Staying Grounded [BXB]

Piece Of Work

SEBASTIAN:

"Explain!" Craig's fast to dismiss me, his head swerving around on Ashleigh.

At first, I assume he's asking her to explain my heated reaction. But when she holds back on a reply, side-eying me, it dawns that, maybe, I've interrupted something here.

Honestly, after the long-ass shitty day that I've had, returning home to this is not what I'm in any kind of mood for. I'm knackered, and I'm in desperate need of a shower. Except, as Craig's irate gaze tracks Ashleigh's back to me and then quickly away again, I find myself strolling across to the sofa and dropping down, draping an arm over Craig's clothes, the bourbon cradled between my legs. "Don't mind me."

Ashleigh huffs, and I see Craig's lip curl, but my presence doesn't seem set to deter him. "I'm really hoping I misheard what you just said there," he snarls.

No longer a bedraggled mess of filth and bruises, there's a considerable difference from the last I saw of him. His words aren't slurred for one. Wonder if he's recalled, yet, the chain of events that led to his night in the woods. I note only the faintest yellowy-green tinge marring his cheekbone. He's dressed cleanly in a simple blue jumper and jeans that hug his body like they were made specifically for him, not a seam out of line. And without the dirt, the dirty blond shade I'd thought his hair now shines palest-gold in the firelight.

I'm markedly too accustomed to Ashleigh's frequent transformations to spare her vibrant pink tresses any note. Somewhat more inexplicable is why the absurd creature has herself swamped in my coat. "It's not as bad as it sounds, Craig, honestly. She's fine. He was stopped before it could go too far."

"Define 'too far.' At what point was Tinwell stopped?"

My ears prick. That name again.

"Do you want to sit down?" She asks him, flapping a hand my way.

Disarmed once more into catching my eye, I'm granted a sharp burst of satisfaction from patting the seat beside me when his face pinches all the tighter. "Just tell me, Ash. What did that fucker do to Lyndsay?"

"He'd been buying her drinks all night, and—"

"No way. Nope. Nu-uh, Lyndsay is not that dumb."

Moving closer to him, Ashleigh reaches for his arm, but he's swift to jerk away. "That night she was. She's admitted it herself."

Dobby pads through the door, then, looking fully sated from his tea. He jumps up on my lap, allowing me a brief scratch of his scruff, tail thumping off my knee, before putting a cushion of space between us and curling in on himself.

"So, what?" Craig glares. "She has it in her head that she's to blame for it?"

"A little bit, yeah."

Slouching back in a pretence of disinterest, I acknowledge a feeling of unfurling apprehension. Guess I'm about to learn what had Ashleigh in the Red Bull Inn on Saturday, and precisely as I suspected, all signs point to me not liking it.

"Tinwell followed her to the loos after the gig," she continues. "Demanded a return on his investment."

Yep. Really not liking it.

Craig's expression flashes from fury to disgust to a face-blanching panic, all within a blink. "But he didn't get it, right? That's the point he was interrupted?"

I feel my whole body tense in anticipation of her answer alongside his. I'm acquainted with Lyndsay more through Derek than Ashleigh, and what I know of her is not a lot, but the girl has always come across as quite shy, sensible and down to earth. It's only by biting down hard on my bottom lip that I hold back from exploding over her reply.

"She was pretty shaken up, but yeah. Mac disturbed—"

"Mac?" He shows less restraint than I do. "You mean Tate? Tate was there?"

If I thought his reaction to the news of Lyndsay was telling — a girl he blatantly cares for — mention of this Tate — or 'Mac' — brings out something else entirely in him. His scowl slips for the briefest moment, but I catch it; an odd flicker of something raw and reckless. And then he's turning his back on the room, centring himself on the painting Uncle Kye gifted me on my eighteenth birthday. His focus on the piece would have me itching to pull him away, if not for the distinct feeling I have that he's very much looking without seeing.

"The bastard get what he deserved?" I crack, and Ashleigh startles as though she'd genuinely managed to forget my presence, listening in.

She looks about ready to snap at me. Instead, she simply shrugs. "The details are a bit sketchy about what happened next." Her attention returns to the back of Craig's head. "All I know is, when Mac stepped in, Lyndsay was able to alert Derek, and then Tinwell fled."

"He fled?" Not sure at what point it was that I sat forward, but as I register my white-knuckled grip on the neck of the bottle, I force myself to ease back. Dobby lifts his shaggy brown head and blinks at me. "That's it? Derek just let him go?" I'm not buying it. Derek's no fighter, but he adores his cousin.

"Of course not! Tinwell's—"

"I'll kill him." Craig whips around, his rage flaring with an abruptness that has Ashleigh skipping two steps away.

She's quick to grab his sleeve as he makes a sudden move for the door. "Lyndsay just wants to forget about it, but Derek and Steph aren't about to let him off that easy. And he's been kicked out of YCS, Craig. Finally. Principal Carston couldn't turn a blind eye to him this time. We're well shot."

I breathe a smidgen easier on hearing that. It's taking far too little imagination, switching Ashleigh into Lyndsay's shoes. "You're to keep a wide berth."

I'm thrown a glance, like Duh.

And in that split-second distraction, Craig wrenches himself free of her and stalks for the door. "Alex should have told me!"

Ashleigh's swift into action, darting for his forgotten clothes. Yanking the pile from under my arm, she hot-tails it out after him, disappearing down the hall. "Hey, wait up! Craig, please promise me you're not about to do something stupid!"

It's a good thing she didn't think to ask the same of me. Because I hate making promises I'm not sure I can keep. At the echoing sound of the front door slamming, I get to my feet and cross the room to the spot Craig had stood. Dobby joins me within a stride, brushing against my legs as if to comfort me. I return the bottle to the cabinet, lifting my gaze to the two tiny figures — a boy and his best furry friend —caught at play beneath a rainbow at the crest of the world. I take out my phone and open my contacts. Derek's number is second in the D's.

The last message he received from me was nearly a year ago, and it wasn't short or pleasant.

This message, I keep it simple and send it fast.

Count me in.

I'm not expecting a reply, and I don't get one.