Kele Moon - Crossing the line

“I wanna do it,” Wyatt whispered furiously. “You lemme do this, Clay. You can’t afford to get in trouble. No one will take you in if you wind up in jail.”

“Fine.”

Wyatt turned back, arching an eyebrow at Clay in surprise. “Really?”

Clay nodded, his dark gaze studying Wyatt intently. “I’m just here to play backup.”

Satisfied, he jumped out from behind the trailer, ignoring Clay growling out a furious “Fuck” when Wyatt slipped past his grasp.

When he burst out from behind the weeds, all three boys turned in his direction.

“What the hell are you trying to give me?” Jason Wiltkins dropped the bag of weed like it was on fire. He backed up, holding up his hands. “I swear, Conner—”

Brett and Vaughn didn’t say anything. They took off running into the field behind the trailer park. Wyatt let them go and took a second to swoop up the bag of weed at Jason’s feet, because there was nothing but wide-open space in that field, and he knew he could catch them. He didn’t spend every afternoon running drills with the football team for nothing.

Brett and Vaughn both smoked cigarettes like chimneys.

They had no chance.

Wyatt wore his best sneakers and had forgone jeans for shorts on purpose. He flew across that field, feeling the wind in his hair and the blood pumping in his ears. He caught Brett first, which worked out perfect.

He wrapped a hand around Brett’s arm and jerked him back. It was sheer adrenaline that allowed Wyatt to hold Brett on his feet when the momentum of them both stopping so suddenly would have sent him crashing into the dirt.

Knowing he still had Vaughn to catch, Wyatt made it simple. He slammed his fist into Brett’s face hard enough to feel his nose break under his knuckles that he’d taped up before he and Clay left home.

Brett went limp instantly, his dead weight nearly dragging Wyatt down.

He dropped him instead and left him there. Then he went after Vaughn, who was at the edge of the field, almost to the road, but there was absolutely no way Wyatt was going to let him slip through his fingers after he’d spent three days waiting to get him.

He jumped at him, throwing his shoulder into the tackle. Vaughn shouted in pain when he ended up buried in the weeds with all of Wyatt’s weight on him.

“I didn’t fuck her!” he screamed as Wyatt wrestled him, fighting to get him on his back. “I swear, Conner, I didn’t—”

Wyatt threw the bag of pot at Vaughn’s face as he held him down. “You know what that is, Davis.”

Vaughn fought him harder, struggling to get up.

“That’s my fucking insurance,” Wyatt whispered in a low, deadly voice as he leaned down and got in face. “I ain’t gonna say anything ’bout you dealing drugs to my dad, and you ain’t gonna say anything ’bout what I’m gonna to do to you for hurting my girl.”

Vaughn broke one arm out of Wyatt’s tight hold, swinging at him, but Wyatt swatted the blow like it was an annoying fly buzzing near his face. Vaughn’s face contorted into a look of sheer fear as he shouted with a shaking bravado, “Get off me, you faggot!”

Wyatt suddenly didn’t like that word. Not when Terry and Hal had done so much for Tabitha. That put them on the short list of people Wyatt would gladly break the law for. He punched Vaughn before he could say it again, watching with satisfaction when his nose popped like a grapefruit hitting the pavement from the top of a tall building.

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?”