Page 65 of Filthy Little Secret

“Are you acting out because I screwed up? Because this isn’t worth it.”

“Fuck you. Not everything is about you, asshole.”

“You thinkIhurt you, but you’re running around with a guy who has a fucking knife out right now?”

Tim looks at his hand. The way he eyes it, it’s like he hadn’t even realized he still had it out. He closes his sling blade.

“Just be fucking careful, dude,” Greg says before spinning around and heading off.

“God, this is fucking insane,” Brody says and turns to us. “I am so fucking sorry, you guys.”

“You weren’t responsible for that,” I say. “Neither of you were.”

Tim avoids my gaze. I can tell he’s not letting either of them off the hook that easily, which makes me feel like crap because I don’t know how to get it through his thick skull that there wasn’t anything he could have done to stop what went down. How could he have stopped it? I threw myself in the middle of a dangerous situation. I was doing it to protect him, foolishly thinking that I could say something to calm down the guys who were obviously way too drunk and way too frustrated for me to reason with.

But knowing his temper, I figured he’d do little more than piss them off.

Regardless, at the end of the day, if anyone is to blame for what happened, it’s those assholes who went fucking apeshit on us, not him.

* * *

“You good?” Tim asks for what seems like the hundredth time as he leads me into my apartment.

“It was a punch.”

“A few of them.”

Silence.

“The hydrocodone you gave me helped,” I say because while the pressure in my face is still there, it doesn’t feel swollen as fuck.

“You just need to get in bed,” Tim says.

“I’m fine.”

“Mark, can you take it easy for me today? Please?”

“I can. Let me take a look at your injuries.”

We head into the bathroom, and I pull up his shirt, seeing the red welts on his torso where that asshole got him.

“Fuckin’ A,” he groans.

“Let me get you some frozen vegetables,” I say as I head out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.

“You need them just as much as I do,” Tim reminds me.

“Trust me, the way my fucking face is about to explode, I know I do.”

I grab a pack of peas and hand it to him. Then put a pack of corn on my face.

“Goddammit,” I hiss.

Brody gave us a ride back, and we plan to Uber to Tim’s bike tomorrow.

We head into the shower together, Tim clinging to me as though he nearly lost me tonight.

His grip is so tight.

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