I ran over to T, grasping his arm to keep him steady. “Hang on,” I said. “We’ll bring the car around.”
“I’m fine,” he lied as he attempted to stand but sunk back down.
“Give me your keys.” Before he could reach into his pocket, I stopped him. His knuckles were swollen and bloody. “I’ll get them. Which pocket?”
He patted his left pocket. I stuck my hand in, being careful to only feel for keys. In his state I doubt he’d feel anything at all, but still . . .
I found the keys and tossed them to Ida. “Can you bring his car around?”
As soon as she drove up, I yanked the passenger door open and helped T into the car.
“I’ll take T home,” I said to the ladies. “We’ll regroup tomorrow morning.”
Hopefully they’d stay out of mischief until then. Judging by their stunned expressions, I’d say it wouldn’t be an issue.
I watched as they hurried back over to the arcade. Once I saw them safe in Mrs. Janowski’s car, I drove away.
“What happened?” I asked.
T looked at me with one eye since the other had swollen shut. “I got the shit beat out of me.”
“But why? Did you start a fight? What happened?”
“I forgot that some nights are by invitation only.”
“So they beat you up because you didn’t have an invitation?”
He reached up to his jaw and rubbed it. “I busted in on a fight night. They hauled me into the ring before I knew what was happening. It was either fight to get out or get beaten to a pulp and pay my way out. I decided to fight.”
“I think you got beaten to a pulp. How much did you have to pay?”
He stared at me.
“If you’re trying to make a face at me, it’s not working,” I said. “It’s too swollen.”
He groaned and let his head fall back against the seat. “I didn’t pay. I won.”
“Eesh. I’d hate to see the other guy.”
“Just take me home,” he mumbled.
“Where do you live?”
Silence.
“T?” I asked, looking over to find he had passed out.
I wasn’t going to drive in circles waiting for him to regain consciousness, so I took him to my place. The least I could do was clean his wounds, especially after he’d stuck his neck out for the girls.
“T?” I nudged him, trying to wake him once we were parked in my driveway.
He didn’t budge.
“T!” I shook him.
His one eye groggily cracked open.
“Wha’?”
“We’re at my place. Let’s go inside. I’ll clean you.”
His split lip twitched into a smile. “Clean me? If you were anyone else, I’d think you were hitting on me.”
“No one would hit on you right now. You look like road kill.”
He moaned as he tried to lift himself from the car. I raced around to help him. When he was finally able to stand upright, I let go. He leaned on the car.
“Give me a minute,” he said.
“Maybe I should bring you to the hospital. I could call Ev . . .” Oh.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ve been worse.”
“Come on,” I said, leading him into the house and then up to the bathroom. “Do you think you can stand long enough to take a shower?”
“I’ll be fine,” he said, swaying as he said it.
“Shout if you need anything. I’ll be back in a minute with clothes.” Before I left, I turned on the water. It’s never fun trying to figure out a different shower, especially if you only have one eye to see with.
* * *
“Feeling better?” I asked when T came downstairs after his shower.
“I’m a little more awake,” he said.
“Come to the kitchen table,” I said, walking over to the first aid kit already waiting there.
He followed behind and sunk into a chair. “Whose clothes am I wearing? They can’t be Evan’s.”
No. Though Evan wasn’t wiry, he did have a lean build. There was none of the bulk that T had. Evan’s clothes would never have fit T.
“Brett’s. He left them here.”
And I’d kept them.
Why?
To smell them. I know, pathetic. But that’s what it was at first, and I really did think he was coming back. Then I knew he wasn’t. I tried to throw them away several times. I finally resigned to tucking them away in my bottom drawer and forgetting about them.
“They’re a bit snug,” he said. “But I can manage.”
“That’s good,” I said, opening a packet of antiseptic cleaning wipes. “Mrs. J. has a tendency to spy at the worst possible times. She’d have an eyeful if you were running around naked.”
He hissed as I dabbed a cut. “I don’t run around naked,” he said.
I smiled and wiped the cloth on a particularly gruesome gash.
T pulled away, swatting my hand.
“Stop being a baby,” I said, reaching for his wound.
“I’m not a baby,” he clipped.
“Take off your shirt,” I ordered. “You have a nasty cut that goes up your arm. How did that even happen?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just give me a bandage.”
“Not until I clean it.”
He cursed under his breath, wincing as he pulled off his shirt.
“Oh my God! What the hell happened?” I shrieked, scanning his chest, back, and arms.
“Did you not hear when I told you it was fight night?” he asked, exasperated.
“I heard,” I said, gaping at the slashes and welts. “We have to take you to the hospital.” My little cleaning wipes seemed rather insignificant compared to his shredded body.
“Just clean me up the best you can,” he said.
“But . . .”
“It’s nothing.”
“This doesn’t looking like nothing,” I said.
“I’ve looked worse,” he said, sounding weary. “Just do your best and let me sleep.”
I nodded and began cleaning again, using every antiseptic wipe I had.
“You were fighting with weapons,” I said, tracing over a welt and dabbing a cut.
“I wasn’t.”
My hand stalled. “These injuries are not from someone’s fist,” I argued.
“I didn’t say they weren’t using weapons. I said I wasn’t using one.”
“They? There was more than one?”
“There normally is when you barge into a place you don’t belong.”
I gulped a lump down. “They could have killed you.”
His one eye found me. “I’m not that easy to kill,” he said. Seeing that it didn’t reassure me, he added, “They generally don’t kill anyone. The cleanup isn’t worth it.”
“Generally?”
He shrugged. “In the heat of the fight, anything can happen, especially when weapons are used.”
The lump in my throat grew bigger.
“Don’t!” he barked.
“Don’t what?” I asked, squeezing my eyes to stop a flood of tears.
“Don’t cry!”
I didn’t cry. I bawled.
“Jesus,” he muttered, patting my arm clumsily.
Between hiccups and sniffling, I said, “You c-could h-have d-d-died!”
“Mars, calm down. I didn’t die. I learned to fight a long time ago.”
“But th-they had weapons and you d-d-didn’t.”
“I know. I was there.”
“Oh, God! Mrs. J. and the ladies could have charged in and had to fight their way out!”
“I doubt they would’ve gotten that far. I forced my way in, not thinking.”
I couldn’t hug him without hurting him, so I placed a kiss on the top of his shaved head.
“Don’t get mushy,” he said. “I only did what I had to do.”
“We both know you didn’t have to get involved.”
He grunted.
I quickly cleaned him off as best as I could and bandaged the bigger wounds since I didn’t have enough for all of them.
He stood and headed to the couch.
“Go upstairs and sleep,” I said. “You can take my bed.”
“I’ll be fine here,” he said.
“Just use my bed,” I said, trying to turn him to the stairs. He didn’t budge. “You’ll get a better sleep and I won’t have to worry about you squished on the couch.”
“Mars,” he began to argue.
“Go upstairs,” I said, standing my ground.
“I don’t . . .”
“Go!” I shouted, pointing to the staircase.
“Jesus,” he muttered and stalked up the stairs.
I was just getting comfy on my lumpy sofa when a rap song blasted. Ugh. T’s phone must be down here. It definitely wasn’t my phone. My ringtone currently had a pig oinking. It makes me smile.
I’ll let the call go to voicemail.
Two minutes later the song jarred me from the couch.
Dammit!
I followed the sound to the kitchen table and picked up the phone. I could just turn it off, I thought right before I answered it. Since it rang twice, it could be important.
“You missed our check-in call,” the voice said.
I didn’t have an answer to that. And I knew the voice.
“Hello?” Brett asked.
I sighed. My first reaction was to hang up, but I couldn’t.
“T?”
“No. He’s asleep. What do you want?”
“Mars?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s T?”
“I told you. He’s asleep,” I answered, not in the mood to be helpful.
“He was supposed to check in with me thirty minutes ago.”
“He was busy.”
“Doing what?”
“As a silent partner, I don’t think it’s any of your business.”
“Mars,” Brett said, nearly growling, “what the hell is going on?”
“Again, silent partner,” I said, and then added, “Shhhh.”
“Mars!” Okay, that time he definitely growled. “Where is T right now?”
“I told you. Asleep.”
“Where?”
“In my bed.” Oh. That sounded bad, but I really didn’t care at the moment.
“In your . . .”
“Bed,” I finished for him.
“In your bed?” he boomed.
“We seem to be saying the same thing,” I said, shutting down the conversation. “I’ll have him call you tomorrow when he wakes up. It might be late, though. He’s really tired.”
I pressed end and smiled.
That felt good.
Childish, but good.
* * *
T awoke earlier than I expected. However, he looked like I expected.
“You still look like road kill,” I said.
He glared and slumped into a kitchen chair. “You got any coffee?”
“Yes,” I said, grabbing a mug and filling it.
I placed it in front of him. He wrapped his hands around it and took a sip. “Ow.” He reached up to feel his split lip. “Lip wounds are the worst. Every time you eat or smile it reopens.”
“Well, at least you don’t have to worry about the smiling part. You rarely attempt it.”
He glowered. “What did I do to deserve slamming at eight in the morning?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m a little wired from last night.”
He nodded. “Fights can do that to a person.”
It was a fight, although not necessarily his.
“I have to get going,” T said, taking a last gulp of coffee. “I have a full day ahead.”
“Oh, did you want me to get you a receptionist like we discussed? I can probably have her over there today,” I said.
“Looking like this?” He gestured to his face. “I’d probably scare her away.”
“No, you wouldn’t. She’s made of sterner stuff. And, really, it’s not all that bad,” I lied.
He shot me a look. “Tell her to stop by at noon. I’ll have a break by then and can give her a tour.”
“A tour of your gun collection?”
“Only if she’s pretty,” he answered with a smirk.
“Men can be so charming,” I muttered.
T winked . . . or maybe it was just a blink. It was hard to tell with one eye still swollen. He stood and stuffed his phone into his pocket, triggering my memory.
“Brett called you last night,” I said. “He said you were supposed to check-in with him.”
“That was about the time I was getting my ass kicked. You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“No.”
“Good,” he said, walking to the door. He stopped and turned. “Why do I get the feeling there’s something I should know?”
“You might want to hold the phone away from your ear when you talk to him. He’s a little upset.”
“Over a missed call?”
“No. That you were having sex with me.”
He choked. “Wh-what? Did we . . . did I . . . what?”
I waved my hand. “No, no. I told him you were asleep in my bed. He jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
“You didn’t tell him?”
“He irritated me.”
T shook his head and walked out the door.
Poor T, I thought. I probably put him in a bind. Hopefully Brett believes him when he tells him what really happened.
I didn’t dwell on it for too long. I had to be over at Mrs. Janowski’s house in a few minutes. I peeked out of the front window and saw that most of the ladies’ cars were there.
Maybe one more cup of coffee before I head over. Oh, and a call to Emmy.
A smile brewed.