Christ, if he’d been seconds later, what would have happened?
After she walked out of his office, guilt had eaten at him. He should have insisted on walking Mickie to her car and would have if she didn’t have his head so scrambled. He’d gotten up to check the lot and make sure she got off all right. The second he heard her sharp cry of distress, he knew in his gut something had gone seriously wrong. Thank fuck he kept a shotgun stashed on a ledge under the reception desk.
He followed behind her as she walked unsteadily into his shop. Suppressing his murderous rage wasn’t easy. Part of him, hell, most of him wanted to sprint down the road after the old man and beat his ass for putting his hands on Michaela.
Yes, his siblings were right, and he needed to end any and all involvement with the man, but the knowledge that they could have avoided this entire scene if he’d just paid the rent had guilt tearing at his insides like a ravenous beast. He was to blame for Mickie’s near miss.
Fuck.
He’d expected some sort of escalation from his father when the rent wasn’t paid. But something of this magnitude hadn’t entered his consciousness. As far as Keith knew, his father had kept any violence behind his trailer walls and the occasional bar fights. What happened there tonight wasn’t something he could hide from his siblings, either. They’d need to be vigilant in case he went after them for the cash as well.
Fuck!
He followed Mickie into the lobby. The lights were off, but the room was bright enough to see her face.
They stood about four feet apart, staring at each other. Mickie had a pale, shocked look to her, so he moved to the waiting area coffeepot and poured her a steaming cup. It’d been sitting on the warmer for hours and probably tasted like tar, but it’d do the trick. After adding about six tablespoons of sugar, he returned to her.
“Drink,” he said.
Without a word, she took the half-full Styrofoam cup and lifted it to her lips. Her hands shook in a way that made his stomach roll with shame. After she swallowed a few sips, she set the Styrofoam cup on the counter and nodded.
She must be feeling off if she didn’t even react to the shitty taste.
“What did he do to you?” Christ, he sucked at compassion. He could probably do better, be sweeter or softer, but the rage flowing through veins had full control of his mouth.
“Oh.” She touched her face and he swore she held back a wince. “He s-slapped my face, pulled my hair, made some th-threats.”
Clearly, she was working overtime to come across unaffected, but like him, the dam was perilously close to breaking. Only instead of lashing out with violent rage, she seemed seconds from bursting into tears.
“I’m sorry,” he said, moving closer. The need to be closer, to have his hands on her swamped him. How else could he assure himself she was unharmed if he didn’t feel it? With a uncharacteristically gentle touch, he cupped her chin and turned her face. The cheek was red, angry, and turning slightly purple over the cheekbone, but the skin remained intact.
“I’m okay, Keith,” she said, voice breathy. “Shaken up, but not really hurt. Nothing an Advil and a good night's sleep won’t fix.”
When he released her face, she met his gaze with her troubled one then stared at something over his shoulder.
“I’m not gonna go home and drink…in case that’s why you wanted me to stay.” A flush rose over her other cheek, and he imagined she was feeling the hot burn of shame. “Worked too hard to blow it on your dad.”
If she’d been trying for humor, it fell flat. He’d been a dick for throwing her sobriety in her face the other day. Mickie was strong. He realized that now. No one deserved to have their greatest struggle minimized. “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”
She huffed.
Lifting his hands, he nodded. “Swear it. I’m too busy feeling guilty.”
With a shake of her head, she whispered, “Don’t.”
Now it was his turn to grunt out a noise of disbelief. “I’d been bailing him out when he needed money.” With a shrug, he stared just to the left of her so he wouldn’t have to see the disappointment in her eyes. “Before my mom died, she asked me to make sure he was taken care of so…” He shrugged. “Anyway, this was retaliating for finally cutting him off.”
She grabbed his forearm, and he swore her touch nearly burned him. “I’m serious. You are not responsible for anyone else’s poor behavior. Especially not when they are drunk. Trust me. I’ve had to own plenty of things I’d have loved to pawn off on someone else.”