The Sanders Sides

31 - The Fight

Patton's smile vanished, replaced by a cold fury that mirrored the ice in Roman's eyes. He'd had enough. Years of pent-up frustration bubbled to the surface, a boiling cauldron threatening to erupt.

His gaze flicked to Roman, a silent plea for support, and when he met his friend's unwavering nod, Patton felt a surge of confidence. This wasn't about dominance or proving himself to Trent; it was about reclaiming his self-respect, about finally putting an end to the cycle of bullying.

He stormed towards Trent, who had shrunk back a couple of steps, his bravado dissipating like smoke. "You wanna pick on me?" Patton challenged, his voice laced with steel. "You picked on all of us growing up, making us the targets of your pathetic jokes. Well, guess what? The tables have turned."

He paused, his gaze raking across Trent's now pale face. "You fight," he declared, his voice ringing with newfound authority. "Me and Roman."

Without waiting for a response, Patton strode towards the equipment rack, his movements purposeful. He grabbed a pair of boxing gloves, the worn leather a stark contrast to his trembling hands. Grabbing another pair, he slammed them onto a nearby table in front of Trent.

"Here," Patton said, his voice tight with barely contained anger. "These are for you. And this," he brandished a waiver in front of Trent's face, "is for you to sign. Saves the school and us the trouble of a lawsuit if you end up in a hospital bed whining about a broken nose."

The air crackled with tension. The playful sparring session with Roman had morphed into something more serious, a potential showdown fueled by years of accumulated resentment. Roman, his own anger simmering beneath the surface, stepped closer to Patton, placing a hand on his shoulder in a silent display of support.

Trent, cornered and outmatched, looked from Patton's fierce gaze to the waiver in his hand. The confidence that had fueled his taunts earlier had evaporated entirely. This wasn't the same scrawny kid he used to bully. This was a man, wounded but resolute, demanding respect.

And for the first time in his life, Trent felt a flicker of fear.

A slow clap echoed through the tense silence, the sound emanating from Roman's gloved hand. His gaze, sharp as a honed blade, landed on Trent.

"Nice try, walking out," Roman said, his voice laced with a dangerous calm. "You started this little charade, Trent. Now you get to see it through."

He gestured towards the waiver Patton held out, his jaw clenched tight. "Sign it. No whining about broken bones or bruised egos if you lose. This is payback for years of torment, and you don't get a choice in the matter."

Patton, his anger a simmering pot threatening to boil over, met Roman's gaze. A silent understanding passed between them, a shared resolve burning bright in their eyes.

"I stand by you," Roman declared, his voice firm. "Let's do this."

He turned back to Trent, his posture radiating an unwavering confidence. "You fight us under our rules," he stated, the words leaving no room for argument. "Got it?"

Trent, trapped like a cornered animal, his face drained of color, stammered. The swagger, the cruel amusement that had fueled his taunts earlier, were gone, replaced by a raw, desperate fear. He darted his gaze between Patton and Roman, the two figures looming over him like avenging angels.

Years of pent-up emotions swirled within Patton. The humiliation, the fear, the helplessness he felt as a child – it all came flooding back, fueling his determination. He wouldn't back down now. Not with Roman by his side.

"Sign it, Trent," Patton repeated, his voice tight with barely controlled fury. "Or walk away with your tail between your legs. But remember, either way, this ends today."