Page 99 of The Season
Tom stumbles back clutching his nose, his eyes wide. Already, blood is seeping through his fingers, dripping onto the pristine tiles at his feet.
Seth doesn’t reply, doesn’t even utter a word. Instead, he reaches out, gripping Tom by the front of his shirt, hauling him out of the bathroom, ignoring his strangled cries of protest.
“Let me go you fucking psycho…”
Another thud cuts off his words, followed by a crash and the distinctive cracking of plasterboard. I watch in a mixture of awe and horror as Seth lays into Tom, fists flying relentlessly, again and again.
The blood is rushing in my ears, a thundering roar. Lily, on the floor behind me. Tom’s feet scrabble against carpet, his arms above his face, his back against the cracked plasterboard, eyes wide and frantic. Seth, a towering beacon of rage, burning, burning, burning.
Seth’s fist glances off Tom’s raised arm and connects with his temple, sending Tom’s head snapping back, chin up, then down again. I see the moment consciousness leaves Tom’s eyes, the moment the black disappears, whites rolling, jaw going slack, his body slumping and dragging down the wall, into a heap at Seth’s feet.
“Fuck,” I gasp. My fingertips feel icy cold, the roaring in my ears almost deafening. “Holy shit.”
Seth stares down at Tom’s limp form, his fists clenched, back tense and heaving. For a long moment, all I can hear are the rasping sounds of his breath, thedrip, drip, dripof the bathroom sink behind me, and the frantic staccato of my own heart.
And then I’m running, all the fragmented thoughts flying together in my mind like broken shards coming together in reverse, like puzzle pieces forming a checklist of things to do.
Get Lily home. Get Seth home. Don’t let anyone see what Seth did to Tom so he doesn’t go to prison for murder.
“Matty,” I call out, my voice causing a momentary lull in the now-teaming mass of people filling the living room. Where the fuck did all these people come from?
“Matty,” I say again, relief flooding me when he turns my way, a head higher than the crowd around him, blue eyes sharp, jaw tense with the alertness he always carries with him, like a burden he can’t quite seem to shake.
“What is it?” he asks, pushing through the crowd, as if the people around him are no more than blades of grass in one of my grandfather’s paddocks.
I glance around, suddenly aware of the eyes on us, of the way the conversation has dipped, low enough that I can hear the lyrics of the music, some remix chanting, “dance, dance, dance with my hands.” And down the hall, out of sight, Tom’s blood coats Seth’s knuckles, and Lily is on the bathroom floor…
I give the watching crowd a broad smile, waving a dismissive hand. “As you were, people. Just employing my hired muscle to move the idiot who passed out in the bathroom so I can take a piss.”
Matty’s brow dips in confusion, and a few people snigger, but since it’s the least bizarre thing I’ve said, no one really seems to care, and a few moments later, we’re forgotten.
“Come on,” I hiss, gripping him by the elbow, hauling him down the hall after me.
Matty doesn’t put up a fight, doesn’t even question me or pull his arm free, just follows me dutifully, blindly.Like a good little solider, I think, with a sickening twist of guilt.
“Everything okay?” he asks, voice tight with tension and uncertainty. “Did someone really pass out?”
I don’t answer. He’ll see soon enough.
Instead, I pull out my phone, quickly tapping out a message in the group chat for Antoine and Liam to meet us at Lily’s car outside. All the while, my mind is racing, calculating how long it will be before someone wanders down the hallway to the bathroom and finds Tom’s bleeding form slumped against the wall. Maybe someone slipped past while I was getting Matty…
“Oh my gosh.” Matty pulls to a stop, his blue eyes wide and almost translucent in the glow of the lights flooding the hallway. But it’s not Tom he’s worried about. In fact, I’m not even sure he notices the lifeless body or the blood spattered against the pristine walls or the cracked plasterboard.
No, his attention is solely focused on Lily.
Lily, who is currently in Seth’s arms, bridal style, her head cradled against his chest, pupils dilated between fluttering eyelashes. Her hands are tucked under her chin, the fingers of one lightly gripping the fabric of Seth’s Henley, and her bare feet dangling, looking so small and fragile with those pink toenails.
“Lily.” Matty rushes forward, his arms outstretched, as if he means to pry Lily from Seth’s arms.
Seth bares his teeth, looking barely human as he clutches Lily against him. “Don’t touch her.”
Matty pulls up short, hands hovering midair, confusion giving way to a dangerous, coiling tension, like a bull about to charge.
“Nope,” I say, clapping my hands together to get their attention. “Nah-uh.” I elbow my way past Matty, then shove him back, raising one finger and glaring between the pair. “You can save your territorial display for when we get back to the flat.” I point to where Tom lays limp in the darkened hallway, then looking meaningfully up at Matty. “Terminator over here got a little carried away, as you can see.”
Tom gives a wheezing whimper, the sound muffled by carpet—and probably by the blood filling his sinuses—but doesn’t move. I let out a fluttering sigh of relief, some of the tension in my chest easing at the sound.
At least there’s not a body to bury now.
