Chapter 47 Midnight Detour
Briar's POV
I finished the last buffalo wing and wiped my fingers on a napkin, only to realize I was still hungry. The kind of hungry that felt bottomless, like my body was making up for weeks of skipped meals and stress-induced nausea all at once. I glanced at the menu again and flagged down the waitress.
"Can I get the onion rings? And the bacon cheeseburger."
Lucian looked up from his phone, one eyebrow raised. Jason stared at me like I'd just ordered a live animal.
"What?" I said defensively. "I'm hungry."
"You just ate half a pound of wings," Jason said flatly.
"And now I want a burger."
The food arrived ten minutes later, and I ate the entire thing while they watched in what I could only describe as fascinated horror. The burger was massive, dripping with grease and cheese, and I didn't care. I finished it, wiped my mouth, and leaned back in the booth with a satisfied exhale.
Lucian slid a glass of water across the table toward me, his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile. "Slow down. That's a lot of fried food. Drink something."
I took the water and drank half of it in one go, feeling the cool liquid cut through the heaviness settling in my stomach. Across from me, Jason was still staring, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and grudging respect.
I looked past him out the window. The restaurant faced one of the city's few historic districts—old brick buildings and cobblestone streets that had escaped modernization. At night, it transformed into dive bars, music venues, and food trucks. Neon signs flickered across young people taking selfies under string lights.
Beside me, Rowan stirred. She lifted her head slowly, blinking at the table like she wasn't sure where she was. Then she saw the plate of ribs the waitress had just set down in front of her and immediately started eating.
I watched her tear into the ribs with single-minded focus, sauce smearing across her fingers and the corner of her mouth. She didn't say a word, didn't look at anyone, just ate like she was running on pure instinct.
When she finally finished, she pulled out her phone and stared at it for a long moment. Then she sighed, typed something quickly, and hit send. A few seconds passed. No response. She frowned and dialed a number, holding the phone to her ear.
It rang. And rang. No one picked up.
She lowered the phone and stared at the screen, her jaw tightening. Then she typed out another message, longer this time, her thumbs moving fast and angry. When she was done, she tossed the phone onto the table and looked at me.
"Let's go drinking."
I blinked. "Now?"
"Yeah. Now." She gestured vaguely toward the window. "There's a nightclub two blocks down. We can go dance."
I glanced down at my outfit—fitted top, pencil skirt, heels that were already killing my feet. "I'm not exactly dressed for clubbing."
"So we'll find a jazz bar instead," she said, waving off my objection like it didn't matter. "Something low-key. Come on, Briar. I need a drink."
I hesitated, then looked at Lucian. "Are you coming?"
He nodded without hesitation. "I'll drive you over."
Jason stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "I'm out."
He didn't wait for a response. He just turned and walked toward the exit, shoving the door open hard enough that the copper wind chime hanging above it rang out in a sharp, discordant clang that echoed through the restaurant.
Rowan didn't seem to notice. She was already pulling on her jacket and heading for the door.
Outside, she paused on the sidewalk and pulled out her phone again, checking for messages. I saw her face tighten as she scrolled through the screen. Whatever she was looking at, it wasn't good. She stared at the phone for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. Then she typed something short and fast and hit send with more force than necessary.
I caught a glimpse of the message before she locked the screen.
[You keep ignoring me? Fine. I'll find someone else tonight.]
I didn't say anything. I just watched her shove the phone into her pocket and turn toward the street, her jaw set in a hard line.
"Let's go," she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me forward.
We stepped into the historic district and the noise hit me immediately—bass thumping from a nearby club, craft beer and grilled meat drifting from food trucks, laughter echoing off brick buildings. The cobblestone street was uneven and wet from earlier rain. I watched my step to avoid twisting an ankle in my heels.
Rowan stumbled beside me, her grip on my arm tightening as she swayed. I caught her before she could fall and steadied her, adjusting my pace to match hers.
We'd barely made it ten steps when I felt a hand on my elbow.
I looked down and saw Lucian's fingers wrapped around my arm, his palm warm against my skin. He didn't say anything, just held on as we walked, his thumb brushing against the inside of my elbow in a way that made my pulse jump.
I shifted my arm, trying to shake off the sensation, but his hand stayed steady and grounding. The friction of his palm sent a tingling warmth up my arm. I became hyperaware of every point of contact between us.
I turned my wrist and caught his fingers, pulling them down and away from my elbow. But instead of letting go, I threaded my fingers through his and held on, our palms pressed together.
He laughed softly, the sound low and quiet in the noise around us. Then he adjusted his grip, his fingers sliding between mine until we were holding hands properly, his thumb resting against the side of my hand.
My chest tightened, like something wrapping around my ribs. I told myself it was nothing—adrenaline, exhaustion, days without a proper meal. But the warmth of his hand in mine didn't fade, and neither did the fluttering in my chest.
We walked for another ten minutes, weaving through drunk college students and couples posing under string lights. Rowan remained unsteady beside me, breathing heavy and uneven, but she kept moving forward with determination.
Then she stopped.
I looked up and followed her gaze.
Across the street, sitting at an outdoor table under a faded awning, was Garrett.
He was surrounded by men leaning back with beers in hand. Garrett wasn't drinking—his whiskey glass sat untouched, though empty beer bottles scattered across the table told a different story. He stared at his phone, jaw tight, shoulders tense.
One of the men elbowed him and grinned. "Yo, Garrett! Your crazy rich girl is here!"
Garrett looked up. His eyes locked on Rowan.
She didn't hesitate. She pulled away from me and started across the street, her steps unsteady but determined.
I moved to follow her, but Lucian caught my wrist and held me back.
"Don't," he said quietly. "Let them handle it."
"There's five of them and one of her," I said, trying to pull free. "Let go. I need to—"
"You need to stay here," he said, his grip firm but not painful. "Trust me. She doesn't need help."
I looked at him, then back at Rowan. She was halfway across the street now, her eyes fixed on Garrett.
A blonde woman in a leather jacket leaned over and draped herself across Garrett's shoulder, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She said something I couldn't hear, and Garrett didn't react.
Rowan reached the table, grabbed Garrett's shoulder, and spun him around.
Then she slapped him.
The sound cracked through the air like a gunshot. One of the men started to stand, but Rowan pointed a finger at his face and he sat back down immediately, his hands raised in surrender.
She turned on the blonde woman next, shoving her off Garrett's shoulder with enough force to send her stumbling backward. The woman opened her mouth to protest, but Rowan was already in her face, and whatever she said made the woman go pale and shut up.
I stared, my mouth slightly open.
Lucian pulled me back a step, positioning himself between me and the street. We stood side by side, watching the scene unfold.
Across the street, Garrett stood and scooped Rowan up in his arms. She immediately locked her arms around his neck, her legs kicking as she tried to squirm free, but he held her tight and started walking toward us.
Lucian and I turned away in unison, staring up at the night sky like we hadn't just watched the entire thing.
Behind us, I heard Garrett's voice, low and resigned. "Don't be angry. I'll go with you."