Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Christian
“Why’s this motherfucker so heavy?”
Dev’s dead weight sags against my shoulder. Grunting, I fumble with the lock on my front porch as sweat slicks my neck despite the cool night air.
“Because he’s like six foot four and I'm ten inches below that,” Owen pants. “Can you please open the door before I drop him?”
“I’m trying, fuck.”
The key turns so suddenly that we nearly faceplant under our combined weight. We stumble inside, both me and Owen cursing loudly as we dump Devon unceremoniously onto the couch. His head lolls to the side, dark lashes stark against his bruising cheek. Blood still crusts his lip.
Jesus.
I stand there for half a second, chest heaving, just… staring at him.
Owen slams the door shut and quickly throws the lock. “Okay. Okay. We need ice. Maybe a doctor? Should we call the police?”
“No. No cops.”
Owen blinks at me. “Christian, he's unconscious.”
“I know.” My pulse jackhammers, rage and adrenaline tangling with something colder underneath. Guilt, maybe. Or fear. “He probably has drugs in his system.”
Or in his pockets. Fucking hell.
Owen hesitates, then nods quickly. “Ice, then. Water. I’ll get—” He cuts himself off midstep, catching sight of Devon unconscious on the couch. “He’s really messed up.”
Yeah, no fucking shit.
I crouch down, fingers hovering uselessly for a second before I carefully brush Devon’s greasy hair back from his face. He groans faintly, the metal bar on the bridge of his nose twitching.
“Dev,” I murmur. “Hey. Don’t die on my couch, asshole.”
Owen shoots me a look. “That’s not helpful.”
“Shut up.” I press my thumb just under his eye to check the swelling, and he lets out a low, pained hiss that has me flinching.
Christ. Five fucking grand. And I don’t even like this asshole.
So why the hell does the sight of him like this make me sick to my stomach?
“Grab the ice,” I tell Owen, keeping my gaze on Devon's face. “And a towel. Some water.”
“You staying with him?”
I study Dev’s split lip and bruised jaw, the way his fingers curl weakly against the couch cushion like he’s searching for something to hold onto. “Yeah. I’ve got him.”
Whether that’s a promise or a threat, I’m not entirely sure.
Either way, I take what Owen offers and get to work gently cleaning Devon's wounds while the former retreats to Taylor's room—fuck, I mean Logan’s room. It's not Tay's anymore. That fucker moved out on me.
Clenching my jaw, I try to shove aside my anger as I press the bag of ice against Devon's cheek.
What would Taylor even do if he were here right now?
Probably the same thing I am. Guy always looked out for his friends, even if they didn't deserve it.
And this one here definitely doesn't deserve my kindness. Not after the shit he pulled last year.
Yet, here I am, lifting his shirt like a dumbass to check for bruising on his ribs—
“Shit!” I yelp when his hand snaps up to grip my wrist.
Devon lurches to life like a motherfucking zombie, swinging mindlessly. “Get the fuck off me!”
His fist clips my shoulder hard enough to make me grunt.
“Whoa, hey! Jesus, Dev!” I barely have time to dodge the next hit as he scrambles backward on the couch with black eyes.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” he snarls, trying to stand before falling to his knees.
“Easy, man.” Instinct makes me grab his arm, but he whirls on me with a broken sound and shoves me backward onto my ass.
“I said don’t—” He winces sharply, clutching his ribs. “Fuck. Ah.”
With a growl, I get to my feet and hold my hands up in surrender. “Devon, chill out! It's me. Christian. You're in my apartment, fool.”
Recognition flickers in his eyes. “Why the fuck am I here? What happened? Who the hell is that?”
His gaze darts over my shoulder, and I spot Owen peeking out of Tay—Logan’s—room. “Owen. He’s my, uh… roommate.” Kinda. “And he just helped me save your ass.”
“Why?” Dev's face twists into a grimace. “God, I feel like I got hit by a truck.”
“Close. A three-hundred-pound bodybuilder. You're welcome, by the way. I paid off your debt.”
He gingerly touches his split lip with a scoff. “I didn't ask you to do that.”
“You're such an ungrateful piece of shit. They held me at knifepoint, motherfucker. Didn't have much of a choice.”
Guilt flashes over his features when he finally meets my gaze, but it quickly disappears. “We all have choices. Yours was to ignore me for a year, so don't act like you care.”
Wow. Is this asshole for real? After all the shit I just did for him? “You're right, I don't care. But now you owe me five grand instead of fucking Arnie, so pay up or get out of my apartment.”
“Christian,” Owen hisses under his breath, and fuck.
Okay, maybe that was too far, especially because Devon is laughing as he stumbles for the door. “I don't owe you shit.”
God.
Why does he piss me the fuck off so much?
“Wrong,” I growl, darting forward to block his path. “Technically, you owe Taylor, too, because that money came from our business account. And until you pay it back, you're not going anywhere.”
“Oh, yeah?” He sneers as he gets in my face. “You gonna stop me, hot shot?”
For a split second, I think about letting him go. Let him limp out the door with bruised ribs and swollen eyes so he can crawl back into whatever hole he dug himself out of. He's not my problem, right? That's the reason I blocked his ass after Logan woke up in the hospital.
But then he smirks, and I see that same self-destructive glint in his eyes that led Taylor down this same path all those years ago. Something in me snaps.
Never again.
“Yeah,” I grit through clenched teeth, shoving him against the wall with my forearm. “I am.”
Owen yelps across the room. “Christian!”
“Stay out of this, Owen.”
Devon’s breath hitches in surprise, hands coming up to scrabble at my shoulders. “Move.”
“No.”
The glare he gives me nearly makes me shiver. “Let me go.”
“No,” I repeat. “You’re not leaving like this. You can hate me tomorrow but tonight, you sit your stubborn ass down to sober up.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll drag you back to the couch again and fucking sit on you all night.”
A myriad of emotion ripples across his features—humiliation, humor, relief. “You’re an asshole,” he whispers, swallowing hard.
My gaze drops to watch his throat flex before I study the way he licks at the cut on his swollen lip. “Yeah. So are you. We gonna have a problem or not?”
His eyes bounce between mine for a silent moment before he looks away. “Whatever. I'll sleep on your dumb couch, just let me go.”
Hesitating for half a second, I finally step back and lower my arm from his chest.
He stumbles immediately, catching himself on the wall with a grunt before scowling at me like it’s my fault gravity exists. When he shoulders past and hobbles toward the couch with all the grace of a disgruntled kitty cat, I almost laugh. It'd be cute if I weren't so pissed at him.
“You suck,” he mutters, dropping onto the couch cushions.
“Pretty sure that was you, pastelito,” I say flatly, unsure why those words come out of my mouth. In all honesty, I've done my best to put Ohio and the tour last year out of my memory.
He just flips me off over his shoulder without speaking.
“Uh…” Owen hovers near the doorway awkwardly. “Do you want some water? Or something to eat?”
“I’m fine,” Devon snaps.
“No, you’re not.” Sauntering over to grab the icepack off the floor, I wrap it back up in a towel. “Keep this on your bruises tonight and leave my roommate alone.”
He cracks one eye open as I kneel in front of him, lifting his shirt. “What happened to Taylor?”
“Moved out.”
When I press the ice to his skin without warning, he gasps. “Fuck, that's cold.”
“Stop being dramatic, asshole.”
His muscles tighten under my hands, and silence stretches between us thickly. Eventually, he lifts his fingers to brush a gentle touch over my temple. “You're bleeding,” he murmurs.
I flinch at the twinge of pain that shoots through my skull. “Fuck, I didn't notice. Those fuckers got some good hits in, but I was too busy worrying about your dumb ass.”
“I’m gonna, uh…” Owen clears his throat before retreating into the room. “Goodnight.”
It isn't until the door closes that I finally look at Devon’s face.
His stubbled jaw tightens. “You didn’t have to pay that money.”
Sighing through my nostrils, I just grab his hand and place it over the icepack before getting to my feet. “I know. Get some sleep and don't die on my couch.”
As I turn toward the hallway, intent on taking a hot shower to ease my own aches, his voice stops me.
“Christian.”
I freeze in place without glancing over my shoulder.
“…Thanks,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.
“Don’t make this weird. You still owe me five grand.” With that, I shut myself inside the bathroom and rest my forehead against the door.
All the adrenaline leaves my veins at once, the sudden drop enough to send me sliding to the tile.
“Fuck,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand down my bruised face.
Tonight could’ve gone so much worse. One bad move, one wrong word, and someone might’ve been hauled out in a body bag.
I did that. I'm the one who put Owen in danger by waltzing into that bar. This is the shit that happens when I let my fucking impulses run the show.
And yet, as I peel off my clothes and hiss at every sting of pain when I step under the hot shower spray, I realize that I don't regret it. Dev may have been the one to lose his life tonight, and the fucker doesn't even realize it. Or maybe he does, but he doesn't care.
Either way, despite the financial hole I probably put Taylor and myself in by using TOT's business account…
I'm glad I was there when he needed me.