Page 225 of The Path to Loving Him
“No, nope, not boyfriend,” I say, correcting her quickly. “Her brother. I’m Gabby’s boyfriend.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Freaking kids.
We spin around a few more times, and as we slow and people start to unload and load back up, I look over the crowd, trying to find Gabby so we can meet up with her.
I spot Hattie and Hayes over by the funnel cake with Aubree.
Bennett is posing in pictures with people from the crowd, Bower being the photographer, taking people’s phones and snapping shots, and Gabby, she’s . . . hell, where is she?
“Do you see Gabby?” I ask Wyatt.
He plucks a piece of cotton candy from Mac and glances over the crowd. “What’s she wearing again?”
“Navy-blue top, white shorts.”
We’re lowered so we’re the third swing to be unloaded. Our view is blocked, but I continue to look.
“Do you see her?”
“Uh, oh, wait . . . is that her? Uh, no, that woman’s with a guy.”
“Where?” I ask.
Wyatt points, and I follow his hand to behind the funnel cake stand. A man’s pushing someone up against the wall.
“Wait, is that her?” Wyatt asks.
I focus on the two people, my heart pounding in my chest as her familiar shirt comes into view.
“That is her,” I say as my rage spikes to an all-time high. “Who the fuck is touching her?”
“Who’s touching who?” Mac asks.
I lift at the bar, but it’s locked in, so I try to wiggle out as we move to the second swing to be let out.
“Fuck, help me.”
“Uncle Ryland,” Mac says. “Don’t . . . don’t jump out.” But her voice is distant as all I see is black, my tunnel vision narrowing in.
“Dude, hold on,” Wyatt says.
“I can’t fucking hold on.” Yelling down to the operator, I say, “Get me the fuck off this thing.”
“You’re scaring me,” Mac says as we start to move to the bottom.
I jam at the lap bar. “Get this off.”
“Jeez, man,” the operator says as he unlatches the bar, and I leap off the swing, off the Ferris wheel stage, and sprint toward the funnel cake stand. I bump into people telling me to watch it and slow down, but I don’t give two shits. I chase down Gabby, turn the corner of the funnel cake stand, and that’s where I see Gabby’s terrified face, tears streaming down, just as he shakes her shoulders.
At that moment, everything goes red.
My anger, my upbringing, they both take over, and before I know it, I’m tearing this man off her, cocking my fist back, and blowing him right across the damn face, sending him backward at least five steps and right to the ground.
Gabby screams behind me, but I don’t stop. I move in on the man, lift him by the shirt, cock my fist back again, and punch him right in the stomach, sending him to the ground.
“Ryland,” Gabby yells, pulling at me. “Stop.”
