Devil You Know(68)

JANE BOLTS from the room. Her eyes tell me she’s a million miles away. I look to Ty and Bronx. They both nod their understanding.

Telling her what I do for a job was never going to end well.

I should have done it sooner.

“Are you going to be okay with that?” Bronx asks, tipping his chin to gesture up the hall.

I nod. “Yeah, man. All good.” If anything, it’s the distraction I need to forget about what went down tonight.

I look down at my blood-soaked shirt, and my stomach lurches knowing that most of it isn’t mine.

“I need to get cleaned up,” I mutter.

The boys watch me as I strip down to my boxers right there in the living room, and put my stained threads in the bin. Wearing those clothes a minute longer didn’t sit right. It was like saying I was proud of what had happened, happy to share it with the world.

I’m anything but.

It should never have gone down.

Tigger should still be alive.

“Did either of you know anything about this?” Ty asks.

Bronx and I shake our heads.

“Fuck,” Ty grits out. “Carlos, of all people. Why didn’t he tell us?”

“Perhaps he thought we’d be hard on him,” Bronx offers.

I look up the hall, eager to check on Jane.

“No more jobs for Carlos until this is sorted,” Ty instructs, pointing at us in turn.

“I don’t think you need to tell us, brother,” I say. “I wouldn’t disrespect Tigger like that.”

“I need to head out, and call his parents.” Ty moves for the door. “You want a lift, Bronx?”

“Yeah, man.”

I see them out, talking about when we’ll meet up next to discuss this, but my head’s not in the game. My torn mind can’t decide if it should be paying attention to Bronx and Ty, grieving Tigger, or worrying about Jane.

I swear the fucking thing will implode if I don’t simplify this shit out, and soon.

The guys head down the drive to Ty’s car, and I close the door. The silence is welcoming to my overworked brain, but it also leaves me with a heavy heart knowing that Jane is here, equally as quiet.

I head up to my room, and pull on a clean pair of shorts. The door to her room sits ajar, so I head over and knock. “Can I come in?”

“It’s your place,” she says. “Do whatever you want.”

My anger spikes, but I push it down. Now’s not the time to argue that bullshit again. She wriggles across on her bed, giving me room to sit on the edge.

“Did he suffer for long?” she asks.

I close my eyes, but the images of tonight assail me with crystal-clear horror. Snapping them open again, I lie back on her bed, across her feet. “It could have been easier.”

She sucks in a breath, and shifts beside me. “Are you okay?”

I turn my head to find her staring straight at me. She’s lain down beside me, mirroring my position. “Not really.”

“Would it help to talk about it?”

“No,” I say with certainty. I want to forget.

Her fingers brush my temple, and I feel sick at the guilt of hiding so much from her and still having her care for me. I don’t fucking deserve it.

“Can we just lie here for a bit?” I ask.

“Sure.” She nestles in to my shoulder, and wraps an arm over my chest.

Being with her settles me. Problem is, it’s the first time I’ve been anything near relaxed all night. The weight of what happened out there hits me like a truck, and I struggle to contain all the emotions swimming through my head. I have to stay strong.

I reach over, and hoist her onto my body. She startles at first, but soon settles in on top of me. My arms bind her tight, and I bury my nose in her hair. She always smells so good.

She smells like home.

My eyes shut, and tears threaten as the memory of Tigger plays behind my lids like a damn silent movie.

• • • • •

I WAKE up later on, hot and uncomfortable. Jane has slipped half off, and her leg and arm still drape across me. She stirs a little as I shift from underneath, but soon drifts into a deep sleep. Rocco follows me to the bathroom, and sits at the door while I take a leak. I wash my hands, and glance up to find my reflection. Blood still dots my face, and I choke back the urge to vomit.

I scrub, wipe, and near on try to peel the top layer of skin off me. Clean as I am now, Tigger’s blood still stains my conscience. The thoughts I tried to ignore on the drive home come back to haunt me, and I slump onto the closed toilet.

Why didn’t he share this burden with us? We’re his brothers, and yet he didn’t tell us.

The part that sickens me the most is the thought I could have easily been in the same shit. I don’t tell the boys as much as I should. I don’t ‘burden’ them with what I feel they don’t need to know. So how different am I to Tigger? We’re one and the same when it comes down to it.