One Man

The Bennetts

Mrs. Bennett took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay composed even as her fingers curled into fists.

“Well, I’m sure that bastard played a trick on you,” she said, her voice sharp, “there were probably other people he had set up outside the bar, just waiting for you to step out so they could attack you. You walked right into it.”

“Actually…” Ryan began, his voice trailing off.

He knew the truth. There hadn’t been a group of men hiding in the dark. No one had jumped out from behind the bar, no ambush. It had just been the two of them. Every hit, every blow, every fist that split his lip and sent him reeling had come from one man.

But pride, call it stubbornness, call it the need to hold on to some sense of control, kept him from admitting it. He wasn’t ready to confess that his father’s bastard had done this much damage to him alone. Not yet.

So Ryan nodded slowly, keeping his eyes down.

“Yes,” he said, forcing the words out. “You’re right. He had two other men waiting