I opened my mouth.
“Don’t answer that question,” he snapped, scrubbing his hand along his jaw. “I already know. You weren’t thinking a goddamn thing.”
I snapped my mouth shut.
“I cannot believe you. You of all people should know better than to do what you did.”
Casting my gaze to the steering wheel, I pressed my lips together as I nodded. I did know better.
“You’re so damn lucky,” he said. “Henry’s not pressing charges.”
My gaze swung toward him. “What?”
He shook his head as he flipped his stare to the window. “He decided not to press charges. Which is great, because I really don’t want to explain to Reece why I had to arrest you.”
Oh God. Reece.
“Or have to deal with your parents, who I’m sure would be hella proud of what you did,” he added, laying it on thick. But hell, I deserved it. “However, your ass is going to pay for that window to get fixed ASAP. You got it?”
“Yes,” I replied immediately. “As soon as I know how much it costs, I’ll pay it.”
A moment passed. “Henry’s going to get an estimate, and it’ll go through me. I think that’s for the best right now.”
I agreed 100 percent.
“Dennis, I’m . . . I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I was just so angry that he was there, and he grabbed my arm—”
“He said he grabbed your arm right before you threw the book,” he cut in. “By the way, I think that’s the first time I’ve seen a book take out a windshield, so thanks for that. But he didn’t make it sound like it was an aggressive move. And you didn’t bring it up when I first got here. Is there something I don’t know?”
“It wasn’t an aggressive move. He wanted to talk. I didn’t.”
“And that’s your right, Roxy. You don’t have to talk to him,” he agreed. “But you can’t damage his property.”
“I know,” I whispered.
Dennis sent me a long, sideways look. “I wasn’t around when that shit went down with Charlie. Hell, I didn’t even live in this state, but I’ve heard the details. I know what happened, and if it were my decision, the punk ass would still be sitting in jail. But it’s not my decision.” In the cramped seat, he twisted toward me. “And I get that it’s majorly fucked up that he’s out and he gets to come around here, but little girl, you’ve got to pull it together. You can’t do shit like this. It doesn’t help anyone, especially yourself.”
I stared at him.
“You feel me?” he asked.
“Yeah, I feel you.”
Needless to say, I was late for my shift, which sucked ass, because it also meant I wasn’t going to get the design done for a blogger before I left for work. It was going to be a long night, because I was going to have to finish it up when I got back home.
Surprisingly, Jax hadn’t known about my very powerful throwing arm, but when I told him what I had done and he caught me by the hem of my WALKERS NEED LOVE TOO shirt and dragged me down the somewhat quiet hall, I knew I was in for Lecture Number Two of the night.
“Girl, what in the hell were you thinking?” he demanded.
“I wasn’t thinking anything,” I told him. “That was the problem. I just got so pissed and stopped thinking.”
He stared at me, brows raised. “That isn’t a good enough reason.”
I almost jumped up and down out of frustration. “I know it’s not. Trust me. I totally know that. I’m going to pay for the damages.”
“Roxy . . .”
Ducking my chin, I folded my arms across my chest. All day I’d felt like crap for what I had done. It wasn’t a pitying type of feeling like crap. Oh no, it was the I’m-such-a-fucker feeling like crap. I hadn’t felt this way since the last time I had to dodge my landlord when I was late on rent.
Once again, I found myself wishing I could drink at work.
“Well, there’s one thing at least.” He cuffed my chin, and I looked up. “You obviously got a hell of an arm.”
I rolled my eyes as a dry laugh parted my lips. “That’s what happens when you grow up with two brothers.”
“True. You tell your parents yet?”
“No. I’m leaving that until tomorrow.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Thanks,” I moaned.
Shaking his head, he gestured at the closed office door. “By the way, there’s something in there for you.”
His lips quirked. “Yeah, and after the day you’ve had, it’ll be a nice surprise. Check them out and get back behind the bar.”
“Yes, sir!” I gave him a jaunty salute, which he promptly ignored.
Since I’d been late getting in, I had gone straight to the bar, stowing my purse there, so I hadn’t stepped foot in the office. I opened the door and drew up short.
“What the . . . ?” I murmured.
There was no way Jax was talking about the flowers sitting on the desk. I looked around the small room. Nothing else stood out to me. The couch was there. The file cabinet. The bowl of possibly stale beer nuts.
My eyes traveled back to the flowers.
The roses were nice—way over a dozen, bright crimson, and had just bloomed. The light scent wafted over me as I walked toward the desk. A square envelope poked out between the baby’s breath and green stems. My name was clearly written on it. Somewhere deep in my belly, there was a bunch of wiggling going on—happy wiggling. I carefully plucked it up and opened it.