Kele Moon - Crossing the line

Blood covered Vaughn’s face. It covered Wyatt’s fist, but he didn’t see any of it because suddenly he remembered how fragile and scared Tabitha was the morning after Vaughn attacked her. The second time he punched Vaughn, he did it for Tabitha, and he did it twice as hard.

Then he was letting three days of agony flow out through his fist, hitting Vaughn anywhere he could. He kneed him in the groin, just because. He was about to get up and start kicking him until the bastard stopped breathing, but something stopped him. A big and mean something, with a lot more velocity than Brett or Vaughn could manage.

Wyatt blinked up at Clay when he found himself flat in the grass underneath his best friend.

“He’s out!” Clay shouted, his face flushed red from running. “He’s totally fucking out. He can’t even feel this shit!”

Wyatt kicked Vaughn in the ribs rather than listen.

Clay punched him, a hard right hook that had white spots dancing in Wyatt’s vision when Clay’s fist connected with his cheek. It didn’t help that Clay had taped his knuckles too. Wyatt just glared at him as he blinked past the pain. If Clay thought that was going to stop him, his best friend didn’t know him as well as he thought he did.

Wyatt kicked Vaughn again, wishing he’d worn his cleats instead. He threw all his leg weight into the attack, kicking him with both feet as Clay struggled to pin him down.

“I said stop, Wyatt!” Clay shouted again. “You’re gonna fucking kill him! You wanna end up in jail for murder, you stupid motherfucker?”

Wyatt raised his leg, fighting to look past Clay’s bulk. He nailed Vaughn’s face when he saw he had the right angle. He did it once more because it felt too good not to.

“Run, Wiltkins! Get someone.”

Wyatt stopped kicking Vaughn and turned his head, seeing Brett had gotten to his feet. He was holding a hand to his nose that was bleeding profusely. His words were garbled, but he was up and moving. Wyatt narrowed his eyes.

He’d forgotten about Brett.

He punched Clay, catching him off guard, and then struggled to get out from under him. Clay grabbed his ankle when he scrambled to his feet. Wyatt kicked him to break free, catching him hard enough in the face to have Clay grunting in pain.

He took off after Brett again, who screamed, “Fuck!” and turned back to the trailer park.

Brett tripped before he could get far. The first punch Wyatt delivered had obviously messed with his equilibrium. When Wyatt got to him, he kicked him in the ribs before he could get back to his feet.

Wyatt’s breathing was labored as the blood still pounded in his ears. He thought about all the years Tabitha spent hiding from this asshole who was supposed to protect her instead of hurt her. He brought his foot down on his face, dead center, just stomped him into the dirt, feeling bones cracking under his shoe.

He might have stomped on him until he killed him if he didn’t get tackled a second time, and this one hit him with such force he couldn’t help but whisper a choked “Ouch” when he found himself blinking up at Clay again.

His head had hit a rock under the weight of two hundred and ten pounds of raw determination to save Wyatt from himself. He continued to blink at Clay, seeing stars again. “There are rocks in this field, asshole. My head.”

“Oh shit.” Clay sat up over him, his dark eyes narrowed in concern. “Lemme see.”

Wyatt rolled to the side under him. Showing off the back of his head.

“Motherfucker,” Clay groaned.

“Did you get me?” Wyatt moved to touch the injury.

“Don’t fucking touch it.” Clay swatted his hand away. “You got Vaughn’s blood all over you. He could be shooting up for all you know.”

“What?” Wyatt fought to make sense of everything past the crash of adrenaline from fighting and the throb of pain in his head.

“Come on, get up. We need to get lost.” Clay got to his feet and then leaned down to help Wyatt up. “Don’t touch your head.”

“Is it bad?”

“It ain’t great.”

“Shit.” Wyatt turned to glare at Clay. “You were supposed to be my backup. How come I got another concussion thanks to you?”

Clay leaned in and gave him a look. “I was your backup. They’re both still breathing, ain’t they?”

Wyatt turned to look at Vaughn prone and unmoving on the field. Then he glanced back to Brett, lying there bleeding, with his nose crushed in and his eyes closed. “Someone should call my dad now,” he mumbled.

“Are you fucking crazy? You’re in some serious shit, Wyatt,” Clay said incredulously. “We need to go. Right now.”

Clay grasped his arm and jerked him forward to prove his point. Wyatt followed him, resisting the urge to touch the back of his head. The two of them walked past Jason Wiltkins, who was standing there shell-shocked at the edge of the trailer park.

“Your pot’s back there,” Clay said to him and then let go of Wyatt to take a threatening step toward the smaller teenager. “And here’s what’s gonna go down, Wiltkins. You’re gonna give us a ten-minute head start. Then you’re gonna call for an ambulance, say you found them like that, and you don’t know nothing ‘bout what went on in this field. When the sheriff starts grilling you for answers, you’re gonna look in his face, remember what my buddy Wyatt is capable of, and know I was the one to stop him. You think he’s scary when he’s mad, you ain’t seen nothing yet. I will bury you personally if you rat him out, and that ain’t a lie.”

Jason’s eyes were wide and horrified. “I believe you.”

“I sure hope so,” Clay said menacingly. “’Cause I don’t feel like digging a shallow grave for a worthless asshole like you.”

“I ain’t gonna say anything, Powers. I swear.” Jason’s voice was a low rasp of fear. “I ain’t never seen anything like that. Are you sure they ain’t dead?”

Clay cast a concerned look back at Vaughn and then wrapped his hand around Wyatt’s arm again. Wyatt followed him until they got to their bikes, but then he stopped and jerked his arm out of Clay’s grasp.

“This ain’t right, Clay. I’m supposed to stay and wait for my dad to show up. I did it. I should face the consequences.” Wyatt folded his arms over his chest stubbornly.

“No,” Clay growled at him as he got in his face again. “You’re gonna get on that fucking bike right now, and we’re gonna ride like the devil’s chasing our asses, ’cause I am not gonna end up in jail for those two assholes, and you’re not either.”

Wyatt shook his head. “You didn’t do anything.”

“The fuck I didn’t.” Clay let out a crazed laugh. “I could’ve stopped you a lot sooner than I did, and Wiltkins saw me just fucking standing there letting you do what you did. I’d be up as an accessory for sure, and don’t tell me you don’t know what that means, ’cause I know you do. Now shove your noble bullshit and get on the bike!”

Wyatt stared at him for one long second, contemplating what it would mean for Clay to get tied up in this mess. Then he leaned down and picked up his bike, willing to sacrifice his integrity for Clay rather than himself.

Turned out his best friend did know him.

“Damn drugs.” Tabitha’s mother cursed from her seat in the ER waiting room. “I knew dealing that shit would stick him here eventually. He’s lucky he ain’t dead.”

“Yeah,” Tabitha agreed softly.

“Hope they set his nose straight in this surgery. Fucking hospital. First thing they ask for is the insurance card. This is what I get for having a job and losing benefits. They’ll probably screw up on purpose, knowing we can’t pay for it.”

“I don’t think they’ll do that,” Tabitha argued. “The doctors seemed nice when they came out here. How bad does a nose have to be broke to need surgery?”

“Bad.” Her mother shook her head. “It looked like an elephant stomped on his face.”

Tabitha winced at the image. “Glad I missed it.”

“You should’ve seen Vaughn. He looked worse.” Her mother snorted. “He’ll be in here for a week, and you know Mary ain’t got a lick of insurance either.”

Tabitha couldn’t help the jolt of fear at the mention of Vaughn, and she also couldn’t help the rising suspicions that were building in the back of her mind. Finally she had to put voice to them and ask, “Do they know who did it?”

“No. And Brett ain’t talking. Can’t say that’s a bad thing. He starts pointing fingers, and he’s gonna have the sheriff on his ass when he figures out why they got their asses kicked. Better a broken nose than a criminal record. He’s already got that stain for breaking into the old Harver house.”

Tabitha nodded. “That’s true.”

“Oh, shit, speaking of.” Her mother turned to Tabitha, her brown eyes wide in panic. “You play it cool, missy. Don’t be saying nothing ’bout the drugs or—” She turned back around when Sheriff Conner got too close. “Howdy, Sheriff. You figure out what sorta criminal beat on my boy?”

“Nah, not yet.” The sheriff pointed to the empty seat next to Tabitha. “Mind if I sit?”

Tabitha’s mother made a sound in the back of her throat. “We’re sorta waiting to hear ’bout the surgery and—”

“I’ll keep you company.” The sheriff sat down without invitation and looked at Tabitha seriously. “Darlin’, you wouldn’t happen to know of anyone who had a vendetta against your brother, would you?”

Tabitha shook her head silently as she studied his face, seeing all the different features that were Wyatt’s. His nose, the shape of his eyes, his lips. There was so much of Wyatt there. Even if the sheriff’s hair was dark and his eyes were brown instead of blue, it was giving her a strange sort of whiplash.