I had no intentions of spilling my dirty laundry at Bryant's feet tonight. There's no way that doesn't come back to bite me in the ass, but I made the mistake of thinking it could possibly talk him out of risking so much for my father. I was wrong. Thing is, Bryant is telling me he has no choice in the matter, and for some inexplicable reason, I believe him.

His delivery is a little too broken down to deny the truth in it, which can mean only one thing. Bryant isn't selling for my dad by choice. My dad has something on him, and my dad's been on a first name basis with blackmail for as long as I can remember.

"What's he have on you?" I ask, knowing without a doubt there's something.

My suspicions are confirmed when Bryant flinches in response to my question.

"He doesn't have anything on me. Some of us need money, and he offered me a way to make it," his words are cavalier, a stark contrast to the tone he used when he told me he had no choice but to protect my dad.

I don't believe this is about money anymore, but if this is a money thing, Bryant needs the money for something desperately. His admission all but told me that.

It's not right. My dad is playing puppet master with Bryant like he has with me my entire life. Thankfully, he's never crossed that line into asking me to have a part in his business, but he's always made it abundantly clear to me he's in charge of my every move.

As opposed to playing any part in protecting the asshole as I am, I know Bryant's wrapped up in this through no fault of his own. He's telling me he had no choice, and the delivery when he said it left me with no doubt, he's telling the truth.

So, that leaves tonight. I may not be able to do anything about the long-term issue here tonight, but I can help make sure Bryant gets out of this particular mess unscathed.

"How can I help?" I ask.

Bryant's eyes widen in surprise.

"You want to help me help him?" Bryant asks.

It's the last thing I want to do, but I do want Bryant safe. I'm sure I'll read into that later, but right now, it's as simple as black and white. He's in trouble, and I want to help him out of it. I nod in response because the lie would taste bitter leaving my mouth.

"What exactly did the texts say? Did they mention anyone by name?" Bryant asks me.

"Jasper told Hartley someone named Baker? tipped him off there'd be a bust," I tell him, hoping I got the name right.

Bryant's eyes widen slightly.

"You're sure that's the name?" Bryant asks sounding alarmed by the possibility.

I shake my head in response.

"I'm pretty sure. Who's Baker?" I ask.

Bryant runs his hands over his face, and groans in frustration.

"I have to call Holland," he groans, sounding as happy about it as I would be in his shoes.

"Who's Baker?" I repeat the question.

"Baker's the chief of police. He's been in your dad's pocket for years," Bryant says, as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

He presses his phone a couple of times, and places it against his ear. I take the opportunity to look around us for the first time to make sure nobody is eavesdropping on this conversation. We walked away from the crowd before we even started this conversation, but there's no harm in making sure.

"Hey, apparently Baker tipped them off," Bryant says, and I can hear my father's shouting through the phone.

I flinch at the familiar sound of his shouting, and when Bryant catches the movement out of the corner of his eye, his face falls into unmasked pity.

"I don't know what to tell you. How would you like me to proceed?" Bryant asks, not sounding at all frightened by my dad's anger.

I don't hear his response, but Bryant hangs up a short while later.

"So?" I ask.

"Said to stay here. He's going to deal with it, but our leaving right now would send up red flags. Chances are, if they knew the cops were coming, they'd reschedule anyway. They likely only showed up tonight to keep an eye on me," Bryant says.

"And that doesn't concern you? I mean, are you the only person they know is for certain on the other side?" I ask him, because by my calculations, he is.

"The only thing they know is that I was involved in that fight. For all they know, I'm just friendly with the guy they jumped. Your father wants me to stay here for the night," Bryant says.

"I bet he does! He's not the one in danger," I say outraged by the mere idea of Bryant staying here right now.

Bryant narrows his eyes at me.

"Keep your voice down," he warns, glancing at the wooded area behind us.

"What're you going to do?" I ask him in a hushed tone.

"Guess I'm going to stay here," he tells me, "you will too if you don't want them thinking this has anything to do with you."

Great. That's just what I need. It's not new to me. I've been dragged into countless situations like this one over the years. My dad has never been able to resist shady business if the price was right. I've always paid the price.

"I wasn't planning on sticking around to begin with. I was going to leave as soon as I talked to you," I tell him.

He frowns at me.

"That's not a good idea," he warns.

"Yeah, well. I came to break up with Ellie in person. I didn't plan on spending the weekend here. I didn't even bring a tent or anything to sleep with," I admit knowing it doesn't matter.

At the end of the day, I'm stuck here—with or without somewhere to sleep tonight.

Bryant appears to being doing some sort of calculations in his head. He's thinking about something fairly hard before finally giving into it.

"You can share my tent," he says, and I'm completely floored.

This isn't something Bryant would normally be offering. In fact, the real Bryant would be laughing his ass off at the thought of me sleeping without any shelter for a night. He'd probably say something about it being good for a spoiled rich kid. This isn't Bryant, and when it dawns on me why he's suddenly willing to bend, I want to punch him more than I ever have in my life.

"I don't want your fucking pity," my tone is murderous.

I bend where he's concerned. I have for years. At first, I wanted to get along with him. When it became clear he had no intentions of allowing that to happen, I let it go, but I've always let most of his bullshit slide. This is the first time he's seeing me this combative, and I'm not sorry for it. I need to be clear with him right now that his knowing about my father's abuse changes nothing between us. I start to storm off because, despite how pissed I am, I know I can't win a fight with him, and I don't particularly want a black eye. Sticking around would ensure me swinging at him, and in turn, I'd end up the one hurting.

I start to walk off, but he grabs me by the arm again. I see black. There's nothing I can do about containing my temper at that point. I take a swing without thinking, but it doesn't connect with anything outside of air. It takes me half a second to realize he dodged my fist, and a couple more seconds to recognize he has me in a bear hug.

"Let go of me, asshole," I shout, even though somewhere in the back of my mind I'm glad he didn't hit me back.

"Quit throwing punches then, asshole," he seethes into my ear.

He's breathing heavily, and so am I. The energy surrounding us is charged with both of our anger. There's no missing his anger in his tone. It's a miracle I'm not nursing a bloody lip at this point. His arms around me are like a brand, and I just want him to release his grip on me at this point. Some of the anger has left my body. I'm still angry at the thought of him pitying me, but I'm not throwing punches angry.

"Fine, just let me fucking go," I shout.

Miraculously, he listens. He takes two steps backwards. At first, his eyes are cautious. We're both breathing heavily. He's looking at me like I'm dirt beneath his feet again, and even though I don't love that he loathes me, I prefer that look to his pity tenfold.

"The fucks wrong with you?" he snaps at me.

I open my mouth to tell him exactly what's wrong with me, but he cuts me off.

"I offer you a place to sleep, and you start throwing punches," he sounds bewildered and pissed at the same time.

"I wasn't throwing punches until you touched me," I seethe.

"You've never tried to hit me in your life. What. The. Fuck. Kyle?" he asks.

"I told you I don't want your pity. Then you offered me a place to sleep tonight. It's a little out of character, and you know it," I snap at him.

He shakes his head in exasperation, and he runs his hands through his hair.

"You're seriously pissed at me for being nice? I'm not pitying you. You're stuck here tonight because you're wrapped up in my shit. I was offering an olive branch, not pity," he glares.

It's safe to say he's pissed, and it becomes even more clear when some of my own anger leaves my body when he explains his offer to me. As the veil of my anger fades, it starts to make sense why he would feel responsible for finding me a place to sleep tonight. Bryant's always been hostile towards me. He's always been a dick, but he's never been outright creul. The guy has lines in the sand he won't cross, and it's clear he's not happy about dragging me into his shit.

It's also clear he's not happy I threw a punch at him, and if I'm honest, I no longer feel too great about it either. Not only was I wrong about his motivation for offering me somewhere to sleep tonight, which also means I was wrong about my reason for wanting to hit him, I also may have annihilated my chances of sleeping in his tent tonight. The alternative is sleeping on the ground, so this is a fairly shitty situation.

His shoulders are rising and falling as he takes angry breaths. I'm impressed and thankful he's not taking a swing at me. I'm also cautious that he still could decide to hit me back. He's not the sucker punch kind of guy, but he is the hit back kind of guy, and his lack of hitting me back is out of character.

"Sorry," I mumble, "I read the situation wrong."

I don't want to be the one apologizing. I'd love for him to be in the wrong like I thought, but at the end of the day, I'm the one who caused this particular drama, and I'm not interested in prolonging it any further.

"You think?" he asks, sounding almost murderous in his anger.

"I'm sorry," I grumble.

He doesn't respond for what feels like an entire minute. I watch as he tries to get control over his temper. Slowly, his breaths start to slow down, and some of the fire leaves his eyes. When he seems relatively calm, he shakes his head.

"Fine, I'm going to go set up our tent," he says before walking away.