Nate slammed his truck door shut. He paused to straighten his sleeve that had snagged on the seat when he hopped out onto the pavement. The bar’s parking lot was jammed, every spot filled. Cars spilled into the adjacent bank’s parking lot. Being around eleven at night, the bank was closed and presumably did not mind. Nate hoped so because it was the only place he could fit his truck.

Jared had called him because he’d struck out tonight when he came here to try to distract himself from the fact that he had been too chicken shit to try and get Sarah’s number. Nate had not planned on joining him, but he got tired of Jared’s morose texts. And he felt terrible imagining Jared sitting at the bar by himself, texting him. Maybe he could at least get the guy to play a round of pool or something.

Nate did not really like bars. He did not like how expensive they were. He did not like how crowded they were. He did not like the type of music drifting out of the doors as he walked the long walk all the way across two parking lots toward them. But Jared liked the atmosphere, and it probably was good for Nate to get out of his house sometimes.

He did not reach the door where a bouncer sat fooling around on his phone because a commotion in the overflow parking lot that curved around the back of the building caught his attention. Primarily because, of course, a shock of bright pink hair was involved.

Bailey was striding away from some other guy, lifting a joint to his lips as he headed toward the pool of light from the bug-ridden floodlights on the back of the building. The guy he had turned his back on grabbed his shoulder and whirled his body around, then seized his wrist and twisted it hard enough to make Bailey cry out. The joint tumbled to the asphalt, where it was trampled underfoot as Bailey tried to tug himself away with another little shout of pain.

Nate watched, stunned, as the guy used his grip on Bailey’s twisted arm to drag him toward a car running in the middle of the lane between the parked cars. It wasn’t too hard to see that he intended to shove Bailey inside. And, clearly, Bailey was fighting with all his might to avoid that. Nate’s feet moved before he even consciously made the decision to intervene.

“Yo, what the fuck are you doing?” he shouted ahead of himself.

Both of their heads whipped around. Now that the guy was facing him, features illuminated by the parking lot lights, Nate could identify him as Tanner Atkinson, the kid that Bailey had dated throughout high school. And maybe beyond. Perhaps they were still together, and this was some kind of lover’s spat that Nate should stay the hell out of.

Whatever the situation, Nate did not like that Bailey was trying to remove himself from it while Tanner prevented him from doing so. He and Bailey may end up punching the living daylights out of each other nine times out of ten, but if one of them tried to walk away from the fight—rare as that occurrence might be—neither would try to hyperextend the other’s arm the way Tanner was doing. And they definitely drew the line at kidnapping.

“Bailey, are you okay?” Nate barked when he got within a few feet of them.

“Go the fuck away, Nate.” Bailey hissed. His torso bent awkwardly to prevent Tanner from snapping the bones in his forearm. Nate pressed his lips together and looked between them.

Tanner raised his eyebrows, which made Nate want to punch him in the nose. But he restrained himself. Bailey kept glaring at him like he was the one at fault somehow. He was about to just fuck off, as per Bailey’s request, since this really was none of his business anyway, and his input was clearly not wanted, but then Bailey made this small little whimper of pain.

“You’re hurting him,” he said to Tanner. “Let him go.”

Tanneer kept eyeing him up for a moment longer. Whatever he saw made him let go and put both hands in the air, though the little smirk on his face made that a whole lot less satisfying. Bailey grabbed his wrist and rubbed it, glaring at Nate, at Tanner, at the trampled joint. Before he could open his mouth, Tanner laughed. It was an evil villain's laugh, filled with self-confidence and shaped by that infuriating smirk.

“Don’t worry,” he said haughtily, “he likes this kind of thing.”

Bailey launched himself at Tanner, grabbing his arm and trying to drag him away in a twist of roles. “Fuck you, Tanner,” he hissed. “Don’t you dare!”

“Like he hasn’t figured it out?” Laughter peeled out of Tanner to accompany his acidic tone as he shook Bailey off. “With the way you egged him into beating you up all the time? Needy little pain whore.”

Bailey lunged again, this time with a closed fist. Tanner barely had time to widen his eyes before Bailey’s knuckles caught him in the jaw, and his head snapped back, followed by his body. He stumbled a few steps. But there was no shock in his eyes, only the same cruel glint. He rolled his shoulders, grinned, and then kept running his mouth while poking at his jaw

“Hell, he was probably doing you too. All those fights were probably just foreplay, right? Bet he took you home and put you right in your place after each one.”

Bailey screamed through bared teeth. His expression was far more livid than Nate had ever seen, red and twisted with rage. Absent were the sharp quips or impish smirks that usually accompanied their fights—just pure, unbridled anger.

Nate stood there watching his attack, utterly dumbfounded, ears ringing with Tanner’s words. Bailey moved to lunge at Tanner again, and he found himself in his body just in time to reach out. His arm caught Bailey across the chest to stop him. Bailey’s eyes bugged out and he gasped as the air was knocked out of his lungs, then turned his ire onto Nate.

“I told you to fuck off!” he spat, backing up and trying to go around Nate.

Nate stepped to block him again. “He’s goading you, okay? Just walk away.”

“I don’t fucking care! Let me at him.” Bailey put both his hands on Nate’s chest and tried to shove him out of the way. He was certainly a lot stronger than he used to be back in high school, but Nate was still far taller and broader than him. So, this had little effect, which thankfully seemed to make him deflate rather than riling him up further.

Bailey crossed his arms and glared.

“You’re just gonna let him tell you what to do?” Tanner taunted from behind Nate. “That’s right, little cum-for-brains who can’t – “

“Shut up,” Nate roared over his shoulder, holding his arms out when Bailey’s eyes hardened and his stance coiled to try to get around again. He lowered his voice and spoke in what was hopefully a soothing, calm tone, “He’s trying to hurt you and work you up. Don’t let him. Just walk away. I won’t let him follow you.”

Bailey’s eyes remained locked on Tanner for another second before flicking to meet Nate’s beseeching look and finally dropping to the ground. Without a word, he turned and began walking away, wrapping his arms around his torso and haunching his shoulders. This was about as unusual a posture for him as possible, and it was nutso that he turned his back and was going to let Nate handle this. Concern, as well as a slight twinge of fear, wound its way up Nate’s spine. But first, he had an asshole to deal with.

He turned to find that Tanner was already crossing the distance between them, intent on going around him to follow Bailey. Nate stepped to the side to block him.

“No,” Nate told him lowly, not raising his voice but making sure it was steady and firm. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you will not speak to him like that.” Nate gave his chest a little shove when he kept walking. “Don’t follow him.”

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” Tanner sneered. He put a hand on Nate’s shoulder and shoved him to the side. Nate let the force of it knock him a few steps to the side. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Bailey pause to look back. Tanner walked past him and opened his mouth again, and he just snapped.

He grabbed Tanner by the arm, hooked one foot around his ankle, and yanked him off balance. No more stumbling around. Tanner went down hard. He landed on the asphalt with a thump that knocked the air from his lungs, just barely twisting to avoid thunking his head on the ground. Just to drive his point home, while he was still stunned for a moment, wheezing for breath and moving his hands dazedly around, Nate kicked him lightly in the cheek a few times.

It was not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to send a message that he could easily knock a few teeth out or break his jaw if he wanted to. Nate did not need to kick his teeth out; he just needed to threaten that he would. If Tanner knew what was good for him, he would flee with his tail between his legs.

“You have to go through me, got it?” Nate snarled. “So just leave him alone.”

Tanner and Nate did not know each other very well. In high school, Nate knew Tanner was dating Bailey because he ended up knowing a lot about Bailey. People always talked to Nate about him since they knew they were…not rivals, but whatever it was that they were.

And Nate knew Tanner had been on the baseball team, so he was athletic. But Nate had been a part of a competitive boxing program. And Tanner had to know that because it was the one thing about Nate that pretty much everyone knew. It was another one of those reasons why nobody ever took the fights between him and Bailey very seriously once they realized that they always ended in nothing but surface bruises and split lips.

If Nate wanted to, he could seriously fuck Bailey up without breaking a sweat.

Their roughhousing made the teachers wary. It put them in the principal’s office every other month. But over time, everyone—even Bailey and Nate—relaxed into a routine with little more than irritation. Like they were the hero and villain in a weekly show – destined to always butt heads over something small every episode. A comfortable routine that everyone just rolled their eyes at.

Tanner was not in a position to roll his eyes. Nate would put him in the hospital if he tried anything, and by the fear that glowed in his dazed eyes, he was well aware. He was already lucky not to have gotten a concussion from getting thrown to the asphalt.

“Get up,” Nate barked, nudging him in the side with the toe of his boot, right over his ribs. They were steel-toed and would win out against bone any day of the week. Another threat. Tanner scrambled to get his hands under him and push to his feet. Nate pointed in the direction of his car, opposite where Bailey had walked. “Go away. Don’t let me see your face again.”

If he saw Nate’s truck at the gas station, he had better damn well just pass right on by and go to the next one.

He got his feet under him and flipped Nate off before turning and heading toward his car. Nate watched him go for a couple of seconds, then turned to check on Bailey. He was hugging his arms around himself and wandering away on unsteady feet – likely cross-faded and a bit traumatized after all that.