait. I can’t quite get past where you’re investigating the people around me.”
“I don’t trust Steven, okay? You say he handles the money for the band, but how do I know he’s doing things the right way? And who the hell was that guy with him tonight?”
“That’s Will. Somebody that Mr. Kincaid hired to help us out. And I don’t even know why I’m telling you this because it’s not your business!”
“If it has to do with you, it is my business.”
She knew she should stay quiet and face things with the band tomorrow. Instead, frustration had her picking a fight with Clay. Twisting slightly to face him, she huffed. “Why would you be investigating the band? Don’t you have cases to work on and do great, big government stuff?” Her head was beginning to pound and anger was making everything worse.
“Mr. Kincaid—a politician’s right-hand man—has hired somebody to help your dinky band around,” Clay said. “Doesn’t that strike you as weird?”
“Dinky?” she screeched, wincing at the sound of her own voice.
“Hell, you once even said that your band was dinky.”
“Piddly. I said the band was piddly, not dinky. There’s a difference!” She crossed her arms over her chest and said, “You know what? I’m going home. Let me out here, and I’m going to call for a taxi.”
“No, you’re not.”
Suddenly, unable to keep the tears at bay, exhaustion won over anger. He pulled to the side of the road and put the SUV in park. Shifting toward her, he wrapped his arms around her, tucking her into his embrace. She began to sob despite her best efforts to appear completely in charge of her emotions.
“Babe, I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t respond but continued to sniffle and then wiped her nose on his shirt, unable to care about the messy gesture.
“Do you have practice tomorrow?”
She shook her head, still sniffling.
“Okay, I’m taking you to my house. I know it will be a little bit of a drive, so I want you to settle in and try to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get there.” She lifted her head to peer at him through watery eyes, but he rushed, “Please, let me take care of you, Christina. You need to rest, and I want to make sure you truly are fine. Let’s not talk anymore about the band tonight, and tomorrow, things will seem better.”
Tired of arguing, she nodded. “Okay,” she said, heaving a great sigh. “That sounds good.”
He grabbed a soft jacket from the back seat and settled it next to her so that she had a place to lay her head. It didn’t take long for the gentle lull of the drive to send her into a deep sleep.
22
The morning light peeked through the blinds in Clay’s bedroom. He had slipped from the bed earlier and called Mace, letting him know what had happened. Taking the day off, he then slid back under the covers, curled his body around Christina’s, and held her tightly.
She was fast asleep by the time they’d gotten to his house, and he carried her in without her waking. He had managed to get her tank top, bra, and skirt off, pulling a large, soft T-shirt over her head when she finally roused awake. After guiding her to the bathroom and pressing a toothbrush into her hand, he’d walked out to give her some privacy. As soon as she stumbled back into the bedroom, he’d led her to bed and tucked her in. Her head had barely touched the pillow when she fell sound asleep. Glad that she was able to rest, it had taken him much longer.
Standing in the parking lot seeing her crumpled car, shards of glass still in her hair, blood drops on her chest, and the bandage on her cheek, he’d become so angry at the thought of her being hurt that he’d almost blurted his suspicions. Glad that he hadn’t, not wanting to place her in danger, he knew they needed to talk later that day. He just hadn’t figured out what he needed to say.