“Kill me?” the guy said, trying to stand and back away.

Taylor smiled. “No. I’ll beat the hell out of you until you want to kill yourself.”

The kid paled but quickly recovered, remembering he had an audience.

He began to speak, but I cut him off, “Hey, Jack Daniel’s, you want to keep your face, don’t you?”

He frowned at me, more confused than offended.

“Keep walking,” I said. “These guys are not going to put up with your shit for much longer.”

I glanced over at Taylor, who was staring a hole into the kid’s forehead.

The bushy-faced stranger startled, seeming to just notice that our giant was still standing there, and he stumbled off without another word.

Gunnar relaxed. “We’d better get a move on, Kirby. I’ve decided I’m too tired to go anywhere.”

She giggled at him. “We’re already an old married couple.” She hugged me good-bye. “See you Monday.”

I watched the couple walk to their truck while Taylor eyed the group of drunken boys stumbling down the street. He pushed his tailgate closed and then followed me to the Bucksaw.

Once inside, I shook out my hair and rubbed my hands together as I climbed the stairs. Taylor was quiet but trying hard to be in a better mood. I tried to chat about anything other than moving in together in Estes Park. Taylor would nod and smile when appropriate. The longer I talked, the more his smiles seemed forced, and that only made me angry.

When he saw the irritated look on my face, his grin vanished. “C’mon, Falyn. I said I don’t want to spend the weekend fighting.”

“Just because you’re pretending not to be mad doesn’t mean you’re not upset.”

He looked forward, clearly struggling to rein in his temper. “I got a package yesterday.”

I quietly waited, too aggravated to give in just yet.

“I told my dad you had a VCR. He sent me a tape.” Taylor stood up and went to the counter where he’d left his backpack. He unzipped it and pulled out a VHS tape, holding it up. “Spaceballs. Growing up, I used to watch this with my brothers almost every weekend. It was Tommy’s favorite.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s watch it.”

Taylor’s eyes brightened, softening my anger. Leaning down in front of the television, he slipped the tape from the sleeve and pushed it into the VCR. When he returned to the couch, he put his hand on my knee, smiling the moment the opening credits began. It was a real smile, something he’d been finding hard to do when around me anymore.

The movie was the perfect distraction, allowing us to spend time together without talking, to sit together without addressing the problem.