Page 27 of Tulips and Lost Time

His hands are rough. His intentions, pure, but fuck, he’s not careful as he grabs my shoulders and flips me to my back. “Luca!” He presses his hands to my chest, like he’s gonna do compressions or some shit. I dunno. We didn’t listen that day in class.

“Stop.” I cough, which hurts my injured ribs, which steals the breath from my lungs and ends with a groan rolling along my throat. “Shit, Marcus, stop.”

“Are you okay?” He swats my cheek—to clean the dirt away, I’m sure, though it feels like he’s slapping for the fun of it. “Luca! Are you alright?”

“Dude.” I groan and turn away, spying a larger than us, older than us, Alex Turner pounding Beaterman into the grass. He rests his knee on Beaterman’s chest and just… hits. And hits. And hits. “Someone probably should stop him.”

“Give him a sec,” Angelo growls. He stands over us, his hands on his knees and a long grease stain marking his face. “He knows how to do it without killing the guy. And none of us are gonna snitch.”

“What the fuck is going on between you and Beaterman?” Marcus growls. “He’s been on your case for weeks. What’d you do? Screw his sister?”

“He doesn’t have a sister.” I draw a breath into my lungs and pray it doesn’t spill out into my chest à la punctured organs. Then I turn on the dirt, placing my hands on the ground and grunting when my body rejects the idea of moving. “Jesus, that stings. Where did you guys even come from?” I glance to my right to find Sam half watching me, half watching his brother lay Beaterman into the ground. “Scotch? I thought you were hanging with Sammy this afternoon?”

“We were at the garage first,” Marcus rumbles. “A dude just brought a Charger in that he wants to sell. And Sammy is with Meg. What the hell are you doing getting beat up in the park?”

I choke out a laugh and plop back to my ass, sending plumes of dust up and glancing at my knee–—denim scraped away and blood trickling along my skin. “Bastard. These were my favorite jeans.”

“Get the fuck up!” Alex yanks Beaterman to his feet and holds him steady when the guy wants to sway.

“He’s going to prison if your dad finds out he did that.” Breathing through the nausea rolling in my gut, I rest my aching back against the park bench and drop my head. “That shit hurts.”

“What is going on between you and Beaterman?” Marcus grabs my jaw and forces my eyes to come to his. “If you have a problem with him, then I have a problem with him.”

“It’s not?—”

“But you’re not even telling us! You haven’t said shit about your beef with him. So we’re going about our business, no fucking clue we’re supposed to be watching your back. And you’re out here getting pounded on by the entire JV team.”

“It was the whole team, right?” I drag my gaze across to Ang. “Felt like the whole team.”

“Eight of ‘em,” he smirks. His eyes burn with rage, but he makes a conscious effort to relax. To smile. He knows what it is to have your guts kicked in. He knows how much it hurts.

Most of all, he knows how annoying it is for your friends to fuss about it.

“Can you get up?” He steps closer, nudging Marcus to the side. Then he takes my hands, linking us together and wrapping his palms around my wrists. Hooking us securely, he tugs just hard enough to start the momentum. Then he becomes my leaning post as my head swims and my ribs smart. “Hospital or home?” he grumbles. “You need a doctor or just a little rest?”

“Doctor,” Marcus snarls. “Then a baseball bat. We’re gonna take care of business.”

“Business has been taken care of,” Scotch inserts. He steps closer, and Marcus pushes to his feet, so my friends become my wall. A shield. But we all still look over at Alex, who says something to a glassy eyed Beaterman. He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t swear. The most terrifying part of his actions are that he’s entirely too calm and collected. And like a good, obedient boy, Beaterman nods.

His friends, though, are long gone.

“Come on.” Ang claps my shoulder, dislodging a plume of dust so it wafts into the air. “The sooner you walk it off, the better it’ll feel.”

“What the fuck was that all about?” Marcus repeats. While Scotch leans in and grabs my notebook and pen from the bench, Marcus pushes in front of us, giving his back to the rest of the park and staring at my face. His glare is like a warm touch on a hot day. His concern, the reason we love him. The reason we’re best friends: now and forever.

But thirty feet back, at the edge of the park, with one foot on the grass and the other still on the road, Kari stands with her hands pressed to her mouth. Tears, glittering in her eyes. Her chest heaves in silent panic, and worst of all, no one is there to comfort her. Not my sisters. Not Britt. None of the guys. She’s all on her own.

And she knows what Marcus doesn’t.

She knows what neither of us have verbalized in all the time since that night at the lake.

“Luca?”

“I hit on his cousin or something.” I shrug my friends off and step-shuffle away from the park bench. The sooner I walk, the better I’ll feel. “And maybe I told him to fuck himself over it. He didn’t like it.”

“You never told me that.” Marcus wanders into Billy’s bedroom, surprising me so I jerk to my right and feel those phantom pains from forever ago in my ribs. My shoes scuff against the floor and startle sweet Billy, but she settles again just as soon as Jess pats her butt. “You protected my sister from Garth, told no one, then took his beating all alone?”

“How the hell did you get into my house?” I press a dramatic hand to my chest and laugh. Because if I don’t, I might fall apart. I’ve lost too much today already. Fighting with my best friend, my brother-in-law, isn’t something I intend to do. “Dammit, Marcus. You couldn’t even make the stairs creak to give me warning?”

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