The music faded as Mason loudly strapped on his expensive gloves. "You should call an
ambulance now," he announced to the crowd, staring right at me. "I'm putting him in the
hospital."
Conversations died. Neighbors froze. Grant stood by a golf cart, grinning approvingly. Sophie
stood up from the curb, her face pale. Mason tossed a spare pair of gloves onto the grass at my
feet. "Put them on, old man." He saw a middle-aged dad in faded jeans. He believed he had found
the perfect target to humiliate.
"You really want to do this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, forcing him to quiet down
to hear me. "You scared?" he sneered. "No," I replied.
I glanced at Sophie and gave her a small nod. It was our silent signal; it meant I was in complete
control. I took off my flannel shirt, folded it neatly over a lawn chair, and stepped onto the grass
in my plain t-shirt. I left the gloves on the ground. I didn't need them.