Page 146 of Ride the Sky

Fallon moves right as a big, barrel-chested guy lunges at her. She swings a fist, turning his head sideways. The guy falls to his knees, making a noise like he’s choking on something.

I grab her arm, tightening my grip. “Goddammit, Fallon, you’re killin’ me.”

“I’m just getting—” Her eyes widen. She’s looking over my shoulder. “Wyatt, look out!”

I grab her around the waist. She shouts and swears and curses my name, but she can deal with it. I swing her to the side, bracing to take the hit myself.

The punch glances off my back, right in the fucking kidneys. Fists clenched, I whip around. “What the fuck are you doin’?” I yell at Lionel Wolfington. He’s busted up with broken knuckles and a black eye.

“Fuck, Wyatt,” he says, holding up a hand to block my blow. We both duck as a chair sails over our head. “Get outta the fuckin’ way.”

“Idiots,” Fallon says, looking like she wants to knock our heads together.

Across the room, a bearded guy lifts the dartboard and brings it down across another guy’s face. Two teeth sail across the room.

“Fuck.” The entire bar’s out of control. Gone to a place that seems pulled from aMad Maxmovie.

“Okay, now we can go,” Fallon says, wide-eyed.

I take her hand and pull her across the room. We’re halfway to the door when she tugs us both to a stop.

“Wait,” she says. “My cane.”

“Shit,” I swear, seeing the panic in her wide eyes at the loss of her cane. We duck back into the crowd, evading the fight the best we can.

That is, until an arm darts out from the crowd. It catches Fallon with force across the chest. It’s quick. Her legs go out from under her. She hits the floor and lands right on her ass in a puddle of beer.

Dead silence.

Nobody moves.

My vision blurs with fire and anger.

And then Fallon closes her eyes and laughs. I’ve never heard such joy, such beauty come from those lips.

I stand over her and stare, fists clenched, torn between killing the person who just knocked her over like a sack of potatoes and the urge to laugh with her.

As if he’s heard my thoughts, Beef sighs and wipes off the chalkboard. “Get him, Wyatt,” he booms.

I give Fallon a grin, she gives me a nod, and then I whip around and hit the guy.

There’s a loud crack as he slams into the wall.

I reach down and pull Fallon back to her feet. She kisses me fiercely then grins.

Looks like the night’s just getting started.

Busted knuckles and black eyes and suddenly it’s three a.m.

“Tonight fucking ruled,” Fallon exclaims before taking a drag on the joint. Beside us, littered on the bedspread, a first aid kid, an ashtray, and a platter of half-eaten chocolate cake.

I give her a wry grin. I know what she means. Nothing makes me feel more alive than a fucking fistfight.

“Here,” I say, reaching for her, “let me see your hand.”

We’re battered and bruised and patching each other up. It calls to mind rodeos past. Our old times. I clean her hand then tear off a piece of tape and wrap her knuckles.

Fallon blows a smoke ring and watches it disappear into the dark. “It felt like living. Really living.” She passes me the joint.

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