Devil's Due [h.s.]

Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Harry's car was parked a little further than Morgan's.

Somehow the two of us had made it back out, through the crowd and up the stairs without anything or anyone to hold us back. Or maybe there had been a few people tugging at his arm, trying to get him to stay back and chat. Maybe we'd passed the table with the rest of the boys. Damien might have even tried to talk to the two of us.

A vague memory gnawed in the back of my mind of a red-suited man trying to tell us that the event wasn't over, that they were gearing up for the second fight, only for Harry to shove him so hard in the chest that he fell backwards.

I couldn't remember for certain. All of it was a blur.

It was all blurry until we were out on the street again, the damp air of the night hitting me hard – bringing me back to the present moment long enough to drop to my knees and empty the contents of my stomach onto the pavement.

Harry, much to my surprise, had no snide remarks or negative comments to unleash at my doing this. Instead, he just stood beside me waiting until I was finished and then chose to say nothing when I managed to straighten myself back up, following him in the direction of his car.

The only conversation that passed between the two of us while we walked down the sidewalk was Harry muttering, "You shouldn't walk barefoot. You're going to hurt your feet," when I'd finally given up on trying to match his pace in heels and had slipped them off, gathering both of them by the straps in my hand.

I hadn't responded, only let them dangle at my side and made no move to put them back on. He'd simply huffed a small sigh and shook his head.

It was the last thing he said before the two of us silently slipped into his car beside one another.

The darkness, the small space, was enough to drive me insane. Put me on edge all over again. Harry watched me carefully when I leaned forward, my hair falling over my shoulders, to open his glove compartment.

"Gum," was all I mumbled softly, pushing his cash and spare gun aside to withdraw it. My mouth still tasted like vomit. I popped a piece out with shaky fingers, extending another in his direction a moment later. He wordlessly accepted it.

"You can take me home," I said quietly once we'd pulled out onto the street, smoothing my hands over my dress. "I'm okay now. I'm better."

Harry's eyes remained ahead on the road. His hand was rested flat on his thigh and he kept running his thumb back and forth over his leg. "I think you're in shock."

"I'm not," I said quickly. Maybe too quickly. Harry shot me an unimpressed glance. "I swear. I'm lucid, I know what's going on, I'm not–"

"You haven't processed it yet," his response was slow, almost calculated. As if he was worried about setting me off.

"There isn't anything to process." Despite my words, a lump in my throat formed. The unwelcome image of the boys in the ring popped into my head and I winced, adding, "I know what I saw. Whether you're with me or not, it won't stop how I–"

"If I'm with you, I can work you down from a panic attack."

I furrowed my brows, knitting my fingers together in my lap. "I won't have a panic attack."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "You did less than an hour ago."

"That was different," I defended.

"River," Harry said my name softly. His tone was gentle but frustrated. The crease between his brows deepened when he glanced over at me, his lips curving into a small frown. "Don't be difficult. Not about this. Not right now."