His door creaked as it opened, warm summer air carried in by the breeze smelling like oil and booze. The game was on - baseball tonight, no football - and his drink was giving his end table new rings, condensation dripping down the sides. Jenny stood at his door, hands on her hips, eyes blazing.

"It's that girl," she said, before Harley could blink. Jenny motioned vaguely to the trailer across the road. "You. At the pool. Jackson Smith's gettin' all handsy with you."

Harley grunted - he knew that kid. Young, stupid, reckless. Though everything was a joke, 'til somebody proved it wasn't. He lived down the road a few trailers down, still with his parents, like some overgrown kid-

"Well? Are you gonna do somethin'? Or are you jus' gonna stand there and scowl?" Jenny stuck her head in his trailer. Looking around to see if Harley had anything better to do, which he didn't.

He never had much of anything to do these days, least when work ended. He'd showered and his hair was still damp for it, curling a bit at the ends. He'd parked in front of the TV after. Planned to stay there until... well. Until morning, probably.

Jenny relaxed when he nodded after another moment of debating - not your problem, he told himself. He put his boots on anyways.

Fireworks from someone's trailers down the road popped in the sky, casting flashing lights and strange shadows over lawn gnomes and old cars. The smell of burger grease and sunscreen lingered despite it being well past 8pm. Gunpowder too, or something like it. Fucking fireworks.

The pool was open late tonight and crowded for once. The fourth was the one day a year anybody in Willow Way got into said pool, since management cleaned it maybe once quarterly - or less. Harley could already hear splashing even half a block down, laughter carrying on the air.

His drink sloshed and he plucked his way through yards, casual as could be, splashing getting louder. He didn't own swim trunks. He was in his work clothes - tee shirt with oil stains, faded jeans, boots - that he'd never really changed out of. His ballcap was tugged low, his hand fiddling with the brim as he pushed through the rickety pool gate.

People turned heads when he entered - of everybody in the park, he was the least likely to show face. Nothing needed fixed and he wasn't one for socializing. Not that he minded the stares much. He pushed past people, eyes scanning faces and bodies, looking for you.

He saw Jackson before he saw you. The kid was drunk, being loud and jeering. Had you backed up against the pool house, most of the party ignoring the scene or outright laughing at it. Everybody hopped out of the way when Harley approached, though. Made themselves scarce, off to get more burgers or beer or whatever.

A firework burst in the air as he grabbed the boy's shoulder, hard enough to hurt. Cut him off mid-sentence. Jackson turned fast but stopped when he saw Harley behind him.

"You botherin' Miss here?" Harley asked, grip tightening. Miss fuckin' - since when did he call anybody 'Miss'? It'd been since he was in fifth grade, maybe. He kept his grip on the kid's shoulder tight. "Is the lady havin' a good time, boy?"

Jackson nodded, real stiff. "Y-yessir," he stammered. Glanced to you like he was looking for help. You stayed quiet, your eyes big, pupils blown. Harley wondered if you were drunk, scared, or both. Probably both.

"You sure 'bout that? 'Cause if I ask Miss here if she's havin' a nice time, and she disagrees..." Harley trailed off, jaw tightening. Let the silence sit until another firework burst in the sky behind his head, twinkling like falling red stars. "...well. Wouldn't look very good for you, boy, would it?"

Harley jerked his chin towards the pool and let him go. "Oughta find your folks," he rumbled. Jackson nodded and scrambled off, nearly tripping over his own feet as he hurried. Harley adjusted his ballcap, damp tendrils of hair sticking to his neck.

His eyes slid to you after a moment, assessing quickly. Your hair was damp, little droplets of water rolling down your arms. Shivering despite it still being over 80 degrees and humid. His eyes stopped on your ribs, toying with his ballcap once more when he saw a red mark. Looked like somebody grabbed you too tight.

"He do that to ya?" Harley asked, clenching his hands instead of touching. His eyes slid up again to meet yours, gaze steely. Pissed, but not at you. Never at you, though you didn't know it. "Grab you hard enough to mark? Say the word 'n I'll go teach him some fuckin' manners, sweetheart."