Chapter 6
After having my warm beer knocked to the floor, I snatch my hand out and grab him by the throat.
His eyes widen as his arms flail, trying to push me off.
The person he was clearly holding up buckles to the floor, but I pay them no mind.
I snarl at the idiot, who must be at least a foot shorter than me.
I flex my hand, gripping tighter around his scrawny neck.
As his eyes bulge, his face turns purple.
The crappy prison tats that litter his face and neck are cheap and tragic.
“Knock into me again, and I swear I will rip your fucking throat out.” I snarl at him, squeezing tighter.
His mouth opens and closes, gasping, as he claws at my wrists and forearms, which I barely notice through my leather jacket.
The guy on the floor tries to pull himself up on his leg, and I glare at him.
There’s a split second of recognition, and I throw the guy in my grasp back, jumping over the rope and scooping Scott off the floor.
“Scott, can you hear me?” His eyes roll back, and he grumbles.
His hand flicks up and catches the side of my face.
He wobbles and jolts. I wrap my arms around him and pick him up.
I stare down at the guy I’ve just thrown on the floor.
He growls but shoves himself back on his ass, spitting insults and curses as he fumbles to his feet.
I wrap my arms around Scott, lifting him off the floor and striding out of the warehouse, his head lolls against my chest.
When I push my way outside, the fresh, cold night air hits us, and I try to stand him on his feet.
He wobbles, and his eyes try to focus on me.
He pulls his head away before it flops forward, jerking before it lurches again.
His eyes are glassy and unfocused. His clothes are wet, and he smells like a cheap fucking brewery.
He rocks back and forth, and I reach for him as he doubles over and pukes on my boots. Fucking great. I hold him up and rub his back, and he vomits again. When we get to my bike, I sit him on a concrete post. I crouch in front of him.
“Scott, kiddo, have you taken something? Have you been drinking?”
He mumbles and tries to lift his hand, slapping me in the face. His eyes are glazed over and rolling back. Fuck, how the hell did he get in this state? He barely drinks.
Shit, how the fuck am I gonna get him home when I’m on my bike?
My mind starts reeling as I try to figure out the best course of action.
That’s when the door opens, and a gang of guys stumble out, cursing and shouting.
I realise it’s the guy I grabbed, the guy who did this to Scott.
Wrenching me from my thoughts, I stand abruptly, but Scott wobbles.
“Shit.” I snatch him back, holding him to me.
I do something I never thought I would. Turn my back on them.
Blocking Scott from their view, I rest his head against my stomach.
My hand strokes through his hair, and I hold him against me.
Shielding him from them. Waiting for them to pass.
They stumble and curse. The one I grabbed yells and kicks out as his mates push him forward, making their way down the street and out of sight. I kneel in front of Scott again.
He grins at me. He tries to mumble my name, but it just comes out muffled and groggy, confusion etched on his face as he tries to say my name again.
I huff out a breath and tug my phone out of my pocket. “Hey, Mum.”
“Hey, you okay?” I chuckle, typical Mum question when you phone late.
“Yeah, I’m… I’m okay, Mum. It’s Scott, though. He’s drunk. I’m on my bike, so I can’t get him home. Can you pick us up in the truck?”
I can already hear rustling as she moves through the house, getting her stuff. “Send me your location. I’ll be there soon. I’m just throwing my shoes on.”
“We’re at the warehouse.” I sigh.
The phone goes silent. She whispers, “You didn’t say you had a fight. Why would you take Scott there? I didn’t think you wanted him to know?”
“I didn’t, he was already here, and I don’t, Mum.” A chuckle spills out of me. I’m thirty-two years old and still having to call my mum for help. In all honesty, she’s always the first person I’d call.
I pin Scott against me and hold him close while we wait. The doors open repeatedly, and people mill around. The car park starts to empty, and darkness seeps in as the lights are turned off. The rumble of a truck breaks me from my thoughts.
“Mum.” I smile as she pulls up in front of me. Scott is tight against my body, but his breathing is even. His head rests on my stomach, his hands limp in his lap. I slide my palm over his hair as I realise he’s asleep.
“Hey.” A look of pride spreads across Mum’s face, and she stares up at me. Her hand comes up and cups my cheeks. “You okay?”
I nod. She smiles and turns back towards the truck, opening the back door.
I lift Scott, placing him gently on the seat and buckling him in.
His head lolls, and slight whimpers trickle from him, as I quietly click the door closed.
After taking a breath, I make my way around the back and lower the tailgate.
I drag the ramp out and secure it to the back of the truck before heading to my bike, wheeling it towards the ramp, and grunting as I force it onto the truck bed with its stand down.
I pull the strapping out and fasten the bike, locking it in place.
I hop in beside Scott. Concern filters through me as my hand reaches for him, caressing his face, checking him over, but he seems unfazed and light snores flutter out of him.
“Are we taking him home?” Mum’s eyes meet mine in the rear-view mirror, and I shake my head.
“Nah, you know Steven, he won’t look after him.”
She smiles at me. “Yours or mine, then?”
“Mine, he can sleep it off while I’m at work tomorrow, and then at least I’m close enough to whoop his ass when he wakes up.”
She laughs and pulls off slowly so as not to shake Scott.
She keeps checking on him in the mirror.
Scott snores lightly as we make our way to mine.
The hum of the vehicle and the external lights flash, illuminating his face.
He looks so peaceful. I’ve always been protective to a fault.
Steven just never stepped up when their parents died, and Scott just wanted someone.
I became whatever he needed from me. Do I pick on him?
Fuck yes. Do I love him? Undoubtedly. Would I burn the world for him? Every fucking day.
When he first stepped foot into our house with the black bin bag of clothes we’d grabbed from the house, he looked so small, so breakable.
Those thick-rimmed glasses fogged from crying.
He used to look down at the floor and push them up his nose when he was nervous.
It took him a while to warm up to living with us.
He curled in on himself for a while, but he soon got into his stride and developed a relationship with Mum and me.
His and Steven’s never fully recovered. He started following me around.
Was it annoying? God, yes, but also it felt nice to have someone else.
It had been Mum and me for so long that having him in the house brought us even closer together.
We became this little family unit. I used to steal his breakfast, pinch his snacks, push him around, and do all the big-brother shit Steven should have been doing.
But I’ve always been fiercely protective of him, even before.
When he got picked on at school, it was me he ran to.
When he was beaten and bruised, it was me he called to fetch him.
The only reason the dude walked away tonight is that Scott was in such a state I couldn’t bear to let him go. Mum turns the engine off, and I startle from my thoughts.
Silently, I tug on the door, trying not to disturb Scott.
I drag my bike off the back of the truck and lock it back up.
Mum heads up to the flat, opening the door for me.
I lean into the back seat, wrapping my arms around Scott.
I gently lift him out and carry him across the courtyard before steadily climbing the stairs.
I grip him tighter, walking into the flat and straight into my room, lying him on the bed.
We tug off his shoes and jeans, tossing them both through the door and removing his glasses.
I place them on the bedside table. I lift him tentatively while Mum helps me take his jumper and shirt off.
I slide one of my T-shirts over his head, tugging it down his body.
We gently lay him down again, propping the pillows behind him.
After covering him with the quilt, Mum heads out of the room, and I can’t help but stand and stare.
She returns with a glass of water, some painkillers, and a bucket.
“Thanks, Mum.” I wrap my arms around her, and she pulls me in tight. Even at thirty-two, I’m still her little boy. She will always be my go-to for everything.
She pulls away from the hug, staring up at me. The look she gets when she thinks about me growing up passes across her delicate features. She looks so good for her age.
“He’s lucky to have you.” Mum cups my cheeks, stretching onto her tiptoes, and I lean down so she can kiss my forehead like she always has.
I smile at her, knowing what she means. That Steven should be here, but Steven is so self-centred and unaware nowadays.
I love him. I really do. But he just has no drive anymore, no spark.
He plays video games all day, does maybe one or two days a month at the shop, if I’m lucky.
The rest of the time, he smokes weed and fucks that friend-with-benefits he has—Abby, Amy, Alison. Whatever her name is.