Still, I’ve only plugged a hole, not pulled her off the sinking ship. There are more Danny P’s out there. More demons clawing for the slightest foothold.
Everything hurts as I try to catch my breath and gather the strength to get up. Blood leaks down my arm from the shoulder wound. More has caked my t-shirt to my chest. I feel it sticking to the slash on my side, sending a sharp sting through me at every movement. My left eye throbs, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I have a cracked rib or two.
But despite my state, they know I won’t go to the cops. There’s enough video showing I started it. If any of them are minors, and several probably are, I’d be in even deeper shit. At the same time, I know they won’t report anything. After what started and ended the fight, there’s no way they’d want official scrutiny. Those kids live to avoid authority.
No, this whole thing went down exactly how it needed to.
I cringe through a chuckle and push myself up from the pavement. My car looks so far away. I stare at it in the distance, wondering how I’m going to get all the way to the driver’s seat. Then drive the six miles home. Then up three flights of stairs. Then… Hadley.
Shit.
And Naomi.
What the hell am I going to tell them?
I groan through another exasperated laugh. How absurd is this entire scenario? How weirdly necessary for so many reasons. I’ve always been a learn-the-hard-way kind of guy. Tonight I learned it’s time to get my shit together because my life isn’t just about me anymore.
My niece may wish I was dead, but I also learned I would, in fact, die for her.
I limp up the stairs of my building, refusing to take the elevator even now. It’s a habit that started the day I moved in a year ago and stuck with me. I guess I didn’t like the idea of getting trapped with neighbors in an enclosed space. Public buildings, fine. I never have to confront those judgmental stares again. But I covet my privacy at my place of residence, and it’s easier to hide on the stairs where others rarely go. If there are chance encounters, it’s no problem to rush through them with only passing acknowledgement.
But maybe tonight I’m regretting it. No matter how much my brain commands my body to move, it doesn’t seem to cooperate, and it’s late. Much later than I told Hadley it’d be when I asked her to stay with Naomi. She’ll be pissed, but hopefully she’ll have mercy and save the lecture for another time when she sees my state. Either that or she’ll explode the scolding into a full-on reaming. I don’t think I could take either right now, and part of me hopes I’ll pass out and avoid the whole thing altogether.
Problem is, if I haven’t blacked out yet, the odds—like the fight—are not in my favor.
I stop after the first few steps and grip the railing, trying to catch my breath through the pain. It’s hard when my lungs feel punctured with every inhale. It’s like a shard of cracked rib rips through the lining every time I breathe in. I know that’s not true and I’d be unconscious at the bottom of the stairs, not standing here thinking such stupid thoughts if it were.
No, this is just a good old-fashioned ass-kicking that will be patched up by a shower, first aid kit, and long day in bed. Tomorrow’s Sunday and our day off anyway. Maybe Hadley and Naomi will be sleeping when I get back and I can sneak in unseen.
After what seems like hours, but is probably minutes, I finally drag myself onto the third floor. With the support of the wall, I shuffle down the hall, trying my best not to leave a trail of blood in my wake. I cringe when I glance back and see the red blotches on the tacky wallpaper. Oh well. Unless I die and they become evidence, no one will notice or care.
I hear the TV instead of blaring music through my door, which means Hadley somehow managed to calm the storm in my absence. I’m not surprised. Naomi seems happier with anyone other than me, a reality that stings but has been blatantly obvious since she moved in.
I reach into my jeans for my keys, wincing at the adjustment. After fishing through my pocket, I pull them out, a late wave of adrenaline surging through me at the thought that this could have been so much worse. Those kids could have taken my wallet too. My car.
I could be dead.
I blink through several rounds of those scenarios, my existence coming into sharp focus in a way it never has before. What would Naomi have done if I hadn’t come back? My life suddenly means more than it ever has before.
I’ve just scraped through the first attempt at getting the lock open when the door swings in, and I stumble forward.
Hadley yelps in surprise, springing into action just in time to stop my momentum before it drags me to the ground. I sway a little in her grip before she tugs my arm and helps me stand.
“Julian? Oh my gosh! What happened? I’m calling an ambulance!”
A strange laugh-grunt escapes my throat as I use the little strength I have left to pull away from her. “I’m fine. Don’t call anyone.”
“You’re fine?” she hisses. She steps back, scanning me in obvious appraisal to make a point. “Have you been drinking? Was this a bar fight?”
I try to wave her off, but even that hurts. I settle on a dissenting exhale and marathon limp toward the kitchen.
She watches in silence, the angry fumes wafting off her as I pass. At least Naomi must be in bed and isn’t here to witness any of this. If I’m lucky, by the time she sees me tomorrow I’ll have hidden most of the evidence and concocted a killer backstory. Except…
I wince and catch myself on the edge of the sink, bracing through another wave of nausea. How much blood have I lost? Maybe more than I thought. I close my eyes, fighting the dizziness. The sharp stabs of pain. My grip tightens on the counter, my ribs on fire. My shoulder. My face. God, just…
“Julian.”
“What?” I shout.
But it’s not a shout. It’s barely a whisper. There are no shouts left in me. Nothing, really, just a tired, beaten man who wants to sleep forever.
“Thanks for staying with Naomi. I owe you. Can I pay you at rehearsal, though?” Just the prospect of trying to reach my wallet and swipe some bills is too much at the moment.
“You don’t owe me. I had fun with her.”
Surprised, I glance over, squinting through my good eye. “Fun?”
“She’s a great kid. She’s just really freaking sad, Julian.”
I clench my jaw and stare back at the wall above the sink.
“She needs more than a guardian. All kids do. She needs to be loved.”
I close my eyes again, buckling from a blow that hurts so much more than anything Danny P and his friends threw at me.
“Where were you tonight?” she continues, her voice surprisingly gentle. I flinch at the change. If she’d yelled at me, berated me, flung hatred like everyone else, maybe I’d survive this conversation. I’m too weak for gentle right now. “Julian, where were you? What’s going on?”
Instead of straightening for a fight, my head sinks into my hands. My brain ignores my body’s screams of agony as I double over and lock my elbows on the counter and my fingers in my hair. I pull hard, trying to piece together anything that will help make sense of the past two hours, the past two years. Hell, I’ll take anything over the last twenty-five.
Please stay. I need you for the better days.