Page 60 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
I punch him in the nose with the quickest uppercut he’s probably ever seen, honed in dozens of ice arenas over the past six seasons in the NHL. The satisfying crunch of his face against my knuckles makes up for the surge of pain in my fucking hand.
“She said to back off, asshole. You should learn to listen to a lady.” He’s sprawled out over a barstool, half standing-half sitting, and blood gushes from his nose. He’s not looking at me and probably not listening because he’s covering his face with his hands as if he’s afraid it’ll fall off.
I meet Harper’s eyes and our stares connect us with that force field of energy and passion that never seems to stop. And when she throws herself into my arms, I hold her tight.
Then all hell breaks loose as a crowd of people reach us. First the bartender, who nods at me even as he asks the asshole if he wants an ambulance and hands him a cloth for the blood pouring from his nose. The two ladies rush forward and ask Harper if she’s okay. Others surround us but their words don’t register. Finn claps my back in approval and as the crowd thickens I see cameras and flashes. Fuck.
But the fear of a social media shitstorm doesn’t make me let Harper go. I hold onto her because she clings to me and tells me not to let her go. She tells me how grateful she is that I rescued her and how she could have saved herself probably because she’s had self-defense training but she was trying to talk sense into the guy and make threats first and, well, she goes on and on in a sweet ramble, whispering in my ear teasing my sensitive skin with her soft breath, giving my blood a fucking giant stir and calling my dick to hard attention.
A security guard shows up within a few seconds, then another. They’re two big guys, thankfully unarmed, and the bartender explains what happened. Harper separates herself from me and O’Rourke and Chelsea appear. Finn fills them in and I hand over Harper to Chelsea as the security guards crook their fingers at me to have a private chat. One of them helps the asshole to his feet and makes a call on his radio and the other one suggests I follow him.
“I’ll come with you,” Finn says, and I appreciate the backup, suddenly aware that every eye at the event is on me. We’re supposed to be raising money for Zoey and Rafe’s foundation, which supports summer camps for underprivileged kids, and I just ruined the night for them. Shit. We follow the security guard to what looks like a private elevator near the garage exits.
“Thanks. Do me a favor and text Rafe. I want him to know I’m sorry about the violence at his shindig. Tell him I’ll double my donation to make up for it.”
“Dude, he’ll happily take the money, but any of us would have done the same thing. Hell, if you didn’t punch that guy, I would have.”
“This way gentlemen.” We follow the security guy inside the elevator. “I’m taking you downstairs to the security hub. We have some cameras there that likely caught everything on video. The event manager and Mr. Lemaire will meet us there. After review and discussion of the videos and statements, if need be, we’ll call in the city police.” I exchange a smirk with Finn. Lemaire might be pissed about his event getting sidetracked, but he’ll have my back all the way.
“What about the fucking asshole who assaulted my… friend?” My heart thuds and I control my temper, barely. Finn puts a hand on my arm.
“He’s being taken for first aid. If what the bartender told me is true, your friend may want to press charges. Or Mr. Easton may want to press charges against you.”
“Easton?” Finn says, “You mean the fucking baseball player from the Boston—”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fuck.” I’m fucked. I don’t know if he’ll press charges, but I know he can because I took the first and only swing. Either way, this is going to make not only social media explode, it’s going to put the story squarely in the middle of the national sports media’s attention.
The elevator stops when we reach a sub-basement level, and the guard takes us into a substantial security hub with multiple cameras and consoles. Two men step aside when we enter. They bring us a couple of office chairs, but I remain standing and try to resist pacing, trying not to let my mind get ahead of events and project the worst.
But nothing can stop me from thinking about Harper and how she’s feeling and what that shit baseball player did, or tried to do.Don’t go there. She’s probably right that she would have taken care of Easton if I wasn’t there. Or someone would have.
Finn is on his phone texting and we both look up when the door opens. Rafe, Zoey, and a woman in a security uniform enter the room. The guard who escorted us starts the introductions.
“This is the security manager, Ms. Vogert.” We exchange nods. “And this is—”
We exchange bro-hugs with Rafe before security guy can finish his intro. Zoey steps up and gives me a hug.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “Harper is with Chelsea and Ryan and she’s fine. They’re going to take her home.” She hesitates. “She’s worried about social media.” Zoey scrunches her nose in distaste. “I get the concern. I do. But I told her and I’m telling you not to worry. I’ve started a mini campaign of my own talking about your heroics.” Shit.
“That’s not the issue, Zoey. I don’t want her reputation damaged by her association with me.” She laughs.
“She said the exact same thing only in reverse. You two are such a cute couple.”
“Except we’re not supposed to be a couple,” I say, meaning it on more than one level. She frowns and nods.
“I see. I get it. We haven’t implied you’re a couple, but we’ll have to pay extra attention to that angle.” I nod. Rafe and Vogert are talking as they watch one of the monitors.
“Looks like they found the footage that caught the knockout,” Finn says, grinning as he moves in to watch over Rafe’s shoulder.
“Wow,” Rafe says as Vogert backs the footage up to before the punch and stops it when Easton walks up to the bar next to Harper. She’s drinking an ice water and looks around, her eyes searching, and I know she’s looking for me. Then Easton starts in on her.
“I wish we had sound, but Ms. St. John’s body language speaks volumes,” Vogert says. Zoey stands watching with her hands covering her mouth, shocked and then pissed. My blood boils as I watch the asshole commit his crime of overbearing obnoxiousness all over again. Rafe turns to me and nods, his face grim.
We watch the punch and Easton falling back against the barstool. The blood spurt is caught clear as day on camera—which is too fucking bad because the media will relish showing that shit over and over again, pretending to warn people against the graphic nature which ends up more like being a tantalizing invitation. Vogert stops the clip and turns to the room.
“No doubt you threw the first and only punch, Mr. Knight.” She gives me a half smirk and reminds me of one of my aunts. “Knight is an apt name under the circumstances. Because in my professional opinion you were justified in your defense of a victim and I’m not recommending we call the police in.”
