K. Bromberg - Slow Burn

Dante’s laugh mocks me. “Apparently you don’t got this .” I’m already sliding out of the booth when he makes the comment. “You might want to brush up on your skills because when I was with Haddie the other night, she sure as hell couldn’t get enough. More I believe was her word of choice.”

My mind flashes back to Haddie on the kitchen table at the farmhouse, telling me, More , and my synapses don’t need to fire because I don’t even need to think.

I just react.

I collide with Dante, moving at full force. I don’t even bother throwing a punch, don’t even think about it because I want the fucker on the ground. And he’s solid, but so am I, when I connect. Our momentum forces us into the table behind him.

Glass breaking and shouts from afar barely register as we fall to the ground cussing at each other. He gets in the first punch as we scramble for positioning, and I feel the connection, hear the whoosh of air as it escapes my lungs from the kidney punch but don’t feel a goddamn thing. I’m so amped up from the past week that my churning emotions manifest in the impact of my fist as I gain top position.

The connection of my fist against his gut feels like a small weight is lifted from my shoulders. And fuck does it feel good.

He lands one.

I land one.

He cusses me out in between our fists flying. I don’t even hear what he’s saying because all I think is Keep opening your mouth and give me access to knock those perfect teeth of yours out .

But the feeling of impact as I land a punch is fleeting because my mind keeps fixating on the fact that he was with Haddie the other night. That she asked him for more when she hasn’t asked me for anything but to leave.

I see red. Can’t see anything else because my mind is so preoccupied with Haddie, with the idea that this asshole touched her.

It’s Colton’s harsh call of my name that breaks through my hypnotic fog of anger. It’s his hands I fight off as they try to pull me away from Dante. And I struggle against him, even when I come to my senses and realize that Dante is securely pinned beneath me, face splattered with the same blood staining my knuckles.

“Goddamn it, Becks! Get off him.” Colton’s strong enough that his arms wrapped around my shoulders prevent me from continuing. “They’re gonna call the cops if you don’t break it up.”

I grunt in agreement, my breath too labored and my head too filled with rage to answer him. I’d take the cuffs in an instant if it meant that Dante was properly put in his place.

“You sure?” he asks me, and I nod before he releases his hold on my arms.

And God strike me dead for lying to my best friend, but the minute he lets my arms go, my fist connects with Dante’s jaw again. The sound of my knuckles hitting him ricochets through my head in a satisfying crunch.

“Fuckin’ A, Becks!” Colton’s arms are back around me, and this time I struggle even harder, wanting to finish the job. He’s successful in pulling me off Dante, and even as I struggle with Colton, I can still see Dante sitting up, using his torn shirt to wipe some blood from the corner of his mouth. “Calm down.”

“Let me go!” I argue, ready to lay one on Colton too if need be to get him to release me.

“Goddamn it, quit fighting me, will ya? They’re calling the cops, dude.” He yanks me up and backward, and I struggle away from him now that I’m on my feet and Dante’s retreated. “Christ! Calm the fuck down.”

“I’m gonna kill the son of a bitch.” I’m so wrapped up inside my own head right now, so deafened by the buzzing anger, that I don’t even hear him.

“Killing him’s not going to get rid of her cancer, dude.”

But I sure as fuck hear that .

I feel like everything stops—then there’s the quick intake of air as Colton realizes what he’s just told me—but my head doesn’t want to believe it.

“What did you just say?” The quiet disbelief in my voice is no rival for the rage vibrating through me. I turn my body now to face my oldest friend. I recognize the apology in his eyes, see acknowledgment of the deceit in his body language, and I’m fucking floored. “You knew?”

“Becks.” It’s that soothing tone that I hate.

“You knew?” I ask again, my voice escalating as I take a step toward him, hands fisted, jaw clenched.

“She doesn’t want anyone to know. No one.” He emphasizes the last words so I can hear that he was torn over keeping it from me, but my rational mind isn’t listening.

My irrational side sure as fuck is, though.

“So that was a slip?” I shout at him as I take another step closer. “You only told me—let it slip—to calm me the fuck down?”

He laughs softly, glancing at the space between us and then back at me. “ Calm is not quite the word I’d use about you right now.” He takes a step forward as I grit my teeth because being angry at him means I don’t have to process what he’s just told me.

Haddie has cancer.

“You want to take a shot at me too, Becks?” He goads me, sacrificing himself so I don’t fly off the handle and take it all out on someone else. He lifts his chin and taps at it. “Right here, fucker. Dare you. But I bet your ass it’s not going to do a goddamn thing to help Haddie.”

“Make me feel better, though.” I grumble the words at him, anger still riding high but the oh fuck aspect starting to take over.

Colton judges me for a minute as I stand there stunned, fists loosening, mind scrambling to grasp the magnitude of what he’s just told me.

Trying to understand how Had’s feeling. Why she doesn’t want me to know? The fear she’s facing alone.

My friend approaches me, defense in his posture but sympathy in his eyes. He puts a hand on my shoulder and directs me toward the booth and then pushes me to sit down. “You didn’t tell me.” I say again, the only concept I’m choosing to grasp right now.

He blows out a loud sigh as he sits across from me and motions to Viv with his hand to come near. “I know—it fucking blows—and I’m sorry, but, dude, I’m married now. I promised Ry. I was put in a fuck-all spot between you and her.”

“And she is the one sucking your dick. I get it.” I say the words, knowing they’re crass and not caring because I’m still amped up on adrenaline.

“Let me know when your mouth is done running and using up all your energy so I can kick your ass for talking about Rylee like that.” The warning is delivered loud and clear. “It seems to me you still have some fight left in you. I promise you I have a harder left than that fucker does,” he says, lifting his chin toward the other side of the bar, where Dante is nursing his bloody nose, the bouncer at his side, coaxing him out the door.

“Sorry…. This whole thing blows…. I’m just …” Colton nods his head at me in acknowledgment, forgiveness laced with the guilt that’s eating at him reflected in his eyes. And it makes me feel a tad better to see it there. Like teeny tiny. I grab my right wrist with my left hand and flex it. The fucker hurts like a bitch from punching Dante.

“Fuck.” He blows the word out, making it sound exactly how I feel.

“What can I get you, boys?” Viv’s back and in front of us, trying to act like everything is normal—like the melee never happened—and I just hang my head, drowning in my own thoughts, too occupied to be embarrassed.

“Macallan neat,” Colton says, my shoulders tensing at the significance of his request.

“One shot for each of you, handsome?”

“Two glasses, one bottle, please. And a bag of ice for his hand.”

Both Viv and I raise our heads and look at Colton, her for the tip she might be getting and me because I don’t want to sit here and drink. I want Colton to drive me to Haddie’s. Like ten fucking minutes ago.