“No, thank you,” Daniel said.
“Nothing for me either,” Donna told me.
I walked away from the stands, back toward the vendors set up near the car park. The pretzel stand was owned by a baker who lived in Clockwork and made possibly the best cakes I’d had in a long time. But on game day, she made pretzels. Chocolate and caramel. It was like eating crunchy heaven.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only person in the queue to get one, and Doug Ward turned toward me, a smile on his face and a pretzel in his hand. “Thanks, darlin’,” Doug said to the female vendor, which gained him an eye roll when he looked away.
Doug was a dick. He wasn’t outright mean or nasty; he was just one of those people who believed, with all their heart, that they deserved respect and love from everyone they met. He thought that his charm offensive made him a Casanova and drove the ladies wild. Thankfully, I’d never actually met a woman who had been taken in by Doug’s charm, so I wasn’t sure they existed.
Doug also liked to be thought of as the big, tough guy. He was about six four and had the physique of someone who valued being injected with steroids over useful muscle. I was one hundred percent certain that Doug had never met a mirror he couldn’t spend twenty minutes posing in front of.
“Nate,” Doug said, offering me a handshake that I knew he was going to try to squeeze.
“Just a second, Doug,” I said as the pretzel baker asked me what I’d like. I made my order and turned back to Doug. “So how’s you?”
“Had a hot date last night,” he said, having forgotten about the handshake. “Rocked her world.”
I felt a little nauseous.
The pretzel vendor coughed into her hand, and I forced myself not to smile. It’s my long-held belief that anyone who likes to tell people how much sex they’re having is, inevitably, not having any sex.
“Cool,” I said with a thumbs-up.
“You seen Brooke?” Doug asked suddenly, seemingly serious.
“Ummm, earlier, yeah,” I told him. “She’s working.”
He looked around as if people were listening and then leaned in to whisper loudly to me. “You know she’s a lesbian, right?”
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what answer Doug expected. “Yes, Doug, I do. I’m not really sure why you’re telling me that, though.”
“Well, I just thought you’d like to know. Just in case you decide to hit on her. I think it’s only fair that lesbians tell men up front so there’s no misunderstanding.”
I had the sudden urge to call him a fucking idiot.
The expression on the baker’s face pretty much mimicked my own. “Because you can’t contain yourself from hitting on her, unless she’s a lesbian?” the woman asked in disbelief.
“Sure,” Doug said with a nod. “A man needs to know whether that option is off the table; otherwise he might try, and personally, I think it’s just information that we should be given. It saves embarrassment for both parties.”
“You could just not hit on every woman you meet,” the baker said. “Or just accept rejection like an adult.”
“Just saying, is all,” Doug continued.
“Doug, did you hit your head a lot as a kid?” I asked.
“Hey, I’m just doing you a favor,” he said and stomped off.
“He’s such a dick,” the baker said vehemently, causing me to smile.
People started to make their way back over to the pitch. About to do the same, I noticed Jessica and Daniel leave the enclosure and walk toward the far end of the car park. I turned back to the baker and asked for a white coffee, one sugar, thinking that I’d wait and see if they returned before going back over to the pitch. Something about the way they both walked concerned me. As if they were worried.
The baker passed me my freshly brewed coffee, and I thanked her again before walking back toward the fence. Pausing, I looked over to where I’d seen Daniel and Jessica heading. I sighed and followed them.
I heard their voices from around the corner of the high school building well before I saw them. I paused and moved behind the nearest car as the voices became clearer. That was definitely Jessica and Daniel. The latter was calm and concise, while the former just sounded upset. Another voice I recognized as belonging to the Nazi who had hit me earlier, Bryce. No matter what I’d promised Chris, I wasn’t going to just stand back and let my friends deal with whatever shit Bryce was dishing out.
Approaching, I saw Jessica crying. Daniel was standing between her and a man I hadn’t seen before, as well as the two Nazis, Bryce and Jackson. The other man—the one who’d been talking to Jessica back on the field this morning—was nowhere to be seen.
“Hi,” I said with a wave and smile. “What a shock to see you here again.”
“What the fuck?” Bryce snapped, placing his hand inside his open jacket.
“No,” the newcomer said. “No need for violence here. I only came to talk.”
“With Nazis,” I pointed out. “Not sure how productive any conversation will be when one half wants the other exterminated.”
“Bryce and Jackson are just here to help,” the man told me. “Their . . . beliefs do not have anything to do with this. I assure you, despite Jessica and Daniel’s Asian ancestry, they won’t be harmed.”
“Nate, it’s okay,” Daniel said.
“It’s not, though, is it?” I replied.
“This doesn’t concern you,” the man said.
“You’re right,” I told him. “And you’d still be right, if Göring and Goebbels here hadn’t drawn on me this morning. You see, pointing a gun at my friends, threatening, and hitting them makes me involved. I know—I was surprised, too, but that’s how it is.”
The man smiled. “Nate, you don’t know who I am, but if you don’t leave, my friends will become restless and may do something unpleasant.”
I returned the smile. “If either of your friends do a damn thing, I’m going to feed them their own fingers.”
“Ah, you believe yourself to be a tough guy,” the man said. “I have experience with people like you. I assure you, no matter how much you think you can bench or whatever you may have done in your martial arts training, you are not a tough guy. We are. Go home.”
“Fuck you, fuck your Nazi scumbag friends, and especially fuck you. I know I said that twice, but it really is worth repeating.”
The man turned to Jessica and Daniel. “You both wish to stand by your earlier statements?”
“He is not your son,” Jessica said, her voice firm. “And I will not allow you to see him.”
“I think our business is done here,” Daniel said.
Jessica and her grandfather turned to walk away, and Bryce stepped toward them, shoving Daniel toward the nearest car before I could intervene. I stepped forward, and Jackson stepped in, throwing a punch my way. I avoided it and hit him in the jaw with one of my own. He staggered back, anger filling his eyes, and charged me.
He was faster than he looked, and he grabbed hold of me around the throat, lifted me off my feet, and slammed me down onto the car bonnet beside me, his strong hands trying to permanently cut off my air supply.