His brother, whose expression had remained shuttered throughout Mia’s entire tirade, wasted no time ushering out his shaken wife from the booth.
Mia gave Jackson’s leg a little push. “I want to leave too,” she said tersely. “I can’t spend another second with these people.”
He’d never felt so helpless in his life as he followed Mia out of the bar. Her petite body radiated anger, and he didn’t know whether to be touched or upset. He shared in her frustration—he’d always resented the fact that Tiff and his brother had come out of that dreadful situation unscathed, while he’d been hung out to dry. But he’d held his tongue for his parents’ sake, to spare them from another potentially violent altercation between the two sons they desperately loved.
Fuck. Bringing Mia and Tiff along tonight had been a bad idea. He should’ve spoken to Shane alone, dang it.
He hadn’t expected Mia to jump to his defense like that, but he couldn’t fault her for it. He’d been too agitated to regain control of the situation, and regrettably, it had gotten out of hand.
But he would find a way to get his brother alone. He had to, for everyone’s sake. His and Mia’s flight didn’t leave until noon tomorrow, so he was confident he’d be able to speak to Shane before they left.
Not tonight, though. Tonight he needed to get Mia home, pronto. She was too volatile at the moment.
Far more volatile than he’d thought, in fact—because the second they stepped outside, they encountered a sobbing Tiffany in Shane’s arms. And the second Mia overheard Tiffany’s muffled words, she exploded like a cannon again.
“It’s not like what they’re sayin’ ain’t true,” Jackson’s ex had mumbled. “He is a deviant! I know that now—I was young ’n stupid back then and I didn’t realize how wrong what we were doin’ was—”
“You’re a goddamn liar,” Mia spat out, advancing on Tiffany like a lioness protecting her cub.
The couple broke apart, but while Shane’s expression flickered with wariness, Tiffany’s blue eyes had taken on an incensed glint.
“You don’t even know me!” she snapped in response. “Who the heck are you to come here and call me a liar? You know nothin’ about me or Shane or even Jackson, for that matter! You’re a nosy city girl who thinks she’s better than a country hick like me, is that it? Well, you’re not better! You’re just a judgmental bitch who—”
Before Jackson could blink, Mia’s small fist soared through the air and punched his ex-girlfriend right in the face.
Mia had never hit another living soul in her entire life. She didn’t use violence to solve problems—she wasn’t that kind of girl. Or at least she hadn’t thought she was.
But clearly she was the person who slugged someone for calling her a bitch.
Sheer mortification flooded her body as she saw Tiffany’s head snap back from the force of the blow. Mia’s breaths were shallow pants, and the guilt that streaked through her veins caused her hands to shake ferociously.
“Oh my God,” she burst out. “Oh, Christ. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
Tiffany’s blue eyes swam with horror as the two women locked gazes.
“I can’t believe you did that,” the blonde whimpered, pressing her palm to her red cheek.
Mia was relieved to see that she hadn’t drawn blood, but she knew Tiffany would have a hell of a bruise on her cheekbone tomorrow morning. Which only set off another rush of shame that almost knocked her off her feet. Jackson immediately came up beside her and she sagged against his solid frame, still stunned by what she’d done.
“I’m so sorry,” Mia murmured.
Tiffany didn’t answer. She just gazed imploringly at Shane and said, “Can we please go?”
Without another word, husband and wife stalked off toward the red pickup parked several yards away.
As an engine roared to life, Mia peered up at Jackson in pure misery. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t believe I hit her.”
His chest heaved. “She provoked you,” he said gruffly.
“That’s no excuse.” An anguished moan slid out. “Oh fuck, I’m a terrible person. I hit her, Jackson.”
Tears filled her eyes, then spilled over and streamed down her cheeks in hot, salty rivulets. She felt so ashamed she couldn’t even breathe.
And she was scared. Honest-to-God scared.
Because deep down, Mia knew the provocation that led to her punching Tiffany hadn’t been the woman’s use of the B-word—it was Tiffany’s character-bashing of Jackson.
She’d called him a deviant! And then she’d lied through her teeth by saying she believed their past relationship had been wrong.
The woman’s gall had made Mia see red. Acting like there was something wrong with Jackson? Un-fucking-acceptable. In that moment, Mia’s sole goal had been to silence that sniveling liar, to punish her for having the nerve to imply that Jackson was something other than the extraordinary and honorable man he truly was.