The Failing Hours

Rex Gunderson is just setting another pitcher of beer on the high-top table when I trail Violet on her way to the bathroom in that sexy baby blue dress, stare at those pale legs, her heels clicking down the short, narrow hallway at the back of the bar.

I relax when she opens the door to the restroom, disappearing inside, but stiffen when I see some tall preppy dude waltz toward the bathrooms. Walk to the wall. Lean up against the black painted bricks like he’s waiting for someone.

For Violet?

Hell no. Fuck. That.

“Hey Daniels, what was the name of that one chick you—”

I raise my hand to stop him from talking.

“No,” I cut him off.

He looks confused. “Just real quick, I’m trying to win a bet here. What was the name of that girl you—”

“Shh!” Jesus Christ. “Shut the fuck up for a second, Gunderson.”

I watch, transfixed, when the preppy guy pulls a phone out of his pocket and checks his screen while he waits. Slides it back into his pocket.

The women’s bathroom door opens and Violet emerges, straightening the hemline of her pretty dress. She sees him, gives a start, expression friendly—she doesn’t know he’s been standing there waiting for her. There’s also just enough light in the hallway for me to see her mouth move, lips forming the words, “Excuse me.”

She attempts to sidestep around him.

He doesn’t let her.

That stupid fuck.

I straighten, slamming my beer glass down on the table.

Arms drop to my side.

Flex my fingers.

“Daniels man, what’s the name of—” Gunderson tries again. Oz grabs him by the arm, pulling him back, creating a wide berth; the parting of the crowd of friends affords me a better view of Violet and Preppy Fuck.

He blocks her retreat again, arm braced on the wall next to her head. Lowering my eyes, I see her slender fingers wringing nervously.

When he boxes her completely in? I’ve had more than enough.

He is a dead man.

I stride toward the bathrooms, eyes trained on one person only.

Violet.

It takes me thirty long-ass steps to reach her.

Fifteen long seconds to shove my way through this insanely packed bar.

I counted.

I don’t mince words when I’m finally standing in front of them. Violet’s narrow shoulders sag in relief at the sight of me, and I swear I get taller by a few inches.

Posture.

“This guy bothering you, Violet?” I look her dead in the eyes, not sparing the douchebag a single glance.

“I-I think I’ve g-got it handled, Zeke. I-It’s f-fine.” She lifts a trembling hand, running it down the back of her hair, but she can’t hide the fact that her stutter is back and it’s bad.

My guard goes up.

Everything is not fine, so why would she stand there and say it was?

“Yeah.” The guy backing her into the corner smiles, his overly whitened teeth glowing under the hall lights. “She’s got it handled bro. It’s fine.”

I want to yank the asshole by the collar of his pink polo shirt and sucker punch him in his arrogant fucking face.

“Things don’t look fine, Violet. It looks like he has you pinned to the wall and is harassing you.”

I dare them both to deny it.

Violet can’t find the words, and the douche looks me up and down, lip curling, recognition drawing his face into a delighted grin. He obviously knows who I am—not hard when there’s billboard of me plastered on the side of the university’s field house.

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

“No.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do.”

“Pretty sure you don’t, but we’re about to get to acquainted real quick if you don’t back the fuck off and leave her alone.”

“What are you, her boyfriend?”

My jaw clenches. “Does it matter?”

He raises his palms in a show of surrender, like he’s the good guy here and I’m the piece of shit. “Look pal, why don’t you back off. Violet and me? We’re good. She’s safe. You can leave the stuttering freak with me. I just wanna talk to her.”

Um…

What?

“What the fuck did you just say?” I utter the words so quietly, so venomously and deliberately slow. Violet inches farther into the cinderblock wall behind her.

The preppy assfuck takes a step forward. “I said back off, dude.”

I shake my head slowly. “No, no, the other part.”

“You can leave her with me?”

“No.” I grind out between clenched teeth. “The other part. You know what I’m fucking talking about, so say it. Fucking. Say. It.”

He smirks. “Stuttering freak?”

“Yeah.” I rub my chin. “That part, you motherfucking piece of shit.”

I lift my hands so they’re illuminated under the dim light above us and he looks down, tracking my movements, staring at my open palms with wide eyes. “See these hands?” I ask, closing my palms into fists. “They are three seconds away from pounding the piss out of you.”

“Zeke—” Violet tries to cut in, but I cut her off.

“What’s it going to be asshole? Are you going to walk away, or am I going to take these fists and smash them into your face?”

“Zeke!” Violet gasps out a sob. “P-P-Please.”

The guy looks back and forth between us, trying to decide what our relationship is, internally debating about how strong I actually am. If he can take me in a fight. How far he can push and push before I knock him on his ass.