The Confrontation
718 Words
Ethan’s POV
We headed toward the riverfront, where the warehouses slept half-empty and the streetlights worked only when they felt generous. Amelia’s stride was quick, angry, certain; the heels of her boots hit the concrete like a metronome of fury.
She didn’t speak until we turned the last corner. They hang around the back of Murphy’s Garage. Two of them, maybe three.
You sure you want to do this tonight?
She shot me a look. You think I’m letting them touch my brother again?
I didn’t answer. She didn’t need my permission; she needed backup.
The alley behind Murphy’s was a slice of darkness between brick walls. Music bled faintly from a bar down the street, but here the only sound was wind and the distant hum of traffic. A couple of figures were leaning against the loading dock, smoke curling around them.
Amelia stepped out of the shadows before I could stop her. We need to talk.
The taller one, skinny, restless, probably nineteen, grinned. If it isn’t Hart’s little sister. You bring the cash?
No, she said. You’re not getting another dollar until you explain why you beat up a kid.
He laughed. Kid owed us. Debt’s a debt.
He owed you five hundred, not his ribs.
The second man flicked away his cigarette. What’s it to you? You're gonna pay for it for him?
I said he’ll pay, she snapped. You’ll get your money when I say so.
That was Amelia, all nerve and no fear. I should have admired it, but all I could think of was how close she was standing.
When the taller one moved a step forward, I followed. She said You’ll get your money. Back off.
He looked me up and down, smirked. Who’s this? Your boyfriend?
Walk away, I told him.
He didn’t. He took another step instead, enough to make Amelia’s shoulders tense. My hand went to her arm, gentle, ready to pull her behind me if I had to.
She hissed, Don’t, Ethan.
But the guy pushed his luck, shoving her shoulder as he passed. It wasn’t hard, but it was enough. I moved before I thought, catching his wrist and twisting just enough to make him yelp.
I said Walk away.
The alley froze for a second. Then the other man cursed and dragged his friend back. Fine, fine. Tell your brother we’ll collect next week.
They disappeared into the dark. The sound of their shoes faded until the city swallowed it whole.
Amelia spun on me. What the hell was that?
They were about to touch you.
I had it handled.
Maybe. But you shouldn’t have to.
Her hands were shaking even though her voice wasn’t. You don’t know how this works, Ethan. Guys like that, you don’t show fear. You don’t swing first.
I met her eyes. You didn’t look scared.
I was, she admitted quietly. You just couldn’t see it.
That honesty is small, raw hits harder than any shove.
She stepped past me toward the street, shoulders still tight. Come on. I need air she said.
We walked without talking for several blocks. The city’s noise came back slowly, horns, laughter from a bar, a dog barking somewhere. When we reached a bench near the river, she sat down hard.
You shouldn’t have to do that, she said again. You don’t even know us.
I know enough, I replied.
She looked at me, eyes glinting under the streetlight. Why are you really here, Ethan? You show up out of nowhere, hang around the shop, act like you belong… What are you running from?
The truth almost slipped out. A name. A life. A lie I built myself.
Instead, I said, Maybe I just like being around people who don’t pretend.
She huffed a small laugh. That’s rich, coming from the guy who lies about knowing how to fix a carburetor.
Touché.
Then her expression softened. Thanks for tonight she said with a smile on her face.
You don’t owe me thanks, I answered.
Still. She hesitated, then leaned her shoulder lightly against mine. The contact was brief but enough to make my heart stutter.
You smell like engine oil, I said, trying for a smile.
And you smell like trouble.
Fair trade.
She chuckled, low and tired. Don’t get used to it.
- Writer
