“She caught me at the coffee shop while I was taking a break earlier,” Ron admitted.

Terri quietly slipped up behind Morgan, kissed him on the cheek and then slipped into the chair next to her husband.

“Morgan, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral. The twins were out sick… I hope Ron told you. I was so sorry to hear about your dad. He was a great guy, and this town will miss him.”

“That’s fine, Terri. Thank you. Ron would have said something… but I was having a bit of a breakdown. Brianna came to the funeral.”

Terri reached across the table and took Morgan’s hand. The two of them had been friends since kindergarten and couldn’t have been closer if they were siblings. There was never a romance between them; he wasn’t her type. Harley was her first boyfriend. He was a big guy. The football coach had been pursuing him for a couple of years before Harley finally put his foot down and said he had no interest in games. Terri was a perfect match for him in those days. Harley was six-two, and she was five-eleven.

Ron had grown into himself soon after high school, as did Morgan. Morgan had been a skinny six-foot, while Ron was a couple of inches shorter and a few pounds lighter. Ron bulked up a little and gained a little more of a dad-bod over the following few years, while Morgan had remained trim but added a lot of muscle. Aside from his daily running, he also maintained a workout of push-ups, sit-ups and pull-ups. He had even done a couple of triathlons, although he really didn’t like the biking.

“I heard she is in town helping with her mom. As I recall, her dad isn’t in great shape, either. Anyway… what’s this I’ve heard about you being engaged?” Terri asked.

“Yeah… not so much anymore. Ophelia and I broke it off a week ago.”

“What happened? Your mom said you were doing really well,” Terri said.

“Subjects not to talk about for two-hundred, Alex,” Ron cracked.

Morgan nodded to his friend and shot him a thumbs up.

“Actually, I am doing well, though. I’m just doing well without Ophelia. Business has been good, although luckily I had a little break and didn’t have to rearrange things. I just finished a long shoot for the Forestry Advisory Council. I spent two months on the road shooting landscapes in forests that had been harvested. Before that, I had a bunch of shorter trips shooting power plants. But… the travel I was doing probably sped up the impending clash between Ophelia and me.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Terry said.

Morgan decided the cat was already out of the bag, so he regaled them in the whole story as they ate their dinner. He had gained just enough separation that he could tell most of it with a straight face, although there were more than a few times Terri unconsciously slid her hand across the table to Morgan’s to lend him moral support.

“I’m a little shocked you and Harley didn’t end up together,” Morgan said across the table.

“Jeez, Cap… I’m right here,” Ron laughed.

“All Harley ever wanted was to go into the Army. I really did love him, though. I knew even when we were dating in high school it wouldn’t last. But Ronny…”

“If you promise to stop calling me Ronny, you can go back to telling my lifelong friend how you were really in love with someone else… that’s a fair trade,” Ron joked, pretending to be offended.

“Stop, Ron,” Terri said with a smile. She leaned over and kissed him. “You know you are my soulmate. Harley was just practice for a real relationship with you. Anyway… when Harley left, Ron and I started hanging out, and I realized how much I really liked him. Despite the way he looks, he really is sweet.”

“Don’t forget the orgasms… lots of orgasms,” Ron said, trying to defend himself.

“That’s right… he has lots of orgasms.”

“Not what I meant,” Ron said with a joking pout.

“TMI, both of you. I’d rather not have to deal with a visual of that for the rest of my life,” Morgan said, waving for another round of margaritas. “I really am happy that you two found each other. And you seem really happy.”

Just after the next round of drinks was delivered, the waitress cleared the dishes they were finished with, then set down a dessert.

“We didn’t order this, Adrienne,” Terri said to the young waitress.

“Yeah… it’s from a woman over at the bar. She said she was a friend of yours.”

“Not a friend,” Morgan said after glancing back where the waitress pointed.

He pulled out his wallet and dropped enough cash on the table to cover the whole bill and tip, then rose from his seat. “That’s my cue. You guys can pick up the next one. It’s been great catching up.” He downed his drink and turned toward the door. As he briskly walked toward the door, Terri and Ron saw Brianna move from the bar to follow him.

“You look fine; makes me think of Easter. You hated wearing suits when you were little, too,” his mother whispered, stealing his thoughts.

“Morgan, don’t you have a few words to say about your father?” the minister asked, pulling him back into the present.

He rose and started walking to the dais at the front of the church, pulling his notes from his inside pocket as he walked. He climbed the three steps toward the altar, passing his father in the casket. He looked down at his old man, and noticed he looked just like he was sleeping. Peaceful.

Turning and looking out over the assembled mourners, he saw the church was full. It wasn’t surprising. His father had been well-liked, in addition to having lived his entire life in the small town. He’d been a deacon in this very church, and counselled prisoners at the penitentiary a few miles down the road. He had volunteered for Junior Achievement and Scouts, even after Morgan was past both of those programs. He’d been everywhere, which Morgan thought quite impressive for a man that was seldom awake after eight each the evening.

“My father was a rock…” he began. He glanced down at his notes and found it easy to expound on the man he had revered, but never wanted to emulate. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect his father… he respected his father more than words could convey. But his father had never wanted more than to live on his block and make that spot a better place. That was an enviable goal, but Morgan had wanted nothing more than to get away from that same block and never come back. And he had always felt the need to prove himself worthy… of what or to whom, he didn’t know.

Halfway through his notes, as he was scanning the crowd assembled in front of him, his gaze settled on one person. He couldn’t shake her. He couldn’t look away. If the reasons he wanted to leave his hometown were a constellation, she was the dark star at its center. Brianna Taylor Owen, his personal tormentor. She was thirteen years old when she decided to make the remainder of his life a living hell, and she lived that dream for five years, until he finally succeeded in running away. He was eighteen and she had just turned seventeen when he pulled out of town the last time.

After their eyes locked, he realized he stopped talking mid-sentence. He was lost in his notes, and the knot in the pit of his stomach told him his time in the spotlight needed to end. He could feel the blood draining from his face… and his brain. His knees felt weak, and he wasn’t sure if he would pass out or puke first, but he was sure both were coming. He’d had a couple of panic attacks before, but that last time he’d felt like this, the same players were on the field.

The very last time he saw Brianna involved him getting beaten up by Chad Owen and a couple of his friends. She flagged him down as he started his drive out of town, and two minutes later he was struggling to crawl back behind the wheel. He could still hear the guys that beat him down laughing as they walked away, Brianna already sitting in the front seat of Chad’s car.

He tried to quickly walk down the steps but stumbled. One of the few people in town he considered a real friend, Ron King, literally caught him before he face-planted on the carpet runner heading back between the pews.

“I got you, Cap,” he said quietly, discreetly steadying Morgan on his feet. A second later the two men, who hadn’t laid eyes on each other in a couple years, were headed back down the aisle as the minister called up the next person on the list to eulogize Milton Wilton.

“You ok?” Ron whispered, as they cleared the outer door.

As if in answer, Morgan turned his head away and launched a stream of vomit into the shrub next to the church. Then another. As his body curled up to deliver the third load, he collapsed into his friend’s arms.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Ron said. “Let’s get you somewhere to sit down. Here… lean against the building for a second and I’ll get you a chair.”

Ron disappeared through the doors and reemerged a moment later with a folding chair. He flipped it out next to Morgan, and then helped him sit down.

“I thought I lost you in there when you saw Brianna, man. You froze. It was like tenth grade all over again. I haven’t seen her in probably five or six years. She’s probably still evil. Damn if she doesn’t look good, though.”

A split-second before the impact she’d seen the truck speeding toward them. The headlights were off, and her alarm bells were on. She had reached up and hugged her arms around herself as the impact happened around her. She was thrown toward the driver’s side of the car and then thrust back into the side curtain airbag which had deployed.

That was when she had blacked out, flopping uncontrollably around the back of the car, only restrained by her seatbelt. The result was that she had hurt her right ankle and arm, as well as slammed the right side of her head into the back of the front seat or something… she wasn’t sure what.

In addition to having a hard time walking, she had a terrible headache and every once in a while, her vision would go double.

“Cory, I have to slow down. I think I have a concussion. My head is pounding, and I can’t see well… even with my glasses.”

Cory stopped and turned back toward her. He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. He shined it in her eyes as she winced. “I’m not sure. I need to get a better look at your eyes. Do you have any painkillers in here?” he asked, pointing to her purse.

She fished out a couple of ibuprofens and dry-swallowed them. “I can’t keep this up,” she said.

“Hopefully we only need to go two blocks, Jen. I might have friends there.”

“And if you don’t?”

“I’ll figure something out. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Jenny struggled to stand up again, this time allowing Cory to give her some support. She closed her eyes and let him lead her away.

The pain was immense as she limped along with him. Stepping on her right ankle sent a stabbing pain up her leg but having him holding her arm over his shoulder kept a constant throb there, too.

“A hundred steps,” she muttered to herself. “Ninety-nine, ninety-eight…” She decided to count it out… She concentrated on counting down the steps. Two minutes later she hit zero and started over, her head starting to spin.

“What are you doing?” Cory asked.

She told him.

“Six-hundred-fifty-seven,” he replied.

She went back to counting but used his number as a starting point.

It took ten minutes, but she hit zero. She looked around as they walked. She started counting up.

“What number are you on?” he asked her.

“Forty-eight… I am on the way back up.”

“Sorry, I didn’t adjust my calculation for your hurt ankle.”

He led her into a seedy looking bar. The “open” light was not lit, but the door was unlocked. It was darker inside than it had been outside, lit only by a few neon lights advertising beer. Oddly, she thought, it didn’t have the stale smoke smell she expected.

As her eyes started to adjust, she noticed that there were half a dozen people scattered around. She closed her eyes to try to get them to adjust some more.

“FireFly? Is that you?” a woman’s voice rang out from behind the bar.

“Marj, I’m glad to see you,” he said.

As Jenny opened her eyes again, she felt a strong woman all but lifting her off Cory. “Shit, you get jumped? I need to call the police,” she said as she helped Jenny to a chair.

“No… no cops. We just need a little help,” Cory said quietly.

One of the other people in the bar moved over to the door and peered out before closing and locking it. Another came over and started looking at Jenny’s ankle. He had started toward Cory first, but he had waived him off to check Jenny first.

“It’s ok,” he said, his voice friendly, but as rough as a bucket of coarse gravel. “I was a medic for twenty years. I’m a friend of FireFly… Cory. I just want to get a look at it.”

He glanced up at her as he knelt in front of her. He had a couple of nasty scars under his eye, one slicing across his sharp nose. His short sleeve shirt showed off well-muscled arms, sleeved with tattoos.

“My name is Mike, or you can call me Aqua. I’d need an x-ray to confirm, but I think you rolled it pretty hard,” he said, moving up to look at her shoulder. “That’s a hell of a bruise, young lady…”

“Jenny… my name is Jenny…”

“That’s a hell of a bruise, Jenny.” He held a finger in front of her face, “Follow my finger with your eyes. Don’t move your head.” She did as instructed.

He turned back to the guys sitting at the table he’d been at a minute before, “Clear the pool table, then help me get Jenny up there.”

Without hesitation they did as they were asked. She felt the chair she was in tip back and they gently slipped her from it to the table and arranged her. One of the guys grabbed his jacket and folded it up to use as a pillow.

The woman that was talking with Cory came over and hopped up on the pool table next to her. Even in the dim room, Jenny could see her bright eyes peering down at her. “Cory told me what happened, Jenny. You’re safe here. These guys will make sure, ok?”

Jenny nodded. She didn’t know why, but she trusted this woman, Marj. She was in control. The few patrons of the bar that were still here looked rough. Both the men and the women… bikers maybe. Of the four men, three had beards. Two of them looked like they could be in ZZ Top. There were three women, Marj, and two that had been sitting with the guys. She wouldn’t have wanted to get in a fight with any of them.

“Jenny,” Cory said as he hopped up onto the pool table on the opposite side of her from Marj, “these are friends of mine. They’ll help us get to the field.” He winced as Mike… Aqua… squeezed his knee.

One of the women had walked into the back… maybe the kitchen… and returned a few moments later with a big bag. She handed it to Mike and then knelt beside him to offer her help. She deftly opened the bag and pulled out some alcohol wipes and started cleaning up Cory’s knee. Mike followed that up by turning on his flashlight and looking it over. He reached into the bag, without looking, and pulled out a pair of forceps. He started digging around in Cory’s knee as he winced.

Jenny thought she was going to throw up when he pulled a jagged piece of metal from her friend’s knee. How could he walk on that, much less carry her? she thought. She shook her head and looked away as Mike pulled out a needle and thread and began to stitch up the wound.

As she lay back, the spinning in her head slowed. She wanted to get up, but she didn’t want to let the spinning take control again.

***

“What is this place?” Jenny asked Mike.

“The Vulgar Parrot. It belongs to Marj and her husband, Pete “Parrot” Alger. A lot of the guys from the squad have hung out here over the years, including FireFly. I served with him as a Medic. Amanda, the woman that was helping me, is my wife. She’s also a trauma nurse. The other woman over there is Mary. She’s an attorney. The guy next to her is her husband, Stutz. The other two guys at the table are Ringo and Doozie.”

“How long have you known Cory?” she asked.

“Nine years… when he joined the team. He’s a great guy. He cares a lot for you.”

“He come by to talk about me or something?” she asked.

“Nothing like that. He stops in and hangs around with us a couple times a year. A few years back he mentioned the woman he was guarding. You, obviously. Then he told a couple of us about you going with him when he told his parents. That was really big for him, you know.”

“So, you guys know?” she asked.