Was this really happening? I couldn’t have gotten like a six-month grace period before things like this went down at a neighbor’s house? A stranger was about to get jumped, and I could only assume someone I was now living across the street from was a part of it. Was the man on his own my neighbor? Or was my neighbor one of the guys trying to jump the single one?

It was right then, in the middle of trying to guess what the hell was happening, that the man in the middle of the circle had a punch connect with his jaw. He dropped to a knee, swinging back wildly, missing all of his attackers. The other three took advantage and lunged at the guy on his own.

Oh my God. They were going to kick his ass, and I was standing there watching. Watching.

I couldn’t go out there.

Could I?

I had Louie and Josh now. Jesus Christ. I didn’t need to look around the room to know it was still full of boxes of toys and clothes. How a little boy had so much stuff was beyond me. I’d just bought him an Iron Man comforter for his twin-sized bed.

It wasn’t just me I was responsible for, I thought as I witnessed the guy get kicked in the ribs. What if the men had guns? What if—

Through the window, I kept watching Guy On His Own get punched repeatedly by the same person. Over and over again. It was an ass beating if I had ever seen an ass beating. If that wasn’t bad enough, another man stepped in and took over. My heart grew about four sizes. Jesus. Jesus. He was getting his ass whooped. Guy On His Own fell to his side, kicked over and over again the minute one of his attackers had an opening. They were like hyenas on a wounded gazelle. They were going to kill him.

And I was standing there. Still.

I thought about my brother, feeling that familiar ache pierce my heart and flood it with grief and regret and anger all at once. Hesitating could be the difference between life and death, didn’t I know that?

I couldn’t live with myself if something happened that I could have prevented. I didn’t think about the possibility of them having guns or someone coming after me in retaliation, and I sure as hell didn’t take into consideration how my parents, much less the boys, would handle me doing something so reckless. But what kind of person would I be if I just stood inside my house and did nothing to help someone who obviously needed it?

Before I could talk myself out of it, I ran out of the bedroom and toward the front, my feet bare. I didn’t want to waste time running back to my room for my phone or shoes, but I clearly remembered Josh leaving his baseball bag by the front door so he wouldn’t forget it when he left with his grandparents’ tomorrow. If I made it through tonight, I really needed to start calling around to find him a new baseball team, I reminded myself before shoving the plan away for a better time.

I needed to go help because it was the right thing to do and because I needed to be a role model for the boys. And running from obstacles wasn’t something they needed to learn from anyone.

The fact was, it was down to the Larsens, my parents, and me to mold them into who they’d become later in life. That was one of the first things I’d had to come to terms with when I became their guardian. It was up to me. If I messed up with them… I couldn’t let that happen. I wanted them to grow up to be good, honorable people even if it seemed like I had forever until they were something more than the little boys who could barely aim their pee into the toilet and not miss. I didn’t want Rodrigo’s kids to turn out differently just because he wasn’t around to raise them, because I knew exactly whose fault it would be if they grew into little shits: mine.

I didn’t need that on my conscience.

Right where he had left it, I grabbed the bat sticking out of Josh’s bag, testing the weight of the composite. It wasn’t until I eased the front door closed behind me that the urge to run back into the house really hit me. The part of my brain that realized how stupid of an idea doing this was wanted to be back in my room under the covers. It didn’t want to have to make this decision—risk my life or not risk my life? But just thinking Rodrigo’s name kept me going.

As I ran down the three steps leading from the deck to the walkway, I sent a silent prayer, hoping this wasn’t going to backfire on me. My feet had just hit the cement when I noticed the man all by himself was still surrounded, still getting his ass beat. Panic climbed all over my shoulders. How did no one else hear this? I wondered before figuring it didn’t matter. I had to do what I had to do, and that was help this guy out and get back in my house in one piece.

“The cops are on their way!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, raising the bat up high. “Leave him alone!”

In the greatest surprise of my life, the three men stopped instantly; one of their legs was suspended in the air midkick, and they looked at each other in obvious hesitation, giving me a blurry view of their bland, unremarkable faces. There was nothing special about them; they were tall-ish and had thin builds.

“Back up!” I screamed, my voice cracking, when they kept standing there. I really, really hoped it was my neighbor on the ground and not one of the other guys, or else getting in and out of my house was going to be real awkward for a long time.

Why wasn’t anyone out here helping? I wondered one more time, not understanding why no one else had come out. They weren’t exactly being quiet.

My heart was beating a mile a minute, and I was already sweating like a pig. I was on my own; terrified even as adrenaline pumped through me, but what the hell was I supposed to do? Stand there with my thumb up my butt?