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Michelle's boisterous laugh caught everyone off guard. "Of course. Garrett's always been good at pissing Danny off. Might as well hit the biggest berserk button Danny's got and hope it throws him off his game."

"Danny..."

"Too late now, Tyler." Danny ground the cube of blue chalk against his new pool stick with enough force to send a small puff of powder into the air. "Don't try to talk me out of this."

"He just called you Christian Laettner. You owe it to yourself to kick his ass. Remember, he challenged you. He's desperate. Play smart, and if he gives you an opening, take it."

"You sure you don't want to come out to Salt Lake, be my personal trainer?"

"Win and I'll consider it."

Danny gave his best friend a sharp, swift nod. "You OK over there?" he called to Amy, sitting across the table.

"I will be when you win," she responded. She jabbed a perfectly manicured nail in Garrett's direction. "I don't know who this Laettner guy is, but don't let it rattle you. It's nothing more than Scarecrow throwing a cheap shot."

Danny smirked before tossing the chalk into the air and snatching it with his other hand. His shoulder protested, but it wouldn't be the first time he played through the pain. With a final nod towards Amy and Tyler, he walked back to the table.

Across the way was West. He was standing alone, pool cue held low across his body with both hands, like a hockey player waiting for the puck to drop. He was all cocky, brash, arrogant, but that confidence was as thin as ice. Just underneath the surface, past those green eyes of his, West was scared. He always had been, no matter how good a game he talked. "You don't have a shot in hell," Danny sneered. "You're standing there like some hotshot rookie who's won a few games. You think you should be walking out on the court to Hell's Bells when you couldn't even swing Laffy Taffy. I've seen tons of players like you, all bluff, no stuff, all filler, no killer. All you are is a lucky shot streak I'm about to snuff out."

Serena flipped the rack away from the diamond and motioned to Garrett. "Last break," she told him. He stepped up to the table, adjusted the cue ball to his liking, and made his break. No balls fell in. He and Danny traded several shots before Danny used the 1 ball to lazily clip the 5 ball into a corner post. He dropped the 1 ball next, but his attempt to clip the 2 ball along the far rail didn't connect. West's follow-up shot also failed to sink the 2, passing control back to Danny.

Danny focused on pocketing the 2 in the far corner, finally dropping the ball with a perfect shot. He couldn't find success on his next shot, which ended with the 3 ball frozen against the rail between corner pockets. Danny felt his teeth digging into his lower lip as West took advantage to clip the 3 and sink it in one of the corners. The cue ball rolled to an inconvenient spot behind the 4 ball, only for West to rapidly and mechanically bank the 4 off the rail into the opposite side pocket.

When the 6 ball dropped, Danny's fingers tightened around the pool cue in disbelief. No way. No way this was happening. No way was Danny Eastman coming back to Emerald Pines, his kingdom during his teenage years, and letting this scarecrow of a human being beat him. Maybe he had claimed victory when he took advantage of Brenda during the blizzard but Danny had put the fear of Eastman into him several days later, knocking him right back down when he thought he was up. No way was West winning this. No way.

As Garrett set up on the 7 ball, Danny felt a tickle under his nose. Taking advantage, he snatched the cube of chalk from a nearby table and quickly ground it against the tip of his cue. A hard sniff drew the minuscule cloud of blue powder towards his nose. Swallowing his breath for several seconds, Danny was trembling by the time West pulled his stick back to make his shot.

The loud sneeze boomed across the Topaz Lounge. West involuntarily flinched, throwing off his aim just enough to cause the 7 to bounce off the rail instead of going into the pocket. Immediately, as Danny anticipated, West threw his arms out, staring at him with the same stupidly incredulous look he had back in gym class whenever Danny fouled him. "Seriously," he whined. "We're playing that way now?"

"I had to fucking sneeze," Danny shot back. "There's a lot of chalk dust in the air and I couldn't help it. What," he sneered as West shook his head in disgust, "you want to cry about it? Get that weak ass shit off my court." West attempted to glare at him for a moment, but like always he eventually stepped back.

With his opponent put back in his place, newfound confidence flowed through Danny. It was almost rote the way he pocketed the 7. When Danny looked up at West, he could see the nervous quiver vibrating throughout his body. It was slight, almost hidden by his clothes, but it was there. No more need for trash talk. Two balls were all that remained before West was reminded of his place on the food chain. Danny couldn't hide the triumphant smirk as he bent over the table and lined up his shot on the 8. The wooden cue slid easily between his fingers as he carefully made sure everything was in place, eying the line between the cue ball, the 8 ball, the side rail he was going to bank it off of, and the far pocket.

"Fuck!" The satisfying crack of the cue ball against the 8, however, was followed by a sharp pain. Danny gripped his shoulder as bolts of pain radiated from the joint.