Page 70 of The Time It Takes
Oliver rushed toward him, but Ben put a hand to his chest to stop him. Ben’s eyes turned to ice as he looked Tucker over. “I suggest you watch what the fuck you say about my little sister before I feel obligated to rip out your tongue.”
“I didn’t say anything that he’s suggesting, Willow! He’s blowing it way out of proportion,” Phoebe said quickly to me as she scowled at the side of Tuck’s face. I didn’t care about that part right now. I’d deal with that later.
I was almost glad at that point. Better to show his true colors now than later.
Another hysterical laugh left me, and it earned me a few strange looks, but I didn’t care. I was laughing because I genuinely didn’t deserve this. I was a virgin in every way possible. So, I laughed, and I laughed, and I laughed.
Oliver found his way to my side, and I felt his callused hand on my shoulder.
“Will,” he said calmly, which I realized was the exact opposite of what he was feeling inside.
Tucker clasped his hands together, startling me some. “Would you look at that? The whore and the—”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence because, in one quick movement, Oliver tackled him into the sand.
Ben was there in a second but didn’t try to break it up.
All I saw were flying fists and blood spurting. I stood frozen and watched in shock. I had no agenda to stop it either. Eventually, it took Ben, Dean, and Taylor to pull Oliver off of him.
You’d think Oliver was the football player after that hit.
Once Tucker got back to his feet, wiping the blood off his busted lip, I crossed my arms and stalked toward him. His nose was busted and there was blood dripping off his chin. I tried not to relish at the sight of it.You reap what you sow, douchebag.
“Willow,” Ben’s voice came out scratchy in warning, but I ignored him.
I raised my hand and slapped Tucker across his face so hard that my palm stung from impact. When he jerked his head to look back at me, his eyes were so wild that for a moment I thought he might hit me.
Dylan stepped closer toward him, and I knew he sensed it too.
I squared my shoulders. “Call me a whore again and I’ll be the one to hit you hard enough to make you choke on your teeth.”
And then I turned to walk away, dragging Oliver with me.
“WHAT IN THE HELL is the matter with you?”
I stepped into my bathroom and maneuvered Oliver so that he was sitting on the toilet lid. He didn’t answer me as I pulled the first aid kit out of the medicine cabinet. He watched me closely, his eyes glued to my face.
I set down the kit and flipped it open. When I grabbed his hand, he winced. It was a bloody and sandy mess. I turned the faucet on and ran it under the water.
I huffed a breath. “It’ll probably bruise,” I said dryly. There were a few cuts, but his knuckles were mostly raw.
He let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t give two fucks about my hand.” He shook his head, his jaw ticking. “What he called you—”
“I’m not a whore, I know that.”
He ran his hand down his face. “I want to kill him.”
He looked so serious that I snorted.
“I’m serious,” he swore.
I pulled out the bottle of peroxide and I sighed. “I know.”
I unscrewed the cap, and I was about to pour it over his hand when he jerked it away. “Is that going to burn?”
Was he joking? He had just pummeled a guy’s face and he was worried about this?
“Give it.” I reached for his hand, pulling it back to me. Then added, “Probably.”
