Page 77 of Just Friends

“Did it help?” he asked.

“No.”

“Wanna punch something?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Let’s go.”

???

Their old makeshift boxing ring remained set up in the garage behind Dalton’s house. They’d installed shock absorbing foam core matting in a corner, and spent a few years beating each other silly before Dalton decided that he was too old to keep at it. But Weasel suspected he tired of getting beaten by his little brother. Tonight, Dalton wore punch mitts for him to hit, disappointing cause Weasel wanted someone to punch him. He allowed Weasel to work out his anger throwing punches for a while only speaking after the intensity of his strikes diminished.

“What happened?” Dalton asked. Weasel reluctantly explained the story; finding renewed energy to continue punching.

“Yeah, I screwed up,” Weasel said between blows. “I should have asked her out when she first moved here. I wanted to; I regret it now, but Kyle looked like more her kinda guy. Didn’t think she'd go for… I’m an idiot. I should’ve fought for her then. We’d have been together like four years…be married by now.”

“What?” Dalton dropped the punch mitts while Weasel was in mid-swing; he connected with his brother’s jaw. Dalton jerked to the side, lurching backward, and bent over at the waist.

“Oh shit,” Weasel said pulling off his gloves. “Are you all right?”

“What the hell?” Dan came running into the garage.

“I accidentally hit him,” Weasel said. Dalton straightened looking a tad dazed. “Sorry, man,” Weasel said.

“I’m all right,” Dalton said. He didn’t look fine.

“Let’s check you for signs of a concussion,” Dan said, leading Dalton to a folding chair. Weasel laid on the mat and closed his eyes while Dan looked over Dalton.

“You heard, huh?” Weasel said when Dan sat beside him. Dalton stayed seated with an ice pack on his cheek.

“Autumn told me. Then, I learned you emptied the gun range.”

“Pansies,” Weasel muttered. “Did I give him a concussion?”

“He’s fine.”

“You sure?” he asked Dan. “You seeing straight over there?” he yelled at Dalton.

“Kiss my ass,” Dalton replied.

“Seems normal to me,” Weasel said. “Come on; fight me.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Dan said.

“Not even a little,” Weasel replied. He needed someone to hit him back. He pushed off the mat and retrieved a set of sparring gloves from the cabinet. Dan was an expert in multiple forms of hand to hand combat and could kill him if he wanted. He’d be a more formidable opponent than Ty. If Weasel were lucky, his former Green Beret buddy would put him out of his misery. Without a word, Dan pulled off his shirt and took the gloves.

Over the next half an hour Dan beat the living hell out of him, but unfortunately, he didn’t end him. Although, Weasel held his own against him, if he said so himself. They were down on the mat and out of arm’s reach.

“Not that I’m not enjoying him mopping the floor with your ass. But, is this helping?” Dalton asked.

“Sure,” Weasel groaned.

“It would be more productive to figure out what you’re gonna do.”

“There’s nothing I can do. Rebecca doesn’t want me.”

“That’s not true,” Dan said.

---