Page 156 of Still Bruised
Foster walked closer to Aaron. “Who is that? He looks familiar.”
“Coach’s oldest son, Damien,” Aaron said. “Mickey’s brother.”
Mickey, Coach’s middle son, had been in the tenth grade their senior year. He’d been on the JV team but hadn’t played much. He’d been around a lot because of his dad. Damien had been in college when Foster had been playing. He’d quit at some point—which had royally pissed Coach off—and then went to the fire academy a while later, if Foster’s memory served.
He followed Aaron back over to where Damien was checking out Jude’s hand.
“That’s some left hook you’ve got,” Damien said to Jude. “Flex those fingers for me.”
Jude did, his gaze drifting to Foster’s.
“I don’t think you broke anything. Amazing as hard as the head you punched is,” Damien said. He chuckled. “The look on his face when he woke up. Whew. I wish I’d filmed that shit.” He took the bag from Aaron, who he glared at for a few seconds, and then pulled out some items to clean up the couple of small cuts on Jude’s knuckles. “You showed him and good on ya for it.”
Foster grinned at Jude.
“I appreciated you guys shutting him down,” Jude said, his voice low.
“Least these assholes could’ve done,” Damien said, glancing around at a few guilty faces.
Damien eyed Jude and Foster. “If he bothers either of you again, you call me.” He looked at Jude. “Mickey told me about all the bullying after I got back from the fire academy. By then, it was all over and done with, but had I been here? I hate that motherfucker. Always have. I’d have loved any reason to fuck his shit up.”
“Why were we all afraid of him?” Heath, one of the firefighters they’d gone to school with, asked.
“Because we all experienced his bullying at one point or another over the years,” Aaron said. “It was easier to go along with his shit than be on the receiving end of it.”
“Well, if I hear any of youse aren’t standing up against his bullshit now and you’ll be on the receiving end of it from me here. Understood?” Damien asked.
“Understood,” several of them said.
Damien put some antiseptic on Jude’s knuckles and then covered one bloody spot with a bandage. “All good, my man. You might wanna take a couple of ibuprofen every so often for the next few days and ice it when you get home to prevent it from swelling.”
“Thanks,” Jude said.
“I hear there’s food?” Damien said loudly. He spun to smile at Foster. “I forgot Adeline was your ma, Fozzie.”
Foster chuckled. “Yep.”
“You bring her pumpkin pie?” Damien asked, striding over to the boxes Foster had left on the table.
“That and an apple, I think,” Foster said.
Damien fished out the pumpkin. “This one’s mine. Youse all can eat the apple one.”
A few groans rose along with a couple of arguments. Foster hadn’t realized his mother’s pumpkin pies were so prized. The firefighters circled the boxes, pulling out containers, plates, and silverware.
Jude ambled closer to Foster, frowning. “You didn’t have to fight my battles, you know?”
Foster shrugged. “Last time I did nothing, I felt pretty fucking guilty after the fact.”
Jude rolled his eyes.
“I tried to get you out of here first,” Foster whispered. “You wouldn’t move. So, I distracted him.”
Jude’s frown turned into a halfhearted smile. “Thank you.”
Foster slid his hand into Jude’s unhurt one and threaded their fingers together. “I wasn’t going to let him hurt you.”
Jude squeezed his hand. “Hopefully, we won’t have to worry about him trying again.” He eyed the firefighters. “I’m not used to people defending me like that. It felt… nice.”
