Don't Judge (Nothing Special 4)

“Go on back in your room, old man. I’m not about to—”

The guy didn’t utter another word; Michaels reared back and drove his right fist into that disrespectful bastard’s mouth. It hurt like a sonofabitch, since his knuckles were still swollen from earlier. But the adrenaline and liquor coursing through his veins allowed him to block it out. The guy staggered back into the wall, bending over to spit out the blood pooling in his mouth. There were loud gasps and curses from the onlookers as Michaels shook out his fist. “Have some respect,” he barked at the man.

The guy looked him up and down like he was debating on if he should do more and Michaels quickly made his mind up for him. “Outside,” Michaels growled.

The guy yanked his jacket and keys off a table and headed out the door with Michaels hot on his heels. He heard Linda when he got to the door. “Austin, please don’t.”

He smiled curtly, trying to show he had everything under control. “It’s okay, Linda. I’m just gonna make sure he leaves. Stay inside, please,” he added politely, and went out the door.

The guy had rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt like he was getting ready to do some damage. Michaels wanted to laugh. This was going to be cathartic. Work, Justin, his dad, his bosses, and Judge had been slowly driving him insane all week. He needed to release his pent up anger, disappointment… and loneliness. He wouldn’t put the guy in the hospital; he’d just teach him a quick lesson. Three hits max… and maybe a kick or two. Several of the bystanders had already driven away, not wanting to witness anything, but a few of the guys who enjoyed a good blood sport stayed back for the main event.

“You don’t want none of me,” the guy snarled, cracking his knuckles.

“Oh, but I do.” Michaels grinned back.

The two men met in the middle and Michaels played around with him first to feel him out. This guy wasn’t a lightweight either. He must’ve been a trucker because he had thick thighs and strong forearms. Michaels dodged a sloppy right but the left uppercut caught the corner of his chin. He blamed that on the alcohol because he should have easily dodged that blow, too. Michaels threw a backhand with his right and drew his left back ready to clean this guy’s clock when his arm was hooked by a thick forearm. He looked back to curse whoever the muscle was that intervened and came eye to eye with Judge’s angry charcoal glare.

Michaels tried to pull his arm away but Judge had a vise grip on it and he used it to yank Michaels into him, his sweet breath ghosting across his face. “I said no fighting. I said no attention,” Judge snarled against his ear, pulling Michaels towards the front doors and pushing hard on his back until he was all the way inside.

Judge turned back towards the rowdy crowd and barked an angry, “We’re closed!” and slammed the door shut. When Michaels saw Judge’s father still at the top of the stairs, looking tired and stressed, he could barely form his words to even apologize. He plopped down in one of the chairs feeling like the world’s biggest jackass. Then to make matters worse, Linda quickly hustled over with a warm rag and a bag of ice, carefully placing it on his battered hand.

“Linda. I’m so sorry. I’m fine, really.” He frowned, feeling shittier. “I can do it. Don’t let me take you away from what you were doing. Please.”

“Are you okay, Austin?” she said, softly. Her eyes looked full of worry and concern. Michaels thought of his own mother. God, how horrifying would it be for her to see him get into some crazy bar fight that could’ve been avoided? Should’ve been avoided.

“Yes. I promise. I’m fine.” Michaels tried to assure her.

“The hell he is!” Judge yelled.

“Son, calm down, he was actually sticking up for—”

“Pop, what are you doing out of bed? Please go back upstairs, lie down, and rest. I’ll handle this.” Judge lowered his voice while talking to his dad, but the daggers he shot with his eyes at Michaels revealed his true mood.

“JJ it’s not what—”

“Dad. I understand. Go back and rest, please.” Judge again cut his father off and didn’t stop watching him until his father finally walked slowly back up the stairs. He gently grasped Linda’s elbow and helped her up from her chair. “Linda, why don’t you go up and make sure he gets back to sleep, okay?”

“Okay, JJ,” she said nervously, looking back at Michaels. “You boys be good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” Michaels said, his head still down.

“Austin, thank you for not letting them trash the place,” she added, before she went upstairs.