The men behind him have the same narrowed mean eyes like they’re getting ready for their troupe leader to tell a cruel joke.
“Look here, fellas,” he says, grinning like a jackal. And a jackass. “It’s not-so-little Tessa Tantrum.”
Even after all this time – with three years and mom’s breakdown separating the nickname – it still stings.
They called me Tessa Tantrum because once when they filled my locker with spiders I went to the principal and complained about them. Apparently, to them, that’s the same as throwing a tantrum.
Derrick went to California to work with his uncle after graduation, I’d heard, but I guess he’s back now.
Back and douchier than ever.
“Well?” he cackles. “Haven’t you got anything to say to an old friend?”
“How about fuck off?” I snap. “Freaking hell, Derrick, high school was a million years ago. Why are you still wearing that stupid jacket?”
“Hey now,” he snaps, taking a few steps onto the lawn. “Don’t talk shit about my jacket. I’m proud of this thing. I’m just joking with ya.”
“I don’t find your jokes funny. I never have. Please just leave me alone.”
“Maybe I was going to ask you out on a date. I can see you’ve kept your… eh, figure.”
The men behind him laugh cruelly, letting me know exactly what he means when he says figure.
“Apologize,” Trent growls, striding across the lawn and stopping a few inches short of Derrick and his pals.
My heart quivers in my chest as Derrick’s lettermen buddies stalk up behind their leader, forming a gang of five around my man. Trent remains still, unfazed, focusing all his attention on Derrick.
“What?” Derrick laughs, looking around with exaggerated movements. “I don’t see any backup, old man. Maybe you ought to sit this one out, eh?”
“Tell her you’re sorry,” Trent says, his voice trembling a tiny bit, but otherwise level and calm, “or I’ll make you.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Derrick says, staring Trent in the eye.
He’s one of the few men tall enough to do that.
Several of his friends too short, grimacing.
“Says the fuckwit who’s still wearing his lettermen jacket three years after high school,” Trent snarls, and a voice inside of me screams at him to stop.
Derrick’s going to attack him. I saw him leap on countless kids in high school, savaging them with his bullying strength. And there’s five of them against Trent.
I know he’s strong and tough and capable, but five against one are bad odds, against anyone.
“You’re really starting to piss me off, old-timer,” Derrick growls. “So back. The fuck. Off.”
He takes a few steps forward, standing toe to toe with Trent now, both of them glaring at each other.
“Please, just calm down everybody,” I say, but it’s like I haven’t even spoken.
The stink of violence tinges the air.
“You have no right to talk to her like that,” Trent snarls. “So say sorry and I’ll let you walk away.”
“Let me? Let me? Fuck this.”
I scream when Derrick throws a right hook at Trent and it strikes him across the face.
Trent takes the blow, turning his face with the impact, and then takes another to the stomach.
Then he laughs.
It comes out like an alpha lion’s roar.
“That was assault,” he says as Derrick winds up for another punch. “Which makes this self-defense.”
Derrick swings at him again and Trent slides back, dodging the punch like he’s moving at light speed.
He punches Derrick in the stomach and then spins as one of Derrick’s goons tries to grab at him.
It all happens so fast, Trent sliding effortlessly between them like he knows exactly what they’re going to do.
He throws one to the ground and then elbows the other in the nose, causing blood to go flying, and then lifts his hands to block a flurry of blows to his face.
I gasp as another man lays into him, but then Trent explodes with three well-aimed punches.
By the time he’s finished, three of the men – including Derrick – are on the ground groaning. The other two apparently have important appointments elsewhere because they hightail it as fast as they can.
Trent grabs Derrick by the back of his lettermen jacket, as though he’s grabbing a dog by the scruff of the neck, and yanks him to his feet.
“Tell her you’re sorry,” he snarls. “Now.”
“What the fuck?” Derrick cries, his voice wavering, cracking with the onset of tears. “There were five of us, man…”
Trent shakes him firmly. “Now.”
Derrick tugs his gaze to me, his eyes watery, as his other two so-called friends abandon him.
“I’m sorry,” he whines. “Okay? Shit. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
I know why he said it. He’s a bully and he hates himself, and the only way he can forget how much he hates himself for a few paltry moments is to make other people feel like that.
“Whatever,” I snap.
Trent stares at me with a message in his intense forest eyes.