The Bad Boy Beta Wants Me

Chapter 9

Hannah

Dad stopped the car halfway across Leah’s driveway.

For a moment, I stayed where I was, caught between the broken glass near my shoes and Damien’s face.

His knuckles were bleeding.

Five minutes ago, that hand had been holding mine.

“Inside,” Justin snapped at the people crowding the doorway. “Show’s over.”

Nobody moved.

“Now.”

That worked. Apparently, being the future Alpha had its uses.

The boy in the red jacket—Callan—wiped his mouth with his sleeve and laughed.

“Good luck explaining this one, Cross.”

Damien stepped forward.

I flinched.

He saw it.

That stopped him more effectively than Justin had.

“Hannah.”

Dad got out.

“Come here.”

I bent to retrieve my bag from where I’d dropped it beside the step. My fingers caught on the strap twice.

Damien moved toward me.

“I’ll get—”

“I’ve got it.”

He stopped.

I hadn’t meant to sound frightened.

I hadn’t meant to sound anything.

⸻

Dad waited until I reached him before speaking.

“Were you involved?”

“No.”

“Were you hurt?”

“No.”

His hand settled briefly against my shoulder. Then he looked past me.

“Did you bring her into this?”

Damien’s expression hardened.

“She wasn’t involved.”

“I’m asking why she’s standing beside a fight.”

“Because I came outside,” I said.

Neither of them looked at me.

“She was in the garden,” Damien continued. “I told her to stay there.”

The words made me turn.

“You told me?”

His eyes met mine.

For a second, I saw the boy from the bench again.

Then Callan snorted behind him.

“Can’t control that one either?”

Damien’s head snapped around.

Justin caught his shoulder.

“Enough.”

Dad opened the passenger door.

“Get in, Hannah.”

This time, I did.

⸻

As we pulled away, I looked through the window.

Justin was speaking close to Damien’s face, one hand still gripping his jacket. Callan stood near the gate, smiling despite the blood on his sleeve.

Damien wasn’t looking at either of them.

He was watching the car.

Then Dad turned onto the road.

“How much did he drink?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Were you drinking?”

“Lemonade.”

He glanced at me.

“I was, Dad.”

“I believe you.”

I looked down at my lap.

The silence lasted until we reached the corner.

Then he said, “This is why I didn’t want you there.”

I rubbed my thumb over the mark Damien’s fingers had left in the soft fabric of my sleeve.

Not a bruise.

Not anything.

Just somewhere I remembered him touching.

“I didn’t know he was going to fight.”

“You know his reputation.”

“That doesn’t mean I knew what would happen.”

Dad exhaled.

“No. But it means you shouldn’t be surprised.”

I turned toward the window because I was surprised.

That was what made me feel foolish.

⸻

Mum was waiting in the hall.

One look at us, and she put down the tea towel in her hands.

“What happened?”

“A fight,” Dad said.

“Not mine,” I added.

Mum looked at me.

“Damien?”

I nodded.

Dad began explaining while I took off my jacket.

The whole evening sounded different in his voice. A party without parents. Drinking. Damien throwing punches while I stood nearby.

All true.

None of it included the bench.

Or the way he’d stayed when someone called him inside.

I couldn’t decide whether those things mattered anymore.

“Go and wash your face,” Mum said gently. “I’ll come up.”

I climbed the stairs before Dad could ask another question.

⸻

My phone lit up while I was sitting on the edge of the bath.

Damien: You okay?

I read it.

Typed yes.

Deleted it.

Then wrote:

Why did you hit him?

He answered quickly.

He deserved it.

I stared at the words.

That doesn’t explain anything.

The little typing marks appeared.

Stopped.

Appeared again.

Then:

Not doing this over text.

I put the phone facedown.

For a moment, I wanted to throw it.

Instead, I washed my face.

Being sensible was becoming exhausting.

⸻

Mum knocked before entering my room.

She sat beside me on the bed, leaving enough space that I didn’t feel cornered.

“Tell me your part.”

I looked at her.

“Dad told you.”

“He told me what he saw.”

That loosened something in my chest.

So I explained. The kitchen. The garden. Damien holding my hand. The boy coming to fetch him.

I stopped before mentioning how close we’d been.

Mum didn’t ask.

“Did you see what started the fight?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t know.”

“I saw him hit somebody.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t soften it.

I appreciated that, although it hurt.

“Do you like him?” she asked.

I stared at the folded jacket across my chair.

“Yes.”

Saying it aloud made everything worse.

Mum’s hand settled over mine.

“Then take your time finding out who he is.”

“I thought I was.”

“You are. Some of what you find may be difficult.”

⸻

Dad joined us a few minutes later.

I stiffened.

He stayed by the door.

“Your mother says you weren’t near them when it started.”

“I wasn’t.”

He nodded.

Then looked at my phone.

“Has he contacted you?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“That’s between us.”

The answer startled all three of us.

Dad’s expression tightened.

“Hannah.”

“He asked if I was okay. I asked why he hit Callan.”

“And?”

“He hasn’t explained yet.”

Dad folded his arms.

“Be careful. A boy like that can make every bad decision sound like somebody else’s fault.”

“I haven’t excused it.”

“I know you haven’t. I’m asking you not to start because you like him.”

My cheeks warmed.

Then he added, “And remember that liking him doesn’t make him your mate.”

There it was again.

The answer everyone reached for before I’d even worked out the question.

“I know.”

Dad watched me for a moment.

“Get some sleep.”

After they left, I lay back and stared at the ceiling.

I had wanted the evening to give me something to think about.

Apparently, I should have been more specific.

⸻

At ten forty, my phone rang.

Damien.

I let it ring twice before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

His voice was rougher than usual.

Behind him, I heard a door close.

“Your dad get you home all right?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

Then he said, “You looked scared.”

I sat up.

“You were going to hit him again.”

“He was still talking.”

I closed my eyes.

“Damien.”

“What?”

“That isn’t a reason.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he exhaled.

“No.”

I waited.

Finally, he said, “Callan was selling footage.”

“Of what?”

“The girl he’d been with upstairs.”

I went still.

Damien continued, quieter now.

“She didn’t know he’d filmed her.”

I gripped the edge of the blanket.

“Oh.”

“Justin told him to delete it. He laughed.”

I remembered Callan’s bloody smile.

Then Damien’s fist.

“That’s awful,” I said.

“Yeah.”

I swallowed.

“But you still scared me.”

Silence.

When he answered, all the sharpness had left his voice.

“I heard you the first time.”

He stayed on the line.

So did I.

For once, neither of us tried to turn the silence into something easier.