Chapter Forty-Three
When we arrive home Grayson is waiting on the porch smoking a cigarette. I assume he doesn’t smoke very often based on the number of times he coughs between drags. He watches as we unload from the taxi, an eyebrow raised when I take Wyhtt’s hand in mine as we climb the porch steps.
“Switching brothers?” Grayson asks in an attempt to tease. “I can’t blame you after tonight’s latest episode.” He flicks ash from the tip of the cigarette before letting out a stressed chuckle.
“No.” I reply with a glare as I search for a witty remark, but I come up empty after the most unexpected and shitty evening.
Even with a broken spirit, Wyhtt manages to crack a joke. “I’ve already been punched tonight, let’s not let that irrational bastard hear you say that, huh?”
“Point taken,” Grayson chuckles, sounding even more tired this time.
A deep, unsettling silence falls over the three of us. Straggling fireworks are still being set off in the distance and laughter floats up from the beach, music from surrounding house parties echo in our direction. All beautiful sounds, all celebrating as we mourn for the man who is just walls away. For a moment I question if it’s not silence filling the space between us, but grief.
Grayson breaks the sorrowful silence around us.
“We need to get you cleaned up, man.”
The usually vocal Wyhtt chooses to only nod in response, causing my heart to shatter all over again. Jensen didn’t only hurt himself or me. He’s destroying these men, his friends and brothers. All those who love him.
“I can clean you up,” I offer.
“I have him.” Grayson replies. “You have enough to deal with tonight.” He tips his head toward the door, toward wherever Jensen was in the house.
“I’m not sure I am ready to deal with that just yet,” I admit.
“Not sure you can avoid him, S. You two are shacked up in the same room. While Grayson and I find you attractive, neither of us are looking for another fight when he comes to find you in one of our shirts. Or worse, asleep in one of our beds. We both know you aren’t going to want to be alone tonight, might as well get it over with.” Damn if he doesn’t know me so well. I roll my eyes, wrapping my arms around my center where my stomach is currently tying itself in knots.
“I don’t know what to say to him.” I reply sheepishly.
“Maybe you don’t need to say anything. Maybe you can just see if he’s willing to talk. I doubt he will, I know he isn’t sober yet, but he’s no longer bordering on alcohol poisoning either.” Grayson offers.
“I vote you cuss him out, if I’m being honest.” Wyhtt huffs, “then again, I might still be a bit touchy from him beating the shit out of me.”
“Just yell if you need us.” Grayson cuts in before they both turn and head into the house to treat Wyhtt’s wounds and shake off the day. I’m still on the porch because I know once I walk down that hall through his door, two outcomes are possible. We would fight, which could lead to the end of whatever we had become, or it could lead to him getting his shit together.
I hoped for the second option and feared the first.