“Hey, asshole, do you have a problem?”
My head snaps around to see Justice, sixteen-years-old and fueled by far too many hormones, shoot to his feet. He glares at a man two rows down from us. The guy is cranked all the way around in his seat, and by the way his eyes arelockedon Shadow’s face, I know that this isn’t the first time he’s been staring.
Shadow clears his throat roughly, standing up and giving the old man his back. He pretends he doesn’t notice, but Justice isn’t going to let this go.
His brother shoots to his feet, not nearly as tall as Justice, but already getting broad and filling out at almost thirteen. If anything, the brothers always stick together. I remember Dad telling me all the wild stories that they’ve found themselves involved in.
“Bro, you’re like one of those asshole troll guys that comments a bunch of stuff online about other people, but in reality, they’re a hundred times uglier, older, and fatter,” Justice yells.
Rita rockets out of her seat, trying to situate herself between her sons and the guy down there who isstill just staringat Shadow.
I stand too, at the same time Shadow tries to get past me to get to the boys, probably to tell them it’s all good. I slam into Shadow, nearly knocking him over the seat in front of me. My arms shoot out on instinct, wrapping around his shoulders and waist, my hands clenching tight to his leather jacket and tugging hard so he doesn’t pitch over. He grunts in pain as my body jolts against him, but I don’t let him go.
My dad is standing up now, opening his mouth to say something, and I’m frozen, my hands buried in Shadow’s jacket, inhaling the oil and gas fumes that still linger from his bike. I can’t make myself let go.
“Justice, please,” Dad groans, but it does zero good.
“Mister, if you don’t turn around right now, I’m going to tear your eyes out and stuff them up your ass.”
“That would be constant pink eye,” Stone points out somewhat sympathetically, but he has a wicked grin on his face to match his brother’s.
Rita’s shoulders rise and fall on a sigh. Dad’s hand shoots out, steadying her.
I glance at my mom. She gives me a sympathetic look and squeezes my hand. This is her last night in Hart. She’s leaving tomorrow morning. We got lucky that we were able to book this before she had to go home. I thought we were lucky, but this whole thing is turning into more of a disaster than I ever thought it could be.
The old creeper immediately gets out of his seat and goes running for one of the ushers buzzing around. No doubt to complain about the biker trash in the audience. I think every single one of us freezes. All but Shadow, who looks like he’s used to being the object of interest.
When the usher comes back with a manager a few minutes later, Dad seems resigned, Rita’s prepared, and the boys are already discussing how they’d rather go for a burger and fries anyway. My mom sits silently, her head bowed, but I think she’s just trying to stay out of things. I’ve dropped my arms from Shadow, but I haven’t stepped away.
There’s an unspoken agreement between all of us that we’ll go without a fight, but we sure as hell won’t apologize to a man who was the height of rudeness and cowardice.
Luckily, Dad gets past the boys and talks to the manager—a middle-aged man dressed in a black suit. He gestures with his hands and shakes his head. I know my dad and he knows people. He’s good with them.
After a tense conversation, Dad steps back into our row. “Burgers and fries, it is.”
He puts on a good face of it, but I can tell that he’s seriously pissed that we’re the ones getting kicked out. It’s even worse when we’re halfway up the stairs and I notice the jerk who started all of this slinking back to his seat.
Rita keeps the boys under careful supervision until we make it out into the parking lot. She keeps a hand on each one of their shoulders even then. Dad walks behind them, and Mom walks beside me and Shadow.
I don’t dare look at his face.
I’m afraid of the devastation I’ll see there, or worse, the misplaced guilt. I know that he’ll blame himself for getting us kicked out.
We reach Rita’s car first. It’s an ancient green Volvo that she calls Pickle Pete. I think the boys have had enough time to realize that their parents are less than impressed and they move to stand beside the car, half defiant, but half with guilty looks of their own.
“That’s not the way that we should have dealt with that,” Rita says, but she’s not fuming or accusatory. She doesn’t raise her voice.
“At the same time,” Dad says, “how can we tell you that we’re not proud of you for trying to do the right thing and stand up for one of our own?”
Justice toes the ground with his Chucks.“Asshole deserved it.”
“Deserve it or not. You have to learn when to take the high road,” Rita says.
At least Justice has the courage to hold his head high when he apologizes. He walks over to stand in front of Shadow. “Sorry. I know that you didn’t want us to make a big deal out of it. I wasn’t, though. What I really wanted to do was kick that asshole straight in the face.” Rita makes a strangled sound behind him.
“Yeah, that guy was a fucker for being all rude,” Stone calls from the car. He races over to join his brother, dodging Rita and my dad, who try and get in his way.
Impossibly, Shadow’s lips twitch. “It’s okay, bud. I know you guys meant well. I don’t know if it was the burns or the bikejacket that set him off. I should have worn something different, but I rode here. Thanks for defending me.”
