My father used to say there’s no rest for the wicked. That’s primarily because it was true.

And I was plenty wicked.

Not even a full two days after being back home, I had to disappear off to make a press appearance with the rest of the band. We were going to be interviewed and placed in a bit part for an upcoming summer film.

Apparently, the director was a big fan.

He’d written this scene where we were performing onstage at a concert for the protagonists. We were more a set piece than anything, but even I couldn’t turn down the opportunity.

I hated the idea of dragging Angel along, though. After all, she’d been trapped in the back of a bus for the tail end of our nation-wide tour.

I felt she could probably use the rest.

When I pitched this promo to her, she agreed.

“It’s only a couple of days, right? Would it be okay if I just relax down here? Go have fun, and I’ll be waiting for you when you come back…”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I smiled wickedly, climbing across the couch to kiss her deeply.

But I had to get my rest that night, since I was hopping a plane at 4 in the fucking morning.

Instead of tearing her apart in bed, I got a halfway decent night’s sleep.

She was still curled up beside me, sleeping away, when I kissed her goodbye on the forehead.

“I love you,” she murmured quietly.

I paused.

What?

She rolled over, deep in sleep, and I was left to deal with what that meant to me…what it meant for us.

Oddly?

I wasn’t bothered with the idea. In fact…

Hearing it cemented something in my head.

Something strong.

Something we could build a foundation from.

I whispered loving words in her ear, watching a dopey, slumbering smile cross her lips.

With that, I quietly slunk downstairs and picked up my packed bags, stepping out the door. Locking it tight, I threw my shit into the trunk of my car and gunned it for the airport.

It had apparently rained overnight. The streets were slick with overlooked rain; the reflections of the streetlamps so late in the morning gave the roads an otherworldly glow.

I liked it.

Lights, rising from the darkness.

Reflected in all that was here.

It suited me.

I dropped the car off at a private lot near the airport, handed the keys to the valet, and strolled towards my destination with my suitcase in hand.

My chucks splashed indiscriminately through my own reflection in the puddles.

The night was cool, and greatly refreshing. A light mist hung around from the passing of the rain. After so much time on the bus, it was nice to have this rejuvenation in the air.

“Hey, bud.”

I growled inwardly.

Someone was nearby…

But I couldn’t tell where he was.

“Bud. Talkin’ to you.”

There.

Some tall, lanky guy in dark rags was loitering in the shadows just ahead. Hanging out near the airport. Stepping out from the dark to confront me. Looking for easy prey.

He thought that I fit that bill.

I almost laughed.

“Your wallet and your phone,” he growled, flicking out a particularly vicious switchblade.

I continued walking up, and he took a step towards me. As he saw that I wasn’t going to comply, he assessed me briefly, deciding that I was somehow bluffing in my confidence.

Fucking strung-out junkie.

I was half a foot taller and a lot broader.

“Stop,” he growled again.

“Fuck off,” I replied coolly.

He was tense.

Probably wasn’t used to this.

Criminals lacking imagination never know what to do when people don’t act according to plan. It’s early in the morning, the roads are deserted, and he has a knife.

The plan says, the victim stops.

The victim is terrified.

But me?

Hah.

I am, sure as shit, no goddamned victim.

The downside is that this tends to make a tweaked-out thief like him unpredictable. When the script in his head goes awry, even he doesn’t know what he’s gonna do, half the time.

Two choices:

Back down.

Strike.

But I had this guy pinned, and I knew exactly what he was gonna do. As he jumped forward with the knife, I easily sidestepped him. Channeling my momentum into a wide swing, I brought my suitcase up in a sharp arc.

He whirled back around to face me, but the case connected with his head, throwing him off balance and against a nearby building. As he reeled from the blow, I dropped the case to the side, stepping forward to try and tightly grasp his wrist.

Surprisingly, the fucker was agile.

He dodged my grip and slipped to the side, lashing out with the blade in an unpredictable volley of jabs.

We were back to square one.

Only this time…we were both ticked off.

“Couldn’t make it easy, could ya?” He grumbled. “Just had to go and make this a fucking mess, didn’t ya? You piece of shit!”

“Go the fuck home,” I commanded him.

He merely grit his teeth, taking a ridiculous defensive stance. His blade still stood at the ready, catching just the slightest bit of light.

Nobody else was out here.

It was just him and me.

“The wallet, and your phone,” he repeated.

Out of my peripheral, I took in my surroundings…and a dangerous but workable idea formed in my head.

“Go to Hell,” I grinned.

With a snarl, the bastard lunged again.

I was ready. I dodged out of the way, carefully planting my sneakers against the ground. He whipped around and whirled towards me again, but I jumped backward and gave his strike no purchase. His desperate lunge put him off balance. Out of control…

He was right where I wanted him, lined up to be on the receiving end of one solid punch. A certain satisfaction rolled through me as I connected.

I watched him clutch at his gut as he stumbled back from the blow, but he managed to maintain his grip on the switchblade. Carefully but swiftly, I delivered a kick to his head before throwing my weight into a shoulder tackle, pinning him by the chest up against the wall as I scrambled to get control of his arm.

Persistent fucker that he was, the switchblade was still in play, but he couldn’t maneuver it with my grip. I twisted his arm round into a submission worthy of my wrestling days back in school.

“Drop it,” I growled.

He chose to spit into my face…

So I broke his arm.

He screamed, finally relinquishing the blade to the wet concrete as he fell to his knees, I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

“Wrong time for this shit,” I told him. “I just came home with a girl who makes me crazy and now I have to leave her for a few days. Unlucky for you, I was already pissed off. I ever catch you on the streets again, I’ll break a whole lot more than that arm…”

I let go of him, and he curled up against the slick ground. The junkie probably wasn’t even listening to me through the sobbing and the pain.

I pitied him, almost.

Not enough to feel bad for him.

But enough to whip out my phone and call the police. I waited a couple of minutes as a cruiser pulled up, the officers dragging him off the pavement and throwing him into the back seat. I recounted what had happened as quickly as I could. With this minor detail to my night over, I bid the officer goodbye and nonchalantly lifted my suitcase back up from the ground. I had a flight to catch.

As I continued walking up to the airport, I wondered why I even bothered. A month ago, I would have left him there on the street to rot away, broken arm and all. Wouldn’t be the first time… My past was full of dark alleys and fights I had no business winning.

He had dared to challenge me.

Dared to try and overwhelm me.

And he had paid the price.

As I walked through the revolving door into the international airport, I realized that I had been changing. It had been so subtle, but I felt… different. I felt like I was becoming something more, maybe, as weird as that sounded.

I felt like a better man.

All because of that girl.

All because of Angel.