Chapter 41
Randy
I have an extra spring in my step as I jog down the stairs after another mind-blowing romp with my girl. I’m not sure how it keeps getting better. Maybe because we trust each other. Maybe we are more relaxed around each other, or perhaps it’s just love, and now it’s different, better.
Rachel’s just getting out of the shower, and I’m rummaging through the kitchen for something sweet to have after dinner.
I hear her gentle footsteps descending the stairs as headlights sweep across the driveway.
Wondering who’s just getting in at this hour and realizing I don’t even know which of my housemates are home.
Rachel wraps her arms around me and presses a kiss to my bare back, making me smile as I spin to face her.
“I found chocolate—”
“Seth!”
A masculine, fragile cry of pain cuts through the night from the front door. It’s not a casual call, but one that sparks immediate fear.
I tear myself from Rachel’s arms and push my feet toward the door, her quick footsteps trailing behind me. Walsh collapses on all fours just inside the threshold. There’s so much blood pouring from his face. He coughs, and more blood spurts from his mouth as one hand grips at his ribs.
“Seth!” Rachel screams, her voice piercing the air with a blood-curdling sound.
Beside me, she dives, catching Walsh just as he crumples to the floor.
His face is blooded, bruised, and broken.
Bright red stains cover over half his light-colored green shirt, and his left eye is so badly beaten, he can no longer open it.
His breath is sharp and rapid and his nose is obviously broken, and I can see he has at least one tooth missing.
“Seth!” Rachel screams again in desperation.
“Walsh, what the fuck! Who did this to you?”
He doesn’t answer me just concentrates on breathing through the pain as both Seth and Christian race into the entrance in horror.
I stare back to them in helpless disbelief. “What do I do, man?” I cry out to Seth holding Walsh’s broken body against mine.
“Christian, call the ambulance!” Seth shouts.
Seth pushes me out of the way and gets in my face.
“Go get a bucket of warm water, towels, and the first-aid kit.” I nod and race to the laundry, grabbing a bucket along the way.
Running the water till it’s warm and grabbing a pile of clean towels.
I return with all the items and then go grab the first-aid kit.
Rachel cries, cradling his head in her lap, her hands gently tracing over him, searching for broken bones.
Christian paces the front porch talking to 911.
My heart beats erratically in my chest as I walk behind Seth feeling helpless as the studying doctor and nurse apply their learned skills. All I can concentrate on is the slow rise and fall of Walsh’s chest.
“Randy!” Christian calls my name, holding his hand over the speaker of his phone. “Call Coach and Walsh’s dad.”
I nod, reaching for my phone and pulling up Coach’s number. It only rings twice before he answers, and I can hear the concern in his voice. When your quarterback rings you late at night, it’s usually not a good thing.
“Harrison!” he answers.
“Coach, we have a situation.”
“What?” his hard voice demands.
“Walsh is hurt. He needs to go to the hospital.”
“What the fuck happened?”
“I don’t know—there is so much blood.” I’m practically shouting in fear. “It looks like someone beat the shit out of him. Seth is seeing to him, and Christian has called the ambulance.”
“Okay, I’m on my way,” is all I hear before the line goes dead.
I glance to Walsh’s pockets, not seeing his phone, so I race to his car and find it laying on the passenger seat.
I punch in his code and bring up his dad’s contact.
My finger hesitates over the call button as I see the blood covering the driver’s seat and steering wheel.
It causes bile to race to my mouth, but no vomit follows, so I slam the car door and spit on the ground.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Walsh, it’s Randy. I’m calling because Tony has been hurt—and I think you need to come here.”
“What happened?” His thick, country accent is laced with worry.
“I don’t know, sir. My guess...looks like he has been beaten.”
“But he’s okay?”
“I hope so. The ambulance is on its way.”
“Okay, son. Thank you, I’m on my way. I’ll call you back soon.”
I hang up the phone and watch the ambulance stop at the end of our driveway. I take the stairs back inside the house and observe Seth yelling at Walsh.
“Man, what’s going on?” I ask Seth in irritated confusion.
“He’s refusing to let us call the police,” Christian answers.
I look to Walsh. “Walsh, we need to report this.”
“No,” he says, his voice firm, then it cracks in a desperate plea, “please don’t. I beg you.” He looks around at us, his eyelids hovering as he struggles to hold them open; he licks at his bloodied lip and tries to sit up.
I watch Seth’s chest fall in defeat as he looks to Christian, then back toward him. “Fine, but this isn’t over.”
Walsh nods and we all step back to let the paramedics assess the damage.