Page 4 of Offside Bride

“Run!” she seems to say.

So I take her hand, turn, and go. But she’s strong for a small thing. She tugs back, practically yanking my arm out of its socket.

“No, Beavis. This way.”

Beavis?

I follow her lead, even though her way is blocked by more bar patrons. Half of them are shouting at the rugby game, and the other half are hollering at the fight going on. I don’t turn around to see how that’s going because I’m too damn preoccupied with Maggie holding my hand. I know. I’m pathetic. Go ahead and call it.

As we weave through the crowd, a beer bottle flies past my ear with a swish and narrowly misses Maggie’s head immediately after. It wasn’t quite empty, and now the side of my face smells like hops. In my peripheral vision, I see guys getting into it, tables and chairs overturning, and food flinging in all directions. A French fry lands in my hair. Utter mayhem is breaking out. People are throwing chairs. I’m pretty sure I see a prosthetic leg fly across the room.

“Get down!” I cry, covering Maggie’s body with mine as I take us down to the floor. It really is sticky down here. “This way.”

We army crawl toward the bar, where I hope we can hide for a spell. But the bartender, a take-no-prisoners Gen X guy withsalt and pepper hair and ink all the way up his neck, already put up a barrier gate.

He shuts off the game, clicks around on his control tablet, and grumbles something like, “It’s showtime.” Then he leaps over the bar just as the drum intro to “We’re Not Gonna Take It” by Twisted Sister blasts over the surround sound speakers.

Maggie chirps next to me, “What in the Spotify?”

The bartender thrashes through the crowd, whooping a rebel yell as he charges, like he’s frickin’ Mel Gibson inBraveheart.

“Bro’s got some pent-up anger,” I say and slowly rise to peek around the room looking for Owen and Emily.

It’s a complete free-for-all by now. The brawl is spread out across the whole place. Everybody’s kung fu fighting. One guy gets hit by a table and just bounces back and punches another guy randomly. It’s like a scene out ofShanghai Noon.I don’t see any of the other staff. They must have dipped out.

Through the melee, I find Owen and Emily across the room, ducking for cover under the booth table. Aaaand they’re making out.

“Seriously?”

Maggie pops up beside me to see what’s going on. She pulls a face and scoffs, “Sickos.”

Knowing Maggie’s been crashing at Owen and Emily’s house lately, I say, “Is this normal for them?”

“You have no idea.”

How I’d love to find an unoccupied booth and slide under the table with Maggie. It seems a much more desirable option than my current state, covered in beer and a questionable sauce. Not to mention trying to get away from Buzz Cut and the Vikings. If I were a musician, I’d think that was a great name for a band. But only if they weren’t trying to kill me, presently.

As my luck would have it, I turn my head just in time to see Buzz Cut Guy across the room. We make eye contact. His face goes bright red.

“There they are!” he shouts.

Dang it. Why didn’t I stay on the sticky floor?

“We gotta get outta here,” I say to Maggie, taking her hand. “My bike’s out front.”

She tries to pull away. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You wanna take your chances with Buzz Cut Guy?”

“Buzz Cut Guy? You have a name for him already?”

“So? You called me Beavis. What was that about?”

“Butthead was taken,” she says with an icy glower.

“Look. We’re closer to the front door than those guys, but they’ll catch up with us any minute.”

She looks over her shoulder. Buzz Cut Guy is skirting the edge of the room to find a clearer path to us. He has murder in his eyes.

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