Page 7 of The Way We Are

“Thank you,” Savannah praises, her breaths crackling with emotions. After a final run of her hand down my arm, she saunters to her car, her steps as slow as my heart rate.

Noticing I’m frozen halfway between Bob’s and Savannah, a ruthless smirk etches onto Axel’s face. “Wait up, Savannah. I’ll ride with you.”

He says goodbye to his friends with a knuckle bust before heading my way. The smugness on his face grows when he swaggers past me. I want to smash his face in. I want the mark his grip caused to Savannah’s arm to morph onto every inch of his body. But since proving to Savannah not all men are as worthless as him, I remain on the sidewalk looking like a coward, while the girl of my dreams waits in her car for her abusive boyfriend.

It’s a fucking hard feat.

3

Ryan

“Can you fight?”

A man I’d guess to be a couple of years older than my eighteen years, wearing a pair of black pants and a button-up shirt, steps into my peripheral vision.

I wait for Savannah’s taillights to merge into a sea of hundreds before my eyes drift to the stranger approaching me. His stare isn’t intimidating, more intrigued.

“You’ve got the stance, the build, and the determination, but do you have the talent?” he asks as a gleam sparks in his uniquely colored eyes.

“You don’t need talent to fight. Anyone can take a hit; it's just how you accept it that proves your worth,” I reply, quoting my dad. Unbelievably, he always said it when I placed myself between my mother and his fists.

When the unnamed man scrapes his hand along his jaw, an expansive pair of cufflinks captures my attention. “You better be careful rolling over to this side of town. It’s not safe for men like you,” I warn, mindful it is nearly midnight.

“Men like me?” the stranger replies, following me to my truck.

I roll the picnic blanket from the front quarter panel of my truck around my arm before lowering the hood. After dumping it into the bed, I shift my focus to the man accosting me. Amusement enhances his youthful features when my eyes lower to absorb his fancy watch, sparkling gold buckle, and shoes that look like they belong on the President’s feet.

“Yeah. Men like you.”

The dark-haired man laughs, somewhat amused by my concern. He shouldn’t be so cocky. This side of Ravenshoe isn’t known for its affluence. That’s why I was stunned to see Axel here tonight. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he rocked up here on purpose. There's no better way to rub salt into a guy’s wounds than showing up to his place of employment on the day he should be out celebrating his ex’s birthday.

Savannah turned eighteen today, making it exactly five years to the day we last spoke. If she were my girl, she wouldn’t be eating stone-cold fries and sloppy burgers. I’d work sun up to sundown to give her the world. She would want for nothing if she were mine.

“This is the last time I’m going to ask you this,” the unnamed man says, reminding me he's still there. “Can you fight?”

“Yeah. I can fight.” The adrenaline racing through my veins makes my statement extra confident. Although I’ve never been an overly violent person, I feel like I could crush bricks with my bare hands right now.

“Good.” The sparkle in the man’s distinct gray eyes grows before he asks, “How much capital do you have?”

Now it’s my turn to laugh.Capital?I knew he didn’t belong on this side of the tracks.

Failing to see the humor in our situation, the stranger bows his brow, then glares at me. I lean my hip on my truck, then cross my arms in front of my chest. “Do you see where we’re standing? Would I be here if I had capital?”

I bang my hip against my truck. “This is my truck.” My eyes flash to Bob’s Burgers, which is surprisingly still bustling. “That’s my place of employment.” Pretending I can’t feel my heart racing a million miles an hour, I gesture toward where Savannah was moments before, “And that used to be my girl. That’s all the capital I’ve got.”

“Usedto be your girl?” the man quotes, his tone mocking. “All thatwas over aused-to-be girl. That didn’t look like aused-to-be exchange to me.”

Rolling my eyes at him, I snag my duffle bag from the bed of my truck before pushing off my feet. Chris’s house is four miles from here, so I may as well get a head start.

“Enjoy your stay in Ravenshoe; just remember this side of town isn’t what itused to be,” I mumble to the unnamed man eyeing me with amusement.

I’ve been walkingfor nearly two miles when a sleek black town car pulls up to my side. I don’t need to peer into the driver’s seat to know who is propositioning me. The arrogance beaming out of the flashy vehicle in invisible waves tells me everything I need to know.

“Get in,” demands a deep voice from inside.

I continue walking, ignoring the stranger’s commanding tone. For a man only two to three years older than me, his authoritativeness mimics one of a man much older.

Gravel crunching under tires nearly drowns out the man’s next statement. “If you want your girl to stop being aused-to-begirl, get in.”

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