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Dawton laughed, but it came out thin and wrong. “Or what?”

Lane didn’t answer. He stepped forward and reached his palm out for Sawyer’s free hand, gentle, careful. “Hey,” he said, softer now, like he was talking to a scared animal. “You can come and stand over here.”

Sawyer didn’t hesitate.

She leaned toward Lane—

Dawton lost all control, unleashing slurs so vile directed at me; they ripped through my chest and left me struggling to breathe.

And that’s when Dawton swung.

It happened in a blur. Lane stepped between us just as the fist slammed into his jaw. The dull crack of the impact made my stomach drop as his head snapped sideways and he staggered backward.

“Lane!” I shouted, the sound ripping out of me. Sawyer screamed.

Lane recovered almost instantly. He wiped at his lip with the back of his hand, eyes dark now, something controlled snapping loose. He stepped back in and drove his shoulder into Dawton’s chest, forcing him away from Sawyer.

“Get back!” Lane barked, grabbing Dawton’s shirt and pushing him hard.

Dawton staggered but didn’t fall. He came back swinging wild, his fist glancing off Lane’s cheek this time. Lane ducked the next strike and drove one square into Dawton’s ribs. The air whooshed out of him.

“Stop it! Stop!” I screamed as I pulled Sawyer back, her small body trembling against mine. The two of them crashed into the side of the car, metal rattling. Lane shoved him again, harder, and this time Dawton lost his footing, hitting the ground with a grunt.

For a second, it looked like it might end there. It didn’t.

Dawton scrambled up, his face twisted with rage, and lunged. They collided again. Fists flew. Shoes scraped. Their breaths came in sharp, angry bursts.

Then—

A siren.

All of us froze for just a fraction of a second before red and blue lights spilled across the parking lot.

“Hey! Break it up!” a voice shouted. Lane stepped back first, hands lifting slightly, chest heaving. Dawton didn’t. He took one more swing—wild, pointless—and missed as an officer grabbed him from behind, wrenching his arms back.

“Knock it off!” another officer snapped, moving in on Lane.

“I didn’t—” Lane started, but he didn’t get to finish. His arms were pulled behind him too.

“Both of you,” the officer said, already securing handcuffs into place.

“Wait!” I stepped forward, my voice shaking. “He didn’t start it—he was helping—”

“Step back,” the officer barked, not even looking at me.

Sawyer clung desperately to me, her face buried against my side. Lane looked at me over his shoulder as they led him toward the cruiser. There was blood on his lip, already swelling, but his expression wasn’t angry anymore.

“Are you okay, baby?” he said, breathless but steady. My throat burned with unshed tears. I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure that was true.

Dawton was still struggling, cursing loudly as another officer forced him into the back of a second car. The doors slammed almost in unison. And just like that, the parking lot fell quiet again—except for Sawyer’s soft, shaky breathing and the fading echo of sirens as everything spun completely out of control.

The police station felt too bright, like the lights were trying to find every lie but couldn’t quite manage it. My mother had taught me to be wary of police stations. I hovered around the corner, my shoulder pressed against the wall, peeking out despite knowing I shouldn’t.

I could see Lane.

He sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, a smear of dried blood on his cheek. His hands looked worse—red, split, and swollen. He’d gotten hurt. This was bad; a college scout was coming to watch him play next week. The front doors opened, and I didn’t need to see who it was to know.

“Unbelievable.” His dad’s voice carried, sharp and controlled. I shrank back a little, but not enough to lose sight of Lane.