Page 73 of Red River

"All right, then, let’s test that. Try hitting me with a hook," Archer said, his tone amused.

A dull thud, followed by an angry grunt from Igor.

"Ow! What the hell?! Why’d you hit me again?"

"Because you left yourself wide open. No guard. I told you—when you throw a hook, especially a flail like this, you expose your face. You can’t protect your chin, so I took advantage of that while keeping mine covered. A good hook punch isn’t meant to start an attack but to finish a combination."

"That’s stupid," Igor muttered, clearly annoyed. But he didn’t sound too pissed—probably too out of breath to argue.

"You know what’s stupid? Getting punched in the face. Straight punches might not have as much power, but they’re a hell of a lot harder to block—even with a solid guard. Look—see this gap between your hands? I can still land a hit on your chin through it. That’s why in street fights, the guys with a fast, well-trained straight punch always come out on top. Not the ones throwing wild-ass haymakers, leaving their faces wide open."

"All right, all right, I get it," Igor grumbled.

"Good. Now, back to the basics—keep your guard up. Jab, cross, left pad, right pad. Let’s go."

The steady rhythm of punches resumed.

I leaned against the wall, the tears ran down my cheeks, one after the other.

It was cathartic.

What Archer was doing for Igor… I could never have given him that. I didn’t know the first thing about fighting, and I didn’t have the mindset to tackle the problem this way.

I stood there for a long time, listening to them talk, to the sounds of training, feeling waves of relief wash over my tense body.

Could this actually work? Had Archer really found a way through—even if he had to kick the damn door down to do it?

But there was still one more thing bugging me.

I went back upstairs and out into the yard, where Van and Milo were hanging on the climbing wall.

Aiden was there too, swaying on the tire swing. Right away, he yelled, "So, did Igor get his ass kicked?"

"Shut it. Don’t mock your brother." Then I turned to Milo. "Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?"

I could tell by his face he wasn’t thrilled, but he jumped down from the wall and walked over slowly, looking like he expected to get in trouble.

"What did you and Archer talk about?" I asked.

Milo grimaced. "I’d rather not say."

"Did he tell you to keep something a secret from me?"

"No… but, I dunno, it just feels kinda weird going back and forth between people. Like a game of telephone. Why don’t you just ask him?"

"Milo, Igor is my son. I want to know everything that concerns him."

Milo huffed, irritated. "Then take it up with Archer." This time, his voice had even more confidence—and I knew I wasn’t gonna get anything else out of him.

"Just tell me one thing. Is this about what happened at school?"

Milo sighed. "Yeah, obviously. Every damn problem seems to start there."

I let out a slight snort—I disagreed. Igor's trouble had started long before that.

When I got home, I found Lake still at the keyboard, playing with determination, while Oliver was tidying up in the kitchen.

He glanced at me with his usual warm, easygoing smile.

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