“She’s not your girl,” Seth states, almost gentle. “She told you that. I heard her. You should listen.”
The streetlight throws shadows across Tanner’s face, and he grins like a lunatic.
“You should mind your own fucking business,” Tanner spits. He steps closer, crowding Seth, and me by default, because everything about him is about taking up space. “Go on, rodeo boy. Run along.” His mouth twitches like he’s amused. “You think you’re tough because you can stay on a horse for eight seconds? I can stay on her all fucking night.”
My skin goes cold. “Don’t,” I snap, voice sharper than I meant it. “Tanner, shut the hell up.”
He doesn’t even glance at me. Like I’m background noise to his little ego performance.
Seth does look at me. Just a flick, but it’s enough to make my pulse jump, like he’s checking whether I’m okay, whether it hurt or not.
Then his gaze slides back to Tanner, and the drunk softness in his eyes cracks. He’s still swaying slightly, still got that loose, unsteady edge to him, but the look is pure warning. I suspect that when he’s not drunk, he’d be dangerous.
“Say that again,” Seth demands.
Tanner laughs. “What? You gonna cry?”
And Seth releases this short laugh like Tanner just did him a favor. “Oh,” Seth says. “Okay.”
I wedge myself between them, palm pressing to Tanner’s chest. “Stop it. Both of you. Just stop.”
Tanner’s arm sweeps out like he’s swatting at a fly. It hits me in the face hard enough that I stumble, my boot catching on the uneven edge of the sidewalk, and I go down.
My palms scrape against the cold concrete as my hip slams down, and pain blooms hot and immediate. I sit there for half a second, stunned, breath knocked out of me, pride taking the hardest hit of all.
The street is silent except for my sharp inhale and Tanner’s rough chuckle.
“That,” Seth growls, low and lethal, “was a mistake.”
2
JUNE
Tanner throws the first punch, wild, sloppy, aimed more at Seth’s pride than at his face. Seth sidesteps, not graceful, not clean, but fast enough that Tanner swings through empty air.
Seth surges forward and slams Tanner back against the brick wall beside the closed storefront, hard enough to rattle the metal gate over the window. Tanner grunts, but he grins.
“Yeah,” Tanner spits. “There you go. Show me what you got.” But he swings first again—dirty and fast—catching Seth across the cheek. Seth staggers a half step, boots scraping, and for a heartbeat, he just stands there, tasting it, eyes brightening like someone flipped a switch.
Seth’s fist connects with Tanner’s jaw even faster.
Once.
Tanner’s head snaps sideways, shoulder thudding into brick. He blinks, then laughs like it’s the best thing that’s happened to him in weeks.
“Hit me again,” Tanner taunts. “C’mon, rodeo boy. Let her watch.”
Seth’s face is tight, eyes bright and wild. He swings again, messier this time, anger bleeding into the hit. Tanner stumblesforward, catches Seth in the ribs with a heavy punch that makes Seth grunt and fold for half a second.
They collide.
No more wall. No more space.
They’re grabbing shirts, shoving shoulders, boots scraping on concrete. Tanner tries to bulldoze Seth into the street, and Seth, half drunk and furious, fights like a man who’s been in too many brawls for his own good.
“Stop!” I scramble to my feet, palms burning, voice cracking. “Seth—don’t! Tanner, you psycho!”
Tanner swings again, catching Seth across the cheek. He spits to the side, wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, and the glare he gives Tanner is pure promise.
