Page 115 of Secret Obsession
“Haven?”
My smile wobbles. I’ve been on a good track recently. Like, for a week. I haven’t touched alcohol. Going to a bar just seems like tempting fate—or me—to fuck things up.
“You’ll be okay,” Violet says. “But we can go to that diner, the one that just opened. What’s it called?”
“The Market,” Aspen supplies. “They do breakfast all day, I heard.”
“Yeah, okay. Let’s go there.”
My phone buzzes again in my pocket, but I ignore it. I take Violet’s hand, loop my arm through Aspen’s, and return to Violet’s car.
The Market is closed.
“Oh,” Aspen pouts. “Damn.”
“Maybe just the dining hall, then,” Violet murmurs.
I let out a breath. “Sure.”
Except there, I come face-to-face with Ronan Pierce. His bruises have faded, and he casts a wary glance around, like he’s searching for Miles. Then he focuses on me.
He’s handsome. I didn’t notice it before, or maybe just didn’t take exceptional note of it. He could make some girl pretty happy if he set his mind to it. Or maybe he already does?
“Willow.” He holds up his hands as if to stop me from moving.
I’ve already stopped.
Violet and Aspen stop, too, but I wave them on. I exchange a glance with Violet, and she rolls her eyes.
“What’s up, Ronan?” I keep my voice light.
“I—”
“Pierce!”
He flinches ever so slightly and rotates. I’m left staring at his back—and that won’t do. I head for the lines of food. It’s dinner time, and the place is mobbed. It wasn’t Miles’ voice anyway, so he’s probably not in danger of being punched again.
I spot Miles entering the dining hall. His gaze sweeps around and lands on me, just as Ronan catches back up.
“Hey.” Ronan grabs my arm. “We need to talk—”
Miles is suddenly between us.
Ronan yells, going down to his knees. I peer around Miles, and my jaw drops. He’s got Ronan’s wrist in his hand, twisting it so the latter has no choice but to fold with the pressure.
“What did I tell you about touching my girl?” Miles asks, leaning over him.
“Miles.” I grab the back of his shirt and tug. It’s not enough, though. It doesn’t seem to be snapping him out of the rage that’s burning through him. My palms flatten against his back, skin-to-skin, and I slide them around so I’m hugging him from behind. “Miles, let him go.”
“He put his hands on you.”
We’re drawing a commotion. People whispering and pointing.
“Please,” I whisper. My nails rake his abdomen. I slip around his body, inserting myself between Ronan and him. But my focus is entirely on Miles. “It’s not worth it. You’re going to get in trouble.”
He blinks.
Chase King, another football player, suddenly shoves through the crowd.
