Page 54 of Wild Obsession

“Asshole,” he spits. “You and your boyfriend are going to pay for that.”

Boyfriend. My boyfriend. The assumption does make a certain amount of sense, considering the way I charged in here. Despite the looming threat, I look past the guy and atTim, whose eyes are fixed on me. My boyfriend… I told him that couldn’t be, but here I am getting punched in the face for him. If he can’t be my boyfriend, why am I taking these hits for him?

The stumbling attacker demands my attention when he steadies himself and takes another swing. It’s as sloppy as the first, but I let him beat on my shoulder so I can grab the front of his shirt and spin him around, throwing him to the ground. He lands with a thud and a groan, and this time he wisely stays down.

That only leaves one, and he’s looking a lot less certain about winning than he used to. I advance toward him, slow, deliberately menacing steps. He glances between me and the leader, who’s busy wheezing for breath. Looks like this band of idiots isn’t as brave when they start going down. The last man standing seems about to bolt when someone bursts out of the bar.

“Hey, what the hell is going on out here?” a man calls as he runs toward us.

I brace, but he grabs the final upright assailant and yanks him around by the collar.

“I told you if you got in one more fight you were out of here,” the man says. He looks like a bartender perhaps.

“Come on, Derek. We were just messing with them.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Roy. I said no more and I meant it. You’re out of here, all three of you. Get them up. Now.”

“You can’t be taking some queers’ side. They’re not evenfrom around here.”

“I’ll take whoever’s side I want,” the bartender says. “Are you going or am I making some phone calls?”

The man, Roy, puts up his hands in a placating gesture. The man I threw to the ground manages to get up on his own, but the leader needs to lean against Roy, both of them stumbling as they scurry away like rats escaping a cat.

The bartender plants his hands on his hips and sighs as he watches them go. Shaking his head, he turns back to me and Tim.

“You alright?” he says.

Tim nods.

“They hit you?” the bartender asks, nodding his chin at my likely swollen jaw.

“Not hard enough for it to matter.”

The bartender snorts a laugh. “Hard enough for it to matter to me. I’m sorry for those idiots. I warned them, but some folks got ugly in their souls, and there’s no getting it out.”

“Will they call the police?” Tim asks in a small, scared voice.

The bartender shrugs. “Not if they’ve got any sense at all. If the cops show up, I’ll make it clear they swung first. They’ve had run-ins in the past, so I don’t think they’ll want to add this to their records.”

Tim sighs with relief. I rub my jaw, which is starting to throb now that the adrenaline is ebbing away.

“Y’all come back inside,” the bartender says. “I owe you a round. Whatever you like.”

“Thanks,” Tim says.

The bartender nods and returns to his bar, leaving me outside with Tim.

My jaw isn’t the only thing coming back painfully as the rush of fear and adrenaline dies down. Suddenly, I’m face to face with the fact that I rushed into a hopeless fight in order to save a guy I swore I hated.

Tim stares at me, not speaking. I go to him instead, but as I stand before him, I find myself clenching and unclenching my fists, unsure what to say, more scared than when I believed I was about to get my ass kicked in this parking lot.

“Are you okay?” he says.

I nod.

“That doesn’t hurt? It looks pretty nasty.”

“A little. Not bad.”

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