Pride Morphs into Panic

Jake stood there stiff as a board, his face burning with a flush that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with fear. He looked like a kid caught sneaking out after curfew, desperate for a way out but trapped under the weight of every eye in that parking lot.

Nobody stared at him because we were all locked onto McClain. And no, it wasn’t because he demanded it, but because some men carry a presence you can feel in your bones. McClain didn’t move, didn’t gloat. He waited, calm and steady, letting the weight of realization do what no punch ever could.