Happenstance 3 (Happenstance #3)(24)
Author: Jamie McGuire

Weston laughed once without humor. “A mistake? Is that what you’re hoping for? Look at her, Brady. She looks like Julianne!”

“Yes, it’s a fucking mistake!” Brady said, spitting his words. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Weston gently removed my hand from his shirt. “If you want to know about mistakes, Brady, you should ask your parents.”

Before Brady could process the insult, Weston lunged, and they were on the ground. Brendan and Andrew jumped in, too.

“No! Guys!” Tyson yelled, holding out his hand to Micah, forbidding him to join in. “Knock it off!” he said, trying to pull Andrew off the top of the pile.

Brendan scrambled away, lifted his boot, and kicked Weston off of Brady. Weston writhed on the ground for a moment and then tried to pull himself up to his knees.

Brady pulled back his elbow and let his fist fly, knocking Weston square in the jaw. Weston caught himself, his palms flat on the cement.

“Stop!” I screamed.

Brady turned to me, glowering. Keeping his eyes on mine, he kicked Weston in the head, knocking him facedown.

Brendan did the same, landing the toe of his boot into Weston’s ribs, and then Andrew did, too. Each time Weston tried to push himself up, they would kick him again.

“That’s enough!” Tyson yelled, the veins popping out of his neck.

I pushed past them, throwing myself on top of Weston’s body. He was so much bigger than me that I barely covered him. I kept my eyes closed, bracing myself for the next blow.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Tyson yelled again.

I looked up, and he was pointing at Brady, who was poised to attack.

“Get in the truck!” Tyson demanded.

The drunken glaze in their eyes was gone as was the excitement of ganging up on their victim. I held tight to Weston, hearing him holding his breath and then groaning.

He looked up at Brady. “This ain’t over, Beck.”

“You’re damn right it’s not,” he said, following the others as they climbed back into the pickup.

“You all right?” Tyson asked, standing over us.

“I’ll live,” Weston said.

Tyson nodded once and then joined the others just before the pickup flipped around, spraying us with gravel. Weston tried to shield me, but he moved slowly.

As the red glow from the brake lights of Brady’s truck faded in the distance, Weston sat up onto his knees and spit. A bit of blood remained on his lips, and he wiped it away with his wrist.

I pulled up the bottom hem of my tank top and wiped the dirt and blood from his face.

“This has got to stop,” I said, my voice breaking.

“Oh, it will,” Weston said, his voice low and menacing.

“No. No more fighting,” I pleaded.

“What if you end up alone with him in Stillwater? You think I’m going to let you go there, knowing he’s out for blood?”

“Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Then, when? He’s always been a dick. This is a whole new level. I never thought he’d have the balls,” Weston said before spitting again.

I helped him to his feet. “Are you short of breath?” I asked.

“No,” he said, stretching his sore muscles.

“Brady kicked you in the head,” I said, worried.

“I felt it,” he grumbled.

“We should take you to Julianne and let her check you out just to be safe.”

Weston began to protest, but I took his keys. He wasn’t fast enough to stop me.

“You don’t have a choice. I’m driving.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said.

“Kept them from breaking your ribs?” I asked, helping him to the passenger door.

He slowly climbed up, grunting as he fell into the seat.

“I couldn’t just stand there and watch.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” Weston said.

“No, you won’t,” I said before slamming the door. I walked to the other side and grumbled to myself, “I will.”

Chapter Ten

“ANDREW, BRENDAN, AND BRADY, HUH?” Frankie said. “Asshole casserole.” She shook her head as she stared out the window. “Clearly”—she shook her head again, white-knuckling the counter—“prom wasn’t good enough. We need to punch Brady in the uterus and then fill his vagina with sand.”

I snorted. “That would be slightly impossible, Frankie, since Brady is male.”

“He won’t be after I’m finished with him,” she snarled.

“No uterus. No vagina.”

“Yet. That little douche poodle. I dare him to come to my window. I will never put a curl on his dip cone ever again.”

“Oh. Now, he’s going to regret everything,” I deadpanned.

She turned to me. “What is Weston going to do?”

“Nothing. At least that’s what I told him.”

“You think he’ll listen?”

“He’d better,” I grumbled to myself.

She raised an eyebrow. “Look at you, all grown-up and feisty after graduating high school.”

I sighed. “This can’t end well. They can’t keep throwing punches. Someone is going to get hurt. And…Weston was wheezing a little…after. It scared me.”

“You’re afraid Weston will fight his way into another asthma attack?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got a point,” she said.

I was surprised. Frankie always supported me, but she never agreed with me.

“Tyson is lucky he didn’t join in,” she said. She wagged her finger at me. “I know his mother. She doesn’t allow her kids to behave that way.”

“He stopped them. If he hadn’t…I don’t think Brady would have cared that I was between his foot and Weston.”

Frankie seethed, but when we heard a car pull up and she recognized the woman strolling across the parking lot, her cheeks flushed bright red.

“Frankie,” I warned.

Lynn stepped in front of my window and waited, looking smug.

Frankie stood next to me, glaring at her, while I lifted the window.

“How can I help you?” I asked, trying to sound as if she were any number of customers who had stood at that window before. I knew she was up to something, or she would have just gone through the drive-through.

“How is Weston?” Lynn asked.

I stared at her with a blank expression.

She smirked.

“What do you want, Lynn?” Frankie snapped. “Order or leave.”