Page 12 of Roundabout

Wife.

I knew it would happen one day. Luckily, a decade with Angela hasn’t felt like a decade. When I look at her, I still see the same girl who almost knocked down our door for being too loud on a Friday night. We’ve been through a lot since then, but I wouldn’t trade a second of it because every step we took led us here, and I like here. A lot.

Bentlee’s raised voice hits our ears before waning to an echo from passing by in a blur. It’s easy to make out what she said: Marc. The hard part is figuring out what it means. There’s usually a difference in pitch that tells me exactly what Angela needs when she calls my name, but I’m not as tuned in to Bentlee’s frequencies.

We wait until the next rotation, seeing Beck already off his horse and by her side, checking on her and the kids. Bentlee sticks a hand out, pointing behind us.

Marc immediately spins on his heel, darting away, and I turn to follow, latching on to Angela’s hand to pull her along behind me. I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t want her out of my sight while I figure it out. Beck’s got the others but I can’t leave Angela alone. I mean, I could—Angela’s more than capable of handling herself—but I don’t want to. I never want to be anywhere she’s not.

Pushing through the tightly packed crowd, we come to a large clearing made by everyone forming a circle—a circle around Rebel holding a girl in a headlock.

Rebel’s small for her age…heightwise. In every other way, she fucking towers. She’s got Marc’s confidence and the skills to match.

In the next breath, Rebel tosses the other girl on the ground, revealing her identity. She’s the one that was just talking to Hunter.

What the fuck?

Next to me, something snags Angela’s attention and she whips her head to the side, ducking around like she’s searching for something. Or someone.

Following her gaze, I can’t make out anything past the wall of onlookers, so I let go of her hand to wrap my arm around her middle, tucking her into my side.

“Rebel!” Marc barks, finally pulling Rebel’s glare away from the girl she’s standing over. I can see in her eyes she wants to go another round. But why? What’d this girl do to her?

Rebel straightens, her pale blonde hair blowing around her face and shoulders, and rolls her eyes at her dad. It’s a ballsy move—rolling her eyes at Marc Vega—one anybody with even a shred of survival instinct would think twice before attempting. I’ve seen Rebel do it more times than I can count though. She doesn’t just step out of line, she zigzags over it. She’s truly fearless. Bending over, she says one last thing to the girl on the ground that we can’t hear before disappearing into the crowd.

Beck comes thundering into the clearing, asking, “Yo, who we killin’?” while Angela shakes her head at him, leaving us to go help the girl still sprawled on the ground.

“What?” he asks. “Is that not the vibe?”

“When has murder ever been our vibe?”

“How far back you need me to go? There’s Tony, Jason, River, Chaz, Shawnathon.” He pauses to spit because fuck Chaz and Shawnathon, then continues, “Those assholes that groped the girls up at the festival. If we’re talking more recent, there was that guy that told Bentlee she had a nice ass at the beach this summer. Or at the races, when literally any motherfucker gets too close to Paige.”

“Alright, you made your point.” He’s gonna get us pissed off all over again.

Of course Beck has to keep going. “Oh, and that one shitstain at last year’s Fall Fest that asked Angie what else she was good at stuffing her mouth with after she beat him in the pie-eating contest.”

My back fills with tension and my knuckles ache as I flex them at my sides.

Noticing my sudden change, Beck holds his arms up in a W, all cocky and shit. “Anytime someone wrongs our women, murder’s the fuckin’ vibe, bro.”

Marc jerks a nod with an unapologetic shrug to match.

With a single punch, I put an end to that guy’s eating competition career for good. It also jeopardized my family, my livelihood, and my freedom because I could’ve wound up in jail.

Beck’s right. I put Angela above everything, even myself.

But I’d do it all again if I had to. She’s my soulmate. There is no me without her, not anymore.

“Well, it wasn’t our women getting harassed this time,” I inform Beck, my eyes on my future wife while I try to rein in my anger at the memory of that day.

Instead of returning to me when the girl’s back on her feet, Angela rolls on to her tiptoes, trying to see above people’s heads.

Who’s she looking for?

Probably Rebel. We’ve spent a lot of time with Rebel since meeting her; it’s only natural for Angela to worry about her.

But that’s not who caught her eye the first time.