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Summary
“I’m not,” Eddie swallows, his throat suddenly tight, stepping further into the light. “I’m not going to fight you, Buck.”
Buck doesn’t stand down. When does he ever? He’d look natural here, in this lighting, those clothes, if Eddie didn’t know him so well—he’s in way over his head, hanging with crowds like this, with Eddie when he’s like this—the man he used to be, the man that ran away from his wife and newborn, the man of the deserts. No, Buck doesn’t even blink. He just smiles a fish-hook smile, no lip and all teeth, full of gut. “Then tap out.”