Rough Love (Tannen Boys 1)

I see it happen in slow-motion, hear her cry of surprised shock and pain, and even feel her bump into me from the force of the hit.

My fist connects with Kyle’s gut before I even think to do it, the reflexive movement primal and instinctual. He grunts, grinning like a fucking maniac, like we’re goofing off as he flails back, his punches bouncing off my arms like raindrops. I follow up the first gut shot with one to his jaw, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

The crazy drunk fuck is somehow still conscious, laughing maniacally. “Good one, Brutal.” He seems okay. Alcohol can do that to you, dull the pain enough that you think everything’s fine until the buzz wears off and you feel the damage.

I spin to check on Allyson, scared to see the damage Kyle’s punch did to her. She’s soft and sober, and I’m afraid the violence will have done more than fuck up her face.

But she’s not behind me. Max, the kid’s eyes wide with shock, holds up his hands like I’m about to punch him too.

“Al?” I grunt.

Max points, and I follow the direction he’s indicating. Allyson is full-on sprinting across the field toward the boys. I have a moment of hope that her Mama Bear instincts are kicked in and she’s just protecting the team from the ugliness. “Allyson?” I call.

She looks over her shoulder, her face gone pale white and blank. It’s the blankness that scares me. There’s no fear, no surprise, just utter vacancy as she grabs Cooper’s hand and drags him toward the parking lot.

“Allyson!” I holler again, louder this time.

She doesn’t turn around even though I see her shoulders creep an inch higher, so I know she heard me.

Michelle runs after her, telling Liam to come on. “I’ll get her. Handle that.” She points at Kyle, who’s laid on the grass curled into the fetal position with his hands folded together under his cheek. He looks like an angel except for the blood on his busted lip and the fact that it’s not even lunch time and he’s passed out drunk on a kids’ football field.

I don’t give a single flying fuck about Kyle. He can choke on his own goddamn vomit for all I care. My every cell is telling me to chase Allyson. She’s a flight-er, but maybe now I know why. Maybe running is her way of fighting, not a retreat but a move for preservation. A smart strategy, but it kills me that she had to learn that.

Motherfucker! Not my Allyson.

Along with the urge to follow her is a desire to find this Jeremy asswipe and teach him a lesson or two on how to be ‘nice’ to women. He fucking deserves it. I take two steps, following Allyson’s tracks, when I hear a noise behind me.

Max clears his throat, louder this time. “Want me to call the police? He totally threw the first punch so I’ve got your back, Brutal.”

I look to Mr. and Mrs. Bloomdale, both of whom are sobbing openly and holding Killian against them as they do their best to plead with me through their watery eyes. They’re their own little dysfunctional family in the middle of the chaos Kyle has created, trying to find something resembling normalcy for their grandson in the mess their son left behind.

“No, that’s okay. Thanks for keeping your shit together though. Speaks volumes about the man you are.” Some of the shock of the situation seems to have worn off, and he nods politely like this is just a normal post-game wrap-up.

“He’s obviously banned.” Max tilts his head to the snoring fucker on the ground. “If he shows up, the Wildcats will forfeit.”

“Understood.” I walk to the Bloomdales with my head held high, ready for their harsh words and judgment. But instead of contempt, I find sadness.

“Thanks for not calling the cops on him. He used to be such a good boy, but we lost him along the way. We’ll get him back to rehab again and pray this time it sticks.” Mrs. Bloomdale rubs Killian’s shoulder soothingly.

“Come on, Killian. We’ve got a team meeting real quick, ‘kay?” I look to his grandparents, who nod understandingly. When Killian lifts his head, there’s a healthy dose of fear there. I offer my hand anyway, feeling a real doubt about whether he’s going to take it. He just watched me beat the shit out of his dad, so I’m probably the monster in his eyes.

But he looks behind me at his dad on the ground and then takes my hand. I can’t imagine what strength that requires. He’s got a core of good in him, this kid. His grandparents should be so proud because they’re the ones doing a damn fine job of instilling that in him.

I take a knee when I get close to the boys. “Guys, I am so sorry you saw that. First and foremost, let me say that fighting is very rarely the right thing to do. Almost never, which is something that took me a long time to learn. I want you to learn from my mistakes and not have to make them on your own because they hurt . . . you and other people.” I hold up my hand, knuckles red from the punches, and look back at Kyle in the grass.