Some Boy (What's Love? #1) Page 17

  He closed the gap again. “Fine, but—”

  “Just trust me, okay?” I twined my fingers through his and squeezed. He sighed.

  “I trust you.” I could tell it took a lot of effort to say it. My stomach was doing flips. This had just been a light-hearted date, until he showed up with a split lip and family tragedy. Now everything seemed more intense, and I was doubting my plan. I hoped it wouldn’t seem flippant and silly in the face of everything.

  But I opened the door and led him through, and he let me. He even kept his eyes shut as I led him up the narrow staircase to the loft space in Izzy’s room that formed a tiny mezzanine over the bed. He stepped hesitantly and with a few complaints, like he suspected I was about to lead him off the edge of a building, but he did it. And I got him to lay down on the little nest of duvets and pillows I’d created. I switched off the light, then dropped down beside him, still holding his hand, and settled in close, on our backs with our faces to the ceiling. I glanced at him and took a breath, then bit my lip.

  “Okay,” I murmured. And he took his hand away. He blinked a few times, adjusting from the blackness. But the light in the room was off and it didn’t take long. Then he grinned and looked at me where I lay, my head turned to watch his reaction. “See, star gazing,” I said nervously, trying to smile when he said nothing. He looked back up at the ceiling, dotted with all thirty-five of the plastic glow in the dark stars I’d bought at Poundstretcher.

  “You even made constellations,” he said, his mouth quirked into a lopsided grin as he looked at them.

  “I tried.” Even in the loft space, I’d only just been able to reach the high ceiling, and my constellations were certainly not astronomically to scale.

  “Is that the Southern Cross?” he said, his forehead puckering.

  “Uh, yeah. I think the website I was looking at was from Australia, so I’ve taken us to the Southern Hemisphere tonight. Plus it was easiest to make.” I shrugged. Then waited. He looked at the faux night sky a bit longer then turned his face back to me.

  “I love it,” he murmured, and my heart thudded. “This is the most romantic shit anyone’s ever done for me. Not that it’s a long list. But still.”

  I laughed and rolled onto my side to get closer to him, glad he was easy to impress, because romantic shit was not my forte. I kissed him gently on the uninjured side of his mouth. He smelled warm and spicy, and I nuzzled closer. He tried to turn fully into the kiss, but grunted when he tried to move his lips.

  “Don’t try,” I murmured, shifting my face so that my nose was tucked against his and our foreheads touched.

  “I want you so bad,” he whispered close to my mouth, and his fingers found my hip as he turned into me, pulling me against him. He was already hard. And I was trembling with longing and need. “My tongue still works,” he murmured, demonstrating by running it over my lower lip. I grinned, but I could tell the movement still hurt him, so I pushed him back and trailed kisses across his jaw line and down his neck.

  And in the darkness and the dim, greenish glow of fake starlight, we stripped each other bare and ran our hands over each other’s bodies, tangled together like there was no ending or beginning to either of us, like we were melded together. He made up for the lack of use of his mouth with his fingers and palms caressing my body, grazing over my hips, my breasts, stroking my nipples; then he slid his hand down between us and pulsed his thumb against me. I gasped when two fingers slipped inside me, and I hooked my leg over his to hold myself closer to him.

  My hand found his throbbing hardness and I guided him to me, pushing his hand away from me; I was so close to bursting, but I wanted him inside me more than anything. He hovered just inside me for a moment, teasing, as I buried my face in his neck and bit his skin. He groaned and drove into me; my fingers raked his back and I cried out harshly as we moved together.

  He tipped me fully onto my back and rose over me, holding himself up above me and watching my face as he pressed his hips forward and thrust deeper, again and again, until I was writhing with a long, slow orgasm that flooded from somewhere deep inside me and quivered and pulsed through my whole body. He grunted with shuddering breaths as his hips jerked harder against me, and he flooded into me, all the while staring into my eyes with an intensity that was hotter, even, than the force of coming.

  Then he dropped down, covering me, as we shivered with aftershocks, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him. Despite the pain, his mouth found mind and he kissed me deeply. I tasted the slight metallic tang of blood, mingled with the musky heat of his breath and tongue, and I spasmed around him, drawing another groan. I felt like I had taken him in, body and soul, and my chest hurt with it.

  “I love you,” I murmured, before I could stop myself. And then I shut my eyes tightly and waited, horribly regretful and hopeful at the same time. The air felt so thick I couldn’t breathe it in, and I was lightheaded. Brendan hadn’t moved. His face was in in the hollow of my neck again, and he just breathed there. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said it—”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he murmured. But he didn’t say anything else.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” I said. A redundant statement, since he clearly wasn’t speaking. “I don’t expect anything.”

  He finally shifted, lifting off of me, and lying down beside me on his back, looking up at the dying stars. Stupid, cheap things that couldn’t even hold their glow.

  “I really care about you, Kat,” he said quietly, not looking at me. I glanced at him, then stared up at the ceiling too, trying to breathe quietly. “I just—”

  “Don’t feel it yet, it’s okay.”

  “I didn’t say that.” I glanced at him again, but couldn’t stay looking at him. His forehead was creased. I stared at the ceiling, feeling hot with embarrassment. Why had I blurted it out? I was an idiot. I knew it wasn’t the right time. “It’s not that I don’t — I just can’t.”

  “Okay,” I said, like that made sense. I didn’t understand, but I didn’t feel like hashing it out either. I just wanted to forget it had ever happened.

  “Kat.” I could tell he was looking at me now, but the muscles in my neck felt tight, like I wouldn’t be able to turn my head and look at him even if I wanted to. And then something beeped from somewhere nearby. Brendan sighed and sat up to reach for it, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, crumpled near our feet.

  “I did without a phone for so long, and now that I have it, they never leave me alone.”

  “They?” I murmured, still lying where I was, pulling the edge of the duvet I lay on across myself self-consciously.

  “My sisters. Always wanting something…” His voice died away. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck.” He was getting to his feet, searching for his clothes, pulling his underwear and his jeans on before I’d even moved.

  “Are you leaving?” I asked, then grimaced at how petulant and self-involved it sounded. “What’s happened?”

  “Becca’s in the hospital,” he said. “My younger sister.”

  “What?” I sat up abruptly. “Oh my God. What happened?”

  “I don’t know. It can’t be that bad — she’s messaging me herself. But I’d better go.”

  “I’m coming.”

  “No, you don’t have to—”

  “I want to. Plus, I’ve got a car.”

  I stood up beside him, pulling on my trackies, and I glared at him defiantly when he looked at me. He shook his head, but smiled. And then he took my face between his hands and kissed me, lightly, without really moving his lips. We rested there for a moment, breathing against each other. I still felt sick with weird swirling feelings that I couldn’t put into words, but when he touched me and held me like that I was foolish enough to believe it was going to be okay.

  And besides, he had bigger issues on his mind than things I blurted in the heat of the moment. I’d told him I’d be there for him, and I would be, no matter what.

  And so I grabbed my coat and handbag
and my car keys. I was disheveled, had no bra, and was still sticky between my legs, but I didn’t care, because when I looked at Brendan and saw the pain there like a lead weight on his shoulders, nothing else mattered to me, except doing anything I could for him, like he had done for me.

  He was tense and silent in the car, and always staring stonily out the windscreen whenever I glanced at him — though I kept my eyes on the road most of the time, trying to concentrate and peer through the lashing rain; the wipers were no match for the weather. At least it hadn’t snowed much. Everything was slushy and the roads were half flooded, but there was no slick ice.

  But when I reached over and put my hand on his leg and squeezed, like he had done for me the last time we had been in a car together when the situation was reversed, he looked at me and his eyes softened.

  And with a pang, I understood it then, why he had taken someone else’s car to drive me to the hospital when I’d thought my mum might be dying. Because he knew how it felt. My heart squeezed. I didn’t know if I would have done the same, ‘borrowed’ a car — probably not back then. But now, maybe I would have. Because I knew that what I felt wasn’t just the heat of the moment. I felt it deeply in every part of my body. And to look after him, I probably would do anything.

  twelve

  WE 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.