Some Boy (What's Love? #1) (22 page)

W
E
HAD
TO
wait for a long time before we were allowed to see her. Before we were even told anything. We sat in the waiting room tensely, Brendan bouncing one leg up and down on the ball of his foot repeatedly, and biting on his thumbnail on the uninjured side of his mouth. We looked like we belonged there — Brendan with his fading bruises and the fresh, scabbing gash in his lip. There was a spatter of dried blood on the front of his shirt. The receptionist had assumed we were there for him when we had first arrived, and had been trying to give us forms to fill out before we could explain.

And then we just sat, for close to an hour.

Brendan looked up anxiously every time a doctor — or anyone in a medical looking outfit really — even glanced our way. I wanted to reach out and still his leg, but that was for selfish reasons since the constant movement was shaking the bank of plastic chairs we sat in. I restrained myself, but I did reach out and take his hand, and he let me. Linked his fingers through mine and squeezed.

“I’m sure it will be fine. The fact that they haven’t told us anything is probably a good thing,” I said. Brendan glanced at me quizzically.

“How is that a good thing?”
 

“If something was critical, they’d tell you. This delay is just their procedures. She’s probably right as rain back there, and they just haven’t filled out the paperwork yet.” I had no idea if this was true, but I was saying it anyway. It seemed plausible — and I’d certainly done a lot of waiting around for paperwork when it had been my mum back there. Brendan was nodding slowly anyway, so my assurances were having the desired effect of calming him down. His bouncing knee even stopped for a moment.

Then, over his head, I saw two police officers enter the room, and my hand stiffened. Brendan jerked his head round to look at what I was watching. They were talking to a doctor, who then pointed in our direction, and we both got to our feet.

“Fuck, Bec, what have you done?” Brendan murmured under his breath, as the police approached. One of them hung back a few steps, thumbs hooked in his belt and surveying the scene like he was on the lookout for trouble. There were a lot of drunk people in A&E, a decent share of them bickering couples — such a romantic day, as it was — but it seemed unnecessary, and even I felt uneasy. But the other officer seemed more relaxed, greeting us with a nod of his balding head.

“Mr Holt? You’re Rebecca’s brother?”
 

“Yeah. What’s she done?”

“Are you her legal guardian?” he continued, as if Brendan hadn’t said anything. I kept hold of Brendan’s hand and drew in closer to his side. His whole body was stiff, and he sounded agitated. It wasn’t him in trouble — yet — but I didn’t want him escalating anything.

“No. Our dad is, but—”

“Do you have a number for him, or know where we might locate him right now?”

Brendan shook his head. “Nah. No idea. You can talk to me — what’s my sister done?”

“She hasn’t done anything, Mr Holt. She is the victim here.”

Brendan jaw’s flexed. “Victim? Of what?”

“An assault. According to your sister, by her boyfriend, a Mr Kian MacRory,? Do you know him.”

“Fuck, what… no I don’t know him — but she doesn’t exactly bring guys home to meet the family.” Brendan’s voice was low and dark, and he let go of my hand to run his palms roughly over his hair.
 

“Have you had a run in with someone yourself, sir?” the policeman asked then, looking over Brendan’s appearance.
 

“Uh, nah. This is just…an accident. It’s nothing. Can I see my sister?”

“So you don’t have any idea of the whereabouts of either your father or Mr MacRory?”

“No — you mean you don’t know where he is? What did he do to her?”

“You’re free to go through and see her now. Just stay around for a bit, in case we have any other questions.”

“Where else would I go?” Brendan muttered, and he was striding in the direction of the inner doors. I scrambled to follow him, and after brief, tense words with a nurse in the doorway, we were led through. The room smelled strongly of well, just hospital. That acrid mix of antiseptic and bodily fluids that stays in your nostrils. And it immediately brought back every memory I had of hospital visits — which weren’t that many. Once when I’d broken my arm as a child, once with my parents to visit an elderly relative I barely knew, and then most recently with my mum after the car accident. And even the trauma of that visit was nothing compared to what Brendan must have been through in his life. I glanced at his face as we were led to the back corner of the curtain-sectioned room — he was pale. Probably reliving things he didn’t want to think about. But once that smell hit you, it was out of your control.

The curtain was pulled aside and we entered the small cubicle where Becca was sitting up in bed. In an awful sort of Karma, she had a split lip too. Plus a few more bruises over her swollen face. I almost wouldn’t have recognised her, except for her eyes, identical to Brendan’s, staring at us defiantly.

For one tiny moment, I wondered if Brendan had actually done this, retaliated against Becca’s attack on him. But I instantly despised myself for even thinking it.
 

“I told you not to come,” she muttered, her voice thick and muffled through the injuries.

“Shut up, of course I came. What the fuck happened, Bec?” He moved to her bedside, and took her hand tightly but tenderly in his.

“Don’t start,” she said, turning her face away. I could see her eyes were watery, but she was trying to hold it in.
 

“I wasn’t— but I did tell you.”

“Leave off, Brendan. You’re gonna say I told you so now? You want to hit me too?”

“Bec—”

“I deserve it.”

“You don’t fucking deserve this. Don’t be stupid,” he said gruffly, squeezing her hand and tugging on it to make her look at him. She glanced at him, and I saw her gaze flicker over his lip.

“I’m sorry for punching you.”

Brendan just shook his head with a dismissive sort of growl. Then he grinned and gave a watery laugh. “You’re getting better though. Where’d you learn to punch like that? I thought you’d broken me jaw.” He rubbed it ruefully with his other hand.

Becca smirked, and then winced and hissed in pain. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“This is nothing to laugh about,” he said, but they were both stifling grins then. But then Brendan sobered, and his forehead puckered. “But what happened, Bec. Who did this? The coppers said someone called Kian?”

Becca was looking away again now, not meeting her brother’s eye. “He didn’t mean it,” she murmured, pulling her hand out of Brendan’s, and my stomach twisted.

“Don’t fucking protect him,” Brendan said. “If he did this—“

“I started it. I was on at him about—”

“There’s no excuse for this,” I blurted, and both of them looked in my direction, two pairs of identical eyes boring into me. “Sorry. I don’t want to interfere. It’s just—“

“She’s right, Bec. You’re at me all the time, but have I ever touched you? I mean, you fucking punched me in the mouth tonight, and did I do anything?”

“But you’re a pussy. You never do anything.”

Brendan rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t make me a pussy. It makes me not a fucking twat.”

Some commotion was happening over near the doors on the opposite side of the room. It had been in the background for a while, but now it crashed into our awareness as something metallic was thrown or knocked over. And everything suddenly seemed to be happening at once, and yet in slow motion at the same time.

“Becca? Becca! I’m sorry. Becca!”
 

“Kian?” Becca sat up straighter, and moved like she was going to get out of bed.

“I love you, Becca. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I love you!”

Brendan had turned and was wrenching the blue curtain aside. I got a glimpse of his face and it was a dark as murder.

“Brendan, no,” Becca was calling, and I lunged out and grabbed his arm.

“Don’t. Don’t make it worse,” I said, trying to be calm, but my voice was high and thin as I tried to hold him back. Across the room, people were attempting to restrain a tall, dark haired guy, and I could see the policemen coming in behind him. I wrapped my self tighter around Brendan.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Brendan was shouting. “You fucking dare—”

Kian spat violently in Brendan’s direction. There was more shouting, screaming, crying, from Becca and maybe Kian too, I couldn’t tell. I had my face pressed into Brendan’s shoulder, willing him to let it go.
 

And then the police had hold of Kian and were dragging him out, and others stood in front of Brendan, their hands stretched out in warning. And he relented. Held up his hands and backed off. His hands went to my arms around his chest, and for a second I thought he was going to push me off. But instead he just gripped tightly and held me, breathing hard.

I slipped round to stand in front of him. “It’s alright,” I murmured, with nothing better to say. “It’s alright.”

His face was still dark and contorted, but he nodded jerkily. He glanced back at Becca who was being put back into bed by nurses, weeping inconsolably, muttering, “But he loves me. And I love him,” through a sticky mess of tears and blood all over her disfigured face. My throat felt tight. This is what she thought love was? This was what love looked like to her?

We approached her bed again, but Becca turned her fierce glare on me, like somehow I was the source of all her problems.

“Don’t come near me,” she hissed, speaking to both of us. I recoiled a bit.

“I can go.”

“You don’t have to,” Brendan said. His lip had split a little again and fresh blood welled. He licked at it gingerly.
 

“She doesn’t want me here. I should leave you alone.”

He took my hand and opened his mouth to protest, but then didn’t. “Maybe. I’m sorry.” He drew me into a hug as I shook my head.

“No, it’s okay. You don’t need to be sorry.”

“We never have had a normal date. Even for me, this is a new low,” he murmured, laughing with little humour.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll come see you tomorrow. I mean, I’ll see what happens with Bec, but I’ll try and come. Will you be around?”

“Uh, I…I’ve got the dinner at my parents’,” I said hesitantly.

“Oh, shit, yeah. I forgot. I don’t—”

“You don’t have to come,” I said, pulling out of his hug and trying to smile. “Don’t even worry about it.”

“I’ll try.”

“It’s okay, really.”

“I’ll try, Kat.” I nodded and he moved to kiss me, but remembered his lip. I kissed him on the cheek instead and then moved away. He watched me go for a moment, then turned back to his sister.
 

I felt cold and a little nauseous as I left the emergency department and went out into the still stormy night outside. I jogged down the street to my car and fumbled with the keys with icy fingers — all I had to do was press the remote unlock button on the fob, but I almost dropped the whole lot twice, I was shaking so much.

And by the time I was finally behind the wheel, I was sobbing. I couldn’t really pinpoint exactly why, but everything just came crashing down over me, and I dissolved under the weight of it. I thought I’d just cry for a few minutes, compose myself, and then drive myself home. But after ten minutes, still sobbing, wiping at my blurry eyes, I wondered how long it would actually take me to calm down enough to see straight. I felt hollowed out inside and my chest ached, and every time I took a few long breaths and thought it was coming to an end, there was a stabbing pain around my heart that set me off all over again.

Eventually I grabbed my phone from my handbag and spent a good minute jabbing at it to call Izzy. When she didn’t answer, I called Justin. He did pick up.

“This had better be good, Kat? I’m kinda in the middle of something,” he grunted down the phone. I tried to speak, but just howled instead. “Oh fuck, what’s happened? Where are you? Do you need me to come get you?”

“Ye…yesss,” I blubbered, and eventually managed to communicate where I was.

“Hold tight. I’m coming to get you.”

And just from the warmth in his voice alone, I started calming down immediately. So by the time he got to me, I probably could have driven myself. But Justin didn’t ask questions. He just tucked me into the passenger seat with his coat over me like I was a small child, took my keys and drove us home.
 

He was guiding me towards my room, his arm around me and my head on his broad shoulder, when I suddenly remembered the plan for the night.

“I can’t — Izzy’s staying in my room.”

“So you’re in hers?” Justin looked at me quizzically, but led me there. But as soon as I opened the door and saw the faint glow of stars on the ceiling, I shivered violently and turned into him. His arms tightened around me.

“You want to talk about it?” he murmured. I could feel his breath against the top of my head, and he brushed his lips against my hair while I shivered.

“Not right now.“ I didn’t know what I’d say anyway. I didn’t know what I was feeling. “I just don’t want to be alone,” I murmured into his shoulder. I felt him nod. He took me to his room and laid me down in his bed, then lay behind me and cradled me gently.

“I’m sorry for—“

“Shh,” he said.

“But I—“

“Forget it Kat. I’d do anything for you, you know that. You need me, I’m here.”
 

I sniffled, and wiped my nose on my sleeve, relaxing into the soothing feel of Justin’s hand stroking my hair. And for a few minutes I felt okay, even as tears dripped quietly from my eyes, and I fell into sleep.

I
WOKE
SLOWLY
, with the stuffy feeling in my face of having cried myself to sleep. I couldn’t remember why right away. I only leant back into the warm body behind me, the arm that cradled me, feeling comfortable and sleepy. I didn’t open my eyes yet. I might have sighed quietly as the hand resting on my stomach began to move in languid strokes, moving up, caressing the swell of my breast through my shirt. And then I felt the throb of hardness against my back, and as his hips pressed forward lightly, I shifted back to meet it.