Page 102 of Jaded

This big bold motherfucker has no idea what’s in store for him, no idea who I am, what I am, what I’ve got waiting for him.

He lifts his fists.

The world tunnels, fades, blackens to nothing.

His fist swings, and I duck sideways. He swings again, again, and again. I duck, duck, duck. Step back, pulling him with me, dragging him into my orbit. Making him dance. Swing, swing, swing. Duck, duck, duck, I draw his frustration, anger, ire.

Wait.

His fist dips.

I swing.

Knuckles crack cheekbone, hard enough to feel the snap of something breaking, in my fist or his face I can’t tell, can never tell, because I don’t feel the pain.

But it’s enough. That one hit, fist to cheek, it’s enough. It’s always enough, always how it fucking ends—my knuckles, his jawbone, his knees on the ground. Just like hockey.

I’m distantly aware of someone yelling.

Big bodies crouch next to the one I’ve brought down. The big blond idiot looks up at me from his knees, fingers clenched to his face, dripping blood.

I don’t start these fights, not really, but I always, always end them.

“Dad.” The small female voice nudges against my ear, breaking through the tunnel of my fighting calm. “Dad.”

My attention instantly snaps to that voice. The fighting focus vanishes in an instant, because the last thing in the world I’ve ever wanted is for her to see me like this. “Syd.”

I blink the world back—the man on the ground, one of his buddies beside him, the second standing between me and him, fists raised.

Like he thinks I might come after them, try to kick the fool while he’s down.

I step back, my breath puffing heavy and white in the darkness, so I stand beside my daughter. “I’m done.”

“Dad.” Syd’s voice sounds a little wavery, like she’s fighting tears. “Dad, where’s Avery?”

Guilt wells, further whiting out any traces of anger or adrenaline.

“Shit.” I swivel, find Avery poised by the back door of the bar. His jaw hangs slack, his eyes too wide. Shocked, or maybe just crossfaded, but rendered speechless either way.

“C’mon.” I don’t like the look on Syd’s face—loose with shock and fear—so I pull her into a hug. “I’m okay. Let’s get Avery home.”

She nods, sniffles against my shoulder. Then pulls back. “Are you okay to drive?”

“I haven’t been drinking.” And God knows the fight takes all the drink right out of me anyway. That surge of adrenaline and bloodlust beats back any kind of buzz. “How did you get here?”

“Uber.”

“Okay. Let’s go get Avery.” My work boots crunch the salt-crusted pavement as I cross the distance between the fight and the teenage boy. Syd’s steps echo behind me. “Bennett. You all right?”

His slackened expression doesn’t change, but he nods. His eyes find Sydney, and she curls an arm around his waist. “Let’s go.”

He follows me without a word.

I climb behind the wheel of the tow truck, and Syd and Avery slide into the bench seat on the passenger side. Syd takes the middle, and Avery leans his head against the cool glass.

“Can I take you home?” I let my eyes stray sideways towards his face as I turn the music down to a low buzz, so I can’t discern the song. “Or do you need a place to stay?”

Sydney tenses beside me.

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