Page 78 of The Cheerleader

Bryan shoves him back, and the guy stumbles. The guy winds up for a roundhouse punch, but Bryan steps out of the way as the guy’s fist hits the wall behind us. He swears a blue streak. He’s clearly in pain and may have broken his hand. I almost feel bad for him.

“Go back to wherever you came from,” Bryan says. The guy is angry as hell now.

“You bastard,” he yells, drawing attention now from the people around us. Then he launches himself at Bryan. But Bryan is ready, and he steps aside again.

This time, the drunk guy spins around and throws a punch with his left hand. If Bryan wasn’t so quick, the drunk guy would have landed the punch in his eye. Instead, his fist grazes Bryan’s temple.

“Enough of this shit,” Bryan growls and throws a punch back at the guy, landing it directly in his nose. Blood spurts, and I screech. The small crowd around us reacts with everything from cheers to oohs to screams.

Bryan takes the guy by the arm and hustles him to the door. I grab a towel from a nearby table and follow, giving the towel to the drunk guy to staunch the bleeding.

“Hold your head up, blockhead. The bleeding will stop quicker,” Bryan says.

The guy grunts and does what he’s told as Bryan drags him out one of the side doors.

The policeman on duty there sees us and rushes over. “What the hell’s going on?” He takes the drunk guy from Bryan’s grip.

Bryan starts to talk at the same time as the drunk guy, but the officer cuts them off and addresses me. “What’s your name? Did you see what happened?”

“Yes. I’m Susie Bennett.”

“Good. Susie, tell me your version of what happened first.”

I tell him what happened, aware of Bryan standing next to me, close enough to feel the solidness of him, his strength and vitality.

The officer asks the drunk guy his name.

“Vinnie Frye.” Vinnie doesn’t look very well right now.

“Is that what happened, Vinnie?”

He nods and removes the bloody cloth from his nose. It looks like the bleeding has stopped, but Vinnie is paler than the moon in the night sky. Then he turns and falls to his knees, hurling his guts out in the grass. The officer shakes his head.

“I’ll handle it from here.” Then he asks me, “Are you all right, miss?”

“I’m fine.” I grasp Bryan’s arm for no good reason and hang on.

The officer nods.

“Aren’t you going to ask my name?”

The officer chuckles. “Smartass. I know who you are, Granger. You’re in the paper every week, for Christ’s sake.”

“You’re not going to lock Vinnie up,” Bryan says. It’s not a question, more like a strong suggestion. I hold my breath for the answer, hoping Bryan’s right.

“No. I’ll drop him at the infirmary. I’m sure you taught him a good lesson about watching out who you pick a fight with.”

With Bryan’s help, the officer lifts Vinnie from the ground and they escort him to the police car in the nearby lot.

“Good luck against Navy next week.” The officer takes off with poor Vinnie slumped in the back seat.

“I should go back inside and get back to work,” I say, but I don’t go in. My legs don’t move a muscle. Not just yet.

Bryn’s breath clouds up in the chilly air. Somehow, I’m not the least bit cold.

“I thought you said you were going back to work. I bet there are a lot of thirsty students waiting for their beers inside.” I can see the teasing in his crinkled eyes and hear it in the lightness of his low voice. A rush of warmth floods me, and I’m glad it’s cold out.

“I’ve been working for three hours straight, so I deserve to take a break for a little longer.”