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But at the same time, I can’t stand the thought of Weston getting himself hurt to defend my honor.
To really defend it.
Not like the lie Kennedy told.
I walk over.
The man is just staring at Weston with a stupid smirk on his face as if goading him on to do something, as the three others spread out behind him like they’re getting ready for violence.
“Stay out of this, little lady,” the man says as I approach, then he sneers. “Or maybe I shouldn’t say little.”
Weston takes another step forward, the muscles of his broad back pressing through his shirt as if, any second, he’s going to explode out of the tee and erupt into pure feral violence.
“Weston,” I say urgently. “Just leave it.”
He glances at me quickly as though he thinks the men are going to leap at him if he gives them a chance. His expression is tight, his eyes blazing with protective impulses.
It’s like he’s silently reminding me of his promise.
To protect me.
“You don’t get to speak about her like that,” Weston says, keeping his voice calm.
“Oh yeah?” The man chuckles. “And what are you going to do about it? Your gym muscles don’t scare me, you motherfucker. You don’t get to come to our neighborhood acting all tough just because you’ve been in a few flicks.”
The man’s words are having an effect on his friends, the three of them exchanging glances. I get the sense they’re used to violence, that they’re ramping up to something terrible and mean, and they’re willing to take this to the next level.
Stepping forward, I place my hand on Weston’s arm.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
“Will you shut up, you fat….”
At the word fat – the insult stabbing into me, making me feel suddenly silly in this dress, grateful for the coat covering me – Weston leaps at him.
Weston shoves the man in the chest.
The man stumbles back into his friends.
“You’re going to apologize for that,” Weston says, his voice trembling, even as he struggles to keep it calm.
The man tilts his head, a sick grin on his face. “Is that right? That was some real pussy shit right there. Pathetic little shove.”
“Go on, then.” Weston spreads his hands. “Show me how a real man fights.”
I yell when the man leaps at Weston, his three friends following him, all of them converging on Weston like they’re about to kill him.
Instincts send me back, a coward’s part of me getting me away from the violence, as I wonder what to do, who to call, or if I should call anyone.
And what this so-called anyone would be able to do when they finally arrive?
The cops take ages to arrive in this neighborhood.
The man swings in a wide loop, aiming for Weston’s face, but then Weston ducks and punches him firmly in the chest.
Suddenly, I know the first shove was purposefully weak, a way to start the fight… but nowhere near my future husband’s real power.
The man gasps as he falls to the ground, and then the other three men leap at Weston, fists flying, spitting, raging.
I scream, “Look out.”
But Weston doesn’t care as the fist clashes with the side of his head. He takes the punch and then spins away, catching one man’s fist and wrenching his arm violently, throwing him against one of his friends.
Both men collapse, leaving the third to raise his hands and back away.
“Get out of here,” Weston roars.
The men scatter, and then Weston grabs the leader by the back of the leather jacket, hauling him to his feet.
“I told you, you were going to apologize,” he growls, giving the man a shake. “You don’t talk about my woman. You don’t get to try and make her feel small. Nobody has that right.”
The man is gasping, struggling to suck in enough air as Weston drags him over to me.
“Some friends,” Weston snaps as they run down the street, not even stopping to look back.
Weston gives the man another shake.
“Tell her you’re sorry. Or this is going to get a whole lot worse for you.”
“I’m… I’m s-sorry,” the man says, his words breathy.
“Why did you do it?” I ask, looking at him firmly, seeing all the bullies who ever insulted me. “I don’t get it. We minded our own business. Why get involved? Why say that? Why try to hurt my feelings?”
A sneer tries to touch the man’s lips.
Weston spots it and gives him another violent shudder.
“Answer her.”
When I hear the fire in my man’s voice, I know nothing bad will ever happen to the kids or me. The kids… It’s as if they’re already here, and the future has collapsed beautifully right into the present.
He’ll never let anybody walk all over me.
With my Weston, those days are behind me.
“I don’t know,” the man whines. “I just… what do you want me to say? I thought it was funny.”
