Released (Caged 3) - Page 63
I glanced at him with a raised brow.
“I haven’t even gotten my first paycheck,” I reminded him. “Not until next Friday.”
“My treat,” Michael said. “Consider it a wedding gift.”
“You’ve done enough,” I said. I grabbed Tria’s hand and started toward the car.
“Liam!” Tria whispered harshly.
“What?”
“Stop being like that!”
“Like what?” I asked.
“You know what,” she insisted. “Michael wants to take us out to celebrate, and you won’t let him. He looks so disappointed!”
I looked away as I filled my lungs with air. She was right about one thing—I didn’t want to let him do it. I didn’t want him buying us dinner, even if he did have a legitimate reason.
Before I could open my mouth, I glanced at the faces staring at me, practically daring me to say no. I rolled my eyes again.
“Fine,” I said. I turned back toward Michael, who wrapped his arm around his wife. “Nowhere expensive.”
Michael beamed.
“Of course not,” he replied, and he ushered us all to the car.
True to his word, he took us to a reasonably modest, but still elegant, little tapas place. Tria had never eaten a meal made of appetizers before, and it was fun to watch her try to figure out what was going on. We toasted with a bottle of sparkling grape juice, and Tria giggled at the bubbles in her nose.
Mostly it was good to just watch her, which is what I did pretty much the whole time. As long as my eyes were on her, the knot in my stomach loosened up a little. It was when she excused herself to the bathroom and didn’t come back after thirty seconds that I started to lose it. Chelsea went to check on her, and I hovered just outside.
“She’s perfectly fine,” Chelsea said as she stuck her head out the door. “Go sit back down!”
“Stay with her, okay?”
“I will,” Chelsea promised.
I was still a mess until she was back at the table, and I wrapped an arm around her.
“Don’t do that again,” I growled.
“What?” Tria said. “Pee?”
“Take so long!” I snapped back.
“The stall was out of paper!”
I clenched my hands into fists. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t help myself. I shoved the chair back, hauled ass to the curb outside the restaurant, and lit a cigarette. I felt Tria behind me before she reached out and touched my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I spun around and wrapped my arm around her. Then I remembered what was in my other hand. “Fuck! You shouldn’t be around this!”
I tossed the cigarette into the street and watched the embers fly around in the wind.
“I’m not handling this very well,” I admitted.
“You’re fine,” she said softly. “I don’t expect you to be magically better after one session with a therapist.”
“I don’t want to go back,” I reminded her.
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