6. Five

I lifted my head as headlights washed over me, coming through the closed blinds. They were sitting wrong to be Jeep headlights. I squinted and picked out the grill of a red Land Rover Defender. What the fuck was Church doing pulling up to Boone’s place when he knew Boone wasn’t here?

Trixie and Morticia started going nuts, barking and pawing at the door. I sighed and set aside the paper towel I’d been using as a plate. When Boone didn’t show up to make dinner, I didn’t know what to do, so I knocked on Wattson’s door and he ordered me a pizza. I felt bad, but what else was I supposed to do? I wasn’t allowed to use the stove and the fridge was empty of everything but booze anyway.

I looked up at the clock as I shuffled across the living room floor, trying not to trip over the dogs. It was one in the fucking morning and Boone still wasn’t home. I saw why when Church opened the passenger door and dragged a bruised and battered Boone out of it.

“Fucking Christ.” I yanked open the front door, nudging the dogs back with my foot so they didn’t run out. “What the hell happened to him?”

Boone moved his legs, but he wasn’t walking so much as being carried up the wooden steps to the trailer. His long, copper hair hung in front of his face, but there was obviously blood crusted on his knuckles.

“He got bloody pissed is what happened. Again.” Church grunted as he hauled Boone through the door, which I held open for him.

The dogs tried to nip at Boone, wagging their tails so hard their whole butts were wiggling back and forth. I herded the girls into their kennels so they’d be out of the way while Church deposited a nearly unconscious Boone in his chair.

I winced. “What happened to his face?” He was sporting a new cut on his lip and a black eye to match his bloody knuckles.

“Bikers,” Church answered. “Lucky I got there before the pigs, eh?”

“You should see the other guys,” Boone muttered.

So the fucker wasn’t passed out. Unfortunate for him.

I crossed my arms and looked at Church for an explanation.

“The git picked a fight with a whole bloody bar. He’s fucking lucky he only got a black eye and split lip instead of a bloody knife!” Church shoved Boone’s shoulder.

Boone retaliated with a sloppy kick. “Fuck off.”

Church huffed and looked at me. “If he passes out, make sure he keeps breathing.”

“Wait, what?” I uncrossed my arms and followed Church to the front door. “What am I supposed to do with him? Hey, why would he stop breathing? Church!” I grabbed Church’s shirt.

The next thing I knew, my feet were off the ground and my back was pinned to the wall. Church’s fist was around my throat, and I couldn’t breathe. Hands closed on Church’s shoulder and Boone jerked him away, throwing a messy punch at Church’s jaw that Church took. He let Boone hit him.

Then the two of them stood there, staring at each other. Well, Church stood. Boone swayed in place long enough to slur, “Don’t you ever fucking touch him,” before falling over.

There was a flash of something in Church’s eyes. Hurt, maybe? Betrayal? Disappointment? Maybe all three. He sighed and pushed his way through the front door. “He’s your problem tonight,” he muttered and hurried down the stairs.

I frowned and rubbed my sore throat. What the fuck was that about?

“Pup?”

Fucking dammit. Why did my heart start to gallop whenever he called me that?

Boone lifted his head, looking at me through strands of red in the dark. “I think I need to throw up.”

Shit.

I grabbed him by the arm and tried to lift him, but he was heavier than he looked. I wound up mostly dragging him down the hall where I shoved him into the bathroom. He found the toilet just in time, throwing up loudly. I cursed again when I realized his hair was in the way. I had to go in and hold it back for him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?” I growled. “I’m supposed to be the fucked up one in this relationship.”

He gripped the toilet like he was in the middle of a stormy sea. “What relationship?”

Fuck. Way to call my bluff, asshole. “That’s not the point. Why are you drunk?”

“Because the only other option was to be sober, and I didn’t wanna.” He tried twice to hit the flusher before he succeeded.

“Is that where you’ve been all fucking day? Drinking and making stupid decisions?”

He didn’t answer me. I yanked his head up from the toilet and realized he’d passed out. Fucking bastard. With a grunt, I hauled him into the bathtub and turned the shower on, blasting him with ice cold water.

He jerked awake, flailing his arms in front of him and spitting. “What the fuck?”

“You don’t get to pass out, asshole,” I said and pushed his head under the spray again. “Not until you give me my meds.”

“Fuck, okay!” He shoved me away.

I stood in the doorway while he fumbled through turning off the shower and climbed out, cursing every step of the way. He found a towel hanging on the rack, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with it since he was still dressed. Eventually he flung it down and grabbed his toothbrush. Rather than putting the toothpaste on the brush, he squirted the paste right in his mouth and brushed that way.

I could’ve helped more, but I didn’t. He didn’t deserve my help after staying away from me for so long without a phone call or an explanation. My paranoia had really started to kick in around eleven and I was convinced for almost an hour that he was lying dead in a ditch somewhere and it was my fault.

Not that I cared. He could die anytime he wanted, and I wouldn’t care. Hell, my life would probably be better if he wasn’t in it. The others might let me go.

Still, when he stumbled, I caught him. Not because I didn’t want him to fall. I just didn’t want him to put holes in the wall or something stupid. That’d be more work for me.

He lifted his head, but the idiot hadn’t brushed his hair and it was all knotted in front of his face. I fought the urge to push it away so I could look at him.

“My medicine?” I prompted.

“Bedroom.”

I rolled my eyes and helped him down the hall. At least I didn’t have to drag him. He mostly went on his own. When I tried the door, it was locked. That’s right. He kept the room locked because that’s where the guns were, and I wasn’t allowed to be near weapons. The thought left a sour taste on my tongue. It wasn’t like I was going to shoot anybody.

Okay, I wasn’t going to shoot Boone. That’d be a waste of a perfectly good bullet.

Boone fumbled around for the key on his key ring before dropping the whole thing. I let him go and grabbed the keys from the floor before he could fall over trying to get them. After trying a few at random, I found the right key and opened the door.

His room was a little bigger than mine, but not by much. A shabby twin bed took up most of one wall, the blankets spilling onto the floor. There were two big piles of clothes in opposite corners. Between them sat a huge desk with papers spread out all over it. He’d set up a corkboard on the wall above it and pinned the pictures of half a dozen people there with colored pushpins. Phone numbers or coordinates had been pinned up there too, though I couldn’t tell from a glance what it all meant.

Boone staggered in, headed for the bed. “Top right drawer,” he said and yanked his shirt over his head.

I hesitated in the doorway, watching him undress. I don’t know why. It wasn’t like I wanted to watch him strip down to his underwear. Watching him do it, though, made me realize how few naked bodies I’d actually seen. Xander and Xavier, obviously, but for the most part we all looked alike. I’d seen a few patients in the ward strip down and run for it, but that didn’t happen often. Even when I was being assaulted, it was with most of our clothes on.

I’d never understood the appeal. It was just skin, hair, and nails. Why did everyone get so damn worked up over that?

But I couldn’t look away from Boone. He was short, shorter than some women, and with that long hair, I think I expected he’d look more androgynous under his clothes. More vulnerable at least. He didn’t. He looked like a man, a strong as fuck almost-forty-year-old man who drank a little too much and didn’t bother to shave because it’d grow back too fast anyway.

Boone looked like what he was. Honest, and maybe a little broken.

My fingers twitched at my sides with the urge to touch him to make sure he was real. I shook the thought away and yanked open the drawer, fishing out the two bottles I needed. I swallowed my pills without any water and slammed the drawer shut before turning to Boone. He’d collapsed face down on the bed, but he wasn’t moving.

Make sure he keeps breathing.

Fuck. What if he stopped breathing? Could that happen? How much did a person have to drink before it was fatal? Probably less than I thought, especially given Boone’s short stature. That mattered, right? Fuck, why was I so stupid when it came to that shit?

“Boone?” I called, and when he didn’t respond, I shouted, “Boone!”

He still didn’t move.

I marched over to the bed and grabbed his shoulder, forcing him onto his back. Dammit, his hair was in front of his face again. I couldn’t see if he was breathing. For all I knew, he’d choked on it. I carefully brushed the long, soft strands of penny colored hair aside but paused when his eyelashes fluttered. How had I never noticed they were the same coppery red?

My gaze dropped to his chest, my mouth suddenly going dry. Fuck, he was red there too. Did he have red hair everywhere?

“Whatchu lookin’ at, Pup?” he murmured, his voice thick and slurred. His eyes were open, the lids heavy and his gaze dark.

My face was warm, but I wasn’t embarrassed. Being embarrassed would mean I thought I was doing something I shouldn’t. I hadn’t done anything except what Church told me to. Besides, it was just a body. Just an observation. It meant nothing.

“You have red chest hair,” I said and let the announcement hang awkwardly in the air between us.

He sighed and brought a hand up to his chest. Was he trying to cover himself? I shouldn’t have said anything. He’d think I meant something by it, that I cared what he looked like, or that I was judging him.

“Sorry I wasn’t here,” he mumbled.

“Where were you?”

He didn’t answer me, turning his head and staring at the blinds.

Irrational anger surged in my chest. I grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “I thought you were dead, you asshole! I thought you left me! God damn you! If you weren’t already beat up, I’d… I’d…”

I’d kill you. It was what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t get the words out. Every time I tried, I choked. For some reason, my breaths were coming out so rough and fast my throat was raw. My chest ached. I was dying, my heart exploding in slow motion. That was the only explanation I had for that expanding pain in my chest, the cold numbness spreading through my limbs, and the warm wet tears on my cheeks.

Boone lifted his hand, cold fingers sliding through the tracks the tears left on my cheeks. “Sorry, Pup.”

I closed my eyes, wishing I could let myself lean into that touch, but I couldn’t. Boone didn’t care about me. Nobody did. I was invisible to everyone except the voices in my head, and they weren’t even real. He was only acting like he cared because he was drunk. Tomorrow, everything would go back to the way it was supposed to be.

So I did what I always did when feeling was too hard. I built a box and stuffed that swelling feeling down into it. Then I buried it and built walls all around so it’d never, ever get free and be used to hurt me again.

My eyes snapped open and I slapped his hand away. “Don’t ever make me cry over you again or I’ll fucking kill you.”

I stormed out of his room, slamming the door shut behind me so hard it left a crack in the wall.