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Though Bick and Bront built the ring around Nico, Scott had been off to the side talking to Deacon. Or more like pacing while Deacon talked to him, looking like he was offering words of wisdom. Scott looked like he wanted no part of the talk, like he was a caged predator about to be set free. He had pent up emotions that he was ready to unleash.
“Timer’s set. I hit go once you’re in the ring, Scoot,” Brady called out loud enough for us all to hear. Scott immediately moved inside the ring, and I clipped the rope across to cage them in.
“You step back when you’re ready before the timer ends, or no later than the second the timer ends. No exceptions,” Brady explained.
Scott was moving in Nico’s direction, and he was doing it ready to swing.
Nico had a good four inches of height and at least fifty pounds on him, but that didn’t stop Scott from hammering his fist into Nico’s face three times in quick succession the minute he was in striking distance. Brady called out, ‘Go’, belatedly.
Nico was built like a beast; the size difference was considerable enough you’d think Nico might hardly feel Scott’s hits. Yet the power behind Scott’s, fuel-raged hits – it could be heard and seen what with the instant swelling and blood spewing out of Nico’s lip and nose.
And true to his word, he stood there and didn’t raise a hand. He went back on his foot and wobbled after the second hit. He grunted with the pain of the third.
Scott pulled his fist back again, and after the forth hit, this one to the gut and with even more power behind it, Nico folded in, then landed on his ass.
He shakily got up while Scott paced, rubbing his fist with his other hand, blowing out angry, amped breaths.
“More?” Nico offered.
Scott growled in his face.
Nico turned his head to the side and spit out blood, then invited, “Do it, brother; I can take it. Give me more.”
Scott got an inch from his face, growling like a feral animal about to go off some more.
And then Nico said, “I’m sorry, man. Really fuckin’ sorry.”
Scott let out a sound of anger that could mean he was about to do more damage, unleash the rest of his fury, hit until he couldn’t swing any more, maybe go at Nico until his hand was broken or we had to pull him off. The rest of us stayed where we were, eyes glued to Scott, and probably most of us thinking about how we’d feel if we were in Scott’s shoes. I know that’s where my head was.
He needed this. He needed a place to spew the rage at enduring that, knowing that this guy that was there witnessing him being ass-raped on the side of the road, the guy that held him down while it happened to him was someone he’d have to work alongside, play alongside. Break bread with. Possibly put his life in the hands of as well as vow to have that man’s back going forward.
I didn’t know if I could work, laugh, play, and feel at home with a man who’d been part of that. Would beating him to a pulp be enough?
I might have to walk away from the offer of the patch, walk away from the life I’d worked hard to have.
Scott pulled his fist back one more time, huffing, breathing fire.
Nico waited. Swaying. Bleeding.
Scott stood ready, aiming, for a long minute before he unclenched his fist and instead extended his hand for a handshake instead.
Nico took it and shook. And then Nico went down on his knees, blood dripping onto the floor, feeling whatever he was feeling, letting out a long exhale, before muttering, “Brother.”
Scott stared down at him, chest rising and falling with big breaths of his own.
Nico looked up at Scott’s face, “Anything you need from me ever, brother. Anything. Yeah?”
Scott flexed his hand.
Nico continued. “Loan you money if I have it when you need it, drive you to the airport, help you move, a babysitter, bone marrow or a fuckin’ kidney, it’s yours.”
Scott continued to breathe heavily for a minute, eyes on Nico.
“It’s done,” Scott forced out and then helped Nico to his feet. Nico slapped him on the back.
Scott stretched his hand out again wincing with the pain.
As they moved toward the red rope, I unclipped it to let them out. And then I helped Bick and Bront disassemble it as Deke passed each man a bag of ice and damp towel.
By the time Bick and Bront were back from putting it away, Nico had cleaned the blood off his face and Scott had his back to the wall while he downed rum straight from a bottle.
“Right, boys. We ready to vote on Scott Harrison getting his patch?” Deke called out.
