True love is stepping away from the fight.

You’ve been a bar fighter ever since you could lift a barstool over your head and bring it down hard enough to give a man a concussion. It’s in your blood. Your dad died in a barfight in Tulsa at the bar where your mom worked. She tried raising you up right, but she knew you were always your father’s child.

You’ve had a rough life and more broken bones than anyone you know that’s still alive. You live for the rush, though. Getting lit up and humorously sliding a man across the bar on his stomach makes your blood/alcohol mixture flow like nothing else.

…but that all changed six months back when you met the love of your life at your favorite place to get drunk and punch people, Rowdy Roddy’s. The name alone attracted all sorts of rough and tumble folk. The rest came because of its reputation for “Bloodthirsty Thursday.” You married quickly and your new mate urged you to quit getting drunk and cutting people with beer bottles. “It’s just not right,” he or she says, “smashing another human being’s head against the bar like you do.” You’re going to quit. For your love. No one else has ever made you feel this way without being on the receiving end of a kick to the crotch.

Without the smoky haze and the black eyes, you’ll finally start to see that there’s more to life than being the last one standing at the end of the night.