MY FATE FOR YOURS

Chapter 3- EAMON

Eamon

 It only takes me a split second to react. I easily pull Braden’s arm from Rachel’s and pin it behind his own back. I push his head forward, letting it slam into the bar and hold it down with my other hand. There’s enough frustration coursing through me right now to end this guy.

“You keep your damn hands off of her,” I say. I lean in toward Braden, my voice close to his ear, and the words slip through angry lips like daggers. “You owe her an apology.”

Braden jerks away from me and I let him go, his arm dropping free at his side. He’s too drunk to do any real harm. He shakes off his arm and curses under his breath.

“You okay?”  I turn toward Rachel. She’s standing with her mouth gaping open, like she can’t believe this just went down on her watch. She shouldn’t be surprised. This isn’t the first fight to break out in Carl’s place, won’t be the last. And it’s not the first time I’ve stood up for her, either.

“I—”

Braden’s fist connects with my jaw with staggering force. I’ve either overestimated his drunkenness or underestimated his strength. Blackness tugs at my peripheral vision and I stumble backward, grabbing onto the back of a barstool to steady myself. I can feel the warmth of blood pour from my mouth.

It should be the last thought on my mind, but all I can think is that I just got sucker punched because Tobin wasn’t here.

Tobin and I are no strangers to throwing blows when we need to, but we’ve always looked out for each other and watched each other’s backs. Now he’s bailed, and I’m pissed.

I swallow hard, trying to swallow the pain in my face, trying to swallow the thought of my brother and concentrate on what needs to be done. I lunge toward Braden and tackle him like a linebacker drilling a quarterback. We fall onto the hard floor and I hear Rachel yelling, but I can’t stop. I let my fist fly to his face.

“Eamon!” Rachel screams. She’s pulling on my arm, trying to tear me away from this asshole. “That’s enough! Eamon! She’s calling back! It’s Delia!”

It’s like I’ve been woken up from a dream. I jerk back away from him long enough for him to scramble out from under me and toward the door. My anger and frustration slowly dissolve into the worn wooden floor.

Rachel looks at me, making sure I’m not going to run after him as he stumbles out the door. She turns her back to me and answers the phone.

My fist aches, and is already swelling and badly bruised. I stumble across the room, walk behind the bar and shove my hand into the ice bin.  I close my eyes and let the coolness numb the pain in my hand. What the hell am I doing? This guy was nothing more than a drunken asshole. I could have easily gotten rid of him without beating his face in.

“Are you okay?” I hear Rachel’s voice next to me and open my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Rach. I just… I just lost it. I don’t know what to say.” I stare at where my arm disappears into the ice, realizing I’ve made more work for her because she’ll have to replace it all.

“I do.” She shakes her head at me, the brown waves sweeping over her shoulder with each movement, and wraps an arm over my shoulder for a quick squeeze. “You LeJeune boys have always had a short fuse. Especially when it comes to protecting a woman.”

She pulls my hand out of the ice and wraps a cool towel around it. “You made a hell of a mess in here, and you’re going to help me clean it up.”

There’s nothing insulting or angry about her tone, and we both know I’d do it anyway.

I glance around the bar at the stools toppled over, the glasses that I knocked off of the counter when I lunged for Braden, shattered across the floor.