“What the hell happened?” Mack asked as he moved around Cass to check on the mouth bleeder. Yep, two broken teeth. Ouch. He set his bag down, donned his gloves, and got out the gauze, some tape, and bandages.
While working on cleaning up the guy with broken teeth and after checking the man’s vitals and pupils—no head wound—he listened as the one with the swelling eye ran down the events.
“So Team Ryder was beating Team Wilson. It’s a family reunion, and we usually come together for a friendly game of flag football. Except Gary Ryder is a huge douche who always takes it too far. We normally don’t let him play.”
The man with the broken nose nodded. “Broke my nose,” he said in a nasal, muffled agreement.
“But this year we wanted to be fair, since one of our uncles left some of the Wilsons a lot of money. It was Gary’s dad, actually, and Gary’s sad about his dad dying and angry he got nothing. Well, the jackass took his anger out on the field. Nearly crushed my brother’s foot, broke Nelson’s nose, and knocked out my dad’s teeth.”
“Shithead!” someone yelled at the man sitting quietly near them, saying nothing, especially since Cass seemed to have her eye on him.
“Not to take his side,” the well of information continued, “but I think he might have given himself a concussion earlier. He’s not so stupid he’d intentionally come at a cop.”
“Great.” Mack sighed. “I’m going to give you this to put pressure on your bleeding gums. Let me take a look at the concussed shithead. In the meantime, please put this on your nose,” he said to the man’s father. “You’re okay breathing?”
Broken Nose nodded. “Just hurts.”
“Yeah, that’ll happen.” Mack glanced at the man with the swollen eye. “That needs to get looked at too.”
“Just a punch that hit my cheekbone. I’ve been in fights before. Trust me. This is nothing.”
Cass shook her head.
Mack reminded himself to look the guy over after checking on the potential concussion. “Cass, help him sit up, would you?” Gary, apparently, had tipped forward. He sat cross-legged, his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his hands.
She sighed but helped get the man to sit up straight, letting him lean on her for support while he braced himself against the wall behind him.
“How many fingers?” Mack asked.
“I don’t care,” the grown man wailed.
So much for keeping quiet. Mack shook his head. “Great. What’s your name?”
“Gerald Ryder,” Cass answered for him.
Mack shot her a look, managing not to laugh when she blushed. “Sorry.”
“Sir?” Mack looked him over again. “What’s your name?”
“I go by Gary Ryder.”
“How old are you?”
“Dunno.”
Someone against the wall near Jed yelled, “You’re forty-five, Gary. Not fourteen! Why start a fight, you idiot?”
“Because the Wilsons are crooks!”
“I bet that’s Gary’s sister,” Mack said.
“Cousin,” Cass corrected. “His sister and mother are over there.” She nodded to the women who’d been pulling each other’s hair.
“Great.”
Mack worked with Brad and the officers to gather those needing a trip to the hospital. Gary definitely had a concussion. And the bloody mouth and sprained wrist candidates got a ride as well after Mack called in for help.
Before they left, he yelled out to Cass, in front of her friends because he couldn’t help himself, “Hey, Carmichael. No hard feelings. I know it’s intimidating to try to go for a second round.”
