Undercover (Boyxboy)

Chapter Twelve

Ethan

The day was eerily morbid and the sky seemed to be dimmer and greyer than normal. Considering it was the day of Grant Jefferson’s long-overdue funeral, this wasn’t a huge surprise. I could practically hear his daughter sobbing from her bedroom next door.

However, the stifling, pessimistic energy and mood that I was experiencing had nothing to do with the death of Grant. I had barely thought of him, if I was being honest. Yet the weight of this damned day was bearing on my shoulders, as if someone had placed heavy blocks on them and told me to stand still for five hours. It was torturous and unwavering, the worrying.

I knew that I was probably over-thinking the day that lay ahead and this was the reason for my horrible mood. I was imagining a vast array of brutal scenarios that all ended with Michael Taylor or one of his gang showing up and Harry lying dead on the ground.

Who would be amongst the crowds of people here to send Grant off? Would someone be there to send more than just Grant into the cold ground? I had pictured Harry dying in my dreams all night – to say I was on edge would be a severe understatement.

I swear, I never used to be a pessimist. I was always a realist. I was always the one to pull Harry back to reality whenever his thoughts drifted beyond the grasps of reason. Now, it was Harry who was doing the pulling. I couldn’t think very straight these days. Especially considering what Harry had told me the day before.

My fists automatically clenched at this thought, crumbling the piece of toast I had in my hand. The physical reaction I had to those who harmed Harry honestly scared me. I was like a crazed animal, ready to pounce.

I didn’t realize I was crushing my breakfast until Harry reached across the kitchen table and placed his hand gently over mine. I brought my eyes to his, my lips quivering slightly. I had never been so emotional in my life and it was unnerving me. It unnerved me how much I wanted to kill Dawson and Michael Taylor. It unnerved me that my love for someone could control my every emotion this much.

“Today will be fine – don’t worry about it,” Harry said coolly, biting into his apple. He was looking extremely dapper in his black Armani suit and black skinny tie. He’d even found the time to comb his hair. He was looking so put together and in control.

And it was killing me. It was killing me because there were only two scenarios in which I truly believed Harry could be this calm when I was such a bundle of nerves and ferocity.

The first was that he was one-hundred percent sure that no matter what, he would overcome his father and win any battle thrown at us. That he had no doubt in his mind that we would not come to any harm and he had enough faith in our abilities to win this fight.

The second scenario, the one in which the realist in me was leaning towards, was what made me sick to my stomach. This ending wouldn’t contain the words ‘happily ever after’. It would contain the words ‘rest in peace’, if I was going by my gut. I believed that Harry had already given up. That he wasn’t going to try and fight his father and believed he was already doomed.

I was sure he didn’t even realise this himself – he was so hell-bent on taking his father down, did he even stop to think of the practicalities? Say, his own safety?

After our talk yesterday I hadn’t really had the strength or the mindset to question him on his motives. I had assumed that we would discuss them together. But Harry insisted that everything would be ‘fine’. He wasn’t even afraid anymore.

Whether Harry knew it or not, he wasn’t fighting for his safety anymore. He was set on revenge. I could see it in his eyes whenever he spoke. He felt no mercy or justice. He wanted to rip his father’s heart right from his chest, no matter the consequences.