“I warned thee,” he said.

“And I’m warning you. You better get this bitch of yours under control before I—”

Gentry grabbed Dane’s elbow and did something to it that made Dane shut up and let go of me immediately. Then he turned and took a swing at Gentry.

They were completely mismatched. Dane was tall and lanky, and Gentry was short and stocky. I would have been afraid for Gentry, because Dane had better reach, but Gentry had a real boxer’s stance, and when Dane swung, Gentry dodged it. I backed way the hell up, because I didn’t want to catch a stray fist, but Gentry never even tried to punch Dane. He plowed into him, his right shoulder in the middle of Dane’s chest, and slammed him into the truck. Dane brought both his hands up, but before he could do anything, Gentry jabbed his left fist into Dane’s side, practically into his back. Both of Dane’s arms went floppy, and Gentry caught him around the waist and lowered him to the ground.

“Oh, damn!” Dirk said, as he ran across the yard. When he got to us, he squatted down and looked into Dane’s face. “I told you, man. I warned you not to mess with him.”

Dane didn’t answer. He was slumped against the truck’s rear wheel with his legs crumpled up under him and his hands limp at his sides. He looked pale and sweaty.

Gentry was shaking his left hand like it hurt, which it probably did. His right hand was in a fist, but not the clench and release he did when he was anxious. Just a loose fist. Turning away, he took a dozen steps across the yard to where the dog had watched the whole thing. The dog came as close as his chain would let him, so they were only a foot apart. Gentry stretched out his left hand. The dog sniffed it for a few seconds and then licked it.

“Gentry,” I said, but he wasn’t listening.

“You all right, bro?” Dirk looked at me. “Shit, he really done him. Right in the liver.”

“Gentry!” I tried again.

Dirk and I got Dane on his feet, and when I put my arm around him, I felt the gun tucked in the back of his belt. I pulled it out and handed it to Dirk. Then we walked Dane over to the front porch and lowered him down to sit on the steps.

“I swear. Here I thought you was the stupid one,” Uncle Alva said to Dirk. “At least you learnt your lesson.”

For a couple minutes, the three of us stood around Dane, but when Gentry walked up, I knew the peace would be over as soon as Dane could get on his feet.

“I’ll call you, Uncle Alva,” I said.

Gentry drove and I looked at Yelp, trying to pick a motel. There were only four in town, and they were all little run-down motor lodges. Thinking about the Fury, who wouldn’t even tell us his name, I picked the motel on the highway south of town. Maybe he wouldn’t like it being so visible on the main road, but in my mind that made it safer. Dane was an asshole, but that didn’t mean he was wrong about the Fury’s intentions.

While Gentry carried our bags into the room, I went down to the ice machine. When I got back, he was pacing up and down, having a conversation with his voices. Clench, release, clench, release. I put some ice into a hand towel, but I had to follow him back and forth a few laps before I got him to stop and take the ice. His hand was swollen but not too banged up. The upside of not punching people in the face. He let me wrap the towel around his knuckles, but then he went back to pacing.

I called Uncle Alva, and while I listened to the phone ring, I felt this sinking dread. What if he’d changed his mind? What if Dane had done something to him?

After about a dozen rings, someone picked up.

“It’s me,” I said, half expecting to hear Dane. Instead, I got thirty seconds of coughing before Uncle Alva spoke. I told him what motel we were at and what room we were in, even though it made me nervous to say it.

“The Fury says he’s coming Saturday, but he don’t know what time. Stay close and keep your phone with you.”

I felt better after I hung up. Not not nervous, because I was nervous as hell, but not as helpless. So much of the time I felt like I couldn’t help anyone, but maybe I could help LaReigne. I didn’t know what to do for Gentry, who was still going up and down. I said his name about ten times, trying to be loud without sounding like I was mad. Finally, he stopped at the foot of the bed where I was sitting.

“Gentry? Are you okay?” Then I tried to say it how he would: “Are you well?”

“I know not, my lady.”

“Does your hand hurt? Do you think you broke something?”

He unwound the wet towel, straightened his fingers, then made a fist.

“Nay,” he said. “But ere this day, I never struck a man in anger.”

“So you learned to box and beat the shit out of people with swords for fun?”

“Lady, ’tis not for amusement but to ready myself for a day I might see battle.” He was looking at his hand, frowning. Not like he’d never punched somebody and hurt his hand, but like hitting Dane was a whole new thing. I got up and took the towel, planning to put some more ice in it.

“Okay, well, think of it this way,” I said. “You saw battle today. Turns out all that practicing paid off. You were prepared.”

He nodded, but there was more pacing, until he finally stopped and pulled his phone out of his pocket. I wanted him to have a distraction from whatever he was thinking about, but I worried about who he was texting.

“You’re not going to tell your parents what I’m doing, are you?” I said.

“Nay, my lady. ’Twould distress my mother, and betray thy trust.”

“Yeah, somehow I don’t think you’re a very good liar.”

He smiled and said, “I am able, when I must. I have lied to thee twice and thou knew it not.”

That cracked me up. I think he expected me to ask what he’d lied about, but two lies? That was a drop in the bucket of the lies men had told me.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” I said.

I planned to take the longest shower in the world, like I never got to take. I was in there for a solid hour and, even though the hot water still hadn’t run out, I finally turned it off. I’d scrubbed everything I had to scrub, washed my hair, sang all the Patsy Cline songs I knew, and my hands were getting pruney. Since I’d turned the bathroom into a steam sauna, I used the motel’s blow-dryer on my hair, hoping it would cut back on the frizz. It was kind of soothing, hanging my head down, the blow-dryer buzzing in my ear, but when I turned it off, I heard how quiet the room was.

“Gentry? Gentry?” No answer. I poked my head out into the room to check on him. He was sitting on the bed, cross-legged, with his hands on his knees, and his eyes closed. Meditating. Or praying. “Gentry?”