Staying Grounded [BXB]

Handle With Care

"Where's his head at?"

Ashleigh doesn't reply until she's guided me far enough along the hallway from the unclosed door to not be overheard. "Honestly, Craig," she keeps her voice low, "this time, your guess is as good as mine."

I've returned Ashleigh home to the farmhouse after Sebastian bailed on her at the pub to find him in the lounge. And in no sense of the word does he look okay. Sat forward on the sofa, elbows propped on his knees, and head bowed, he's staring at the bottle of bourbon rolling between his hands as though it is exclusively responsible for reducing the world around him to dust.

Pulling in at the foot of the mini stairway, Ashleigh drops herself down on the top step. "He's not about to crack the bottle open, that much I can tell you." She pats the narrow space beside her. "He'll hold it — glare daggers at it for a while. Then he'll likely disappear out with Dobby, walking the poor dog's little legs off."

I remain standing, turning back toward the room we've just peeked into and retreated from. "This a regular occurrence?"

"It's kind of a weird ritual thing, I guess. Centres him or whatever when he feels like he's messed up. Mostly, he does it after seeing his mum."

"Will he talk to me, do you think?"

Her head shakes as she leans sideways, resting her temple against the wall, but a small smile crooks her lips. "I won't stop you trying."

That's good enough for me.

Sebastian's exit had been mighty abrupt, a sharp twist and a yank breaking his wrist free of my cuff, his back turning on all of us. "This was exactly what I needed, Ash. Thanks," he said, and he was out the door a couple seconds later. Ashleigh followed, and I was barely a beat behind, but he hadn't hung around to explain himself.

And, Goddamnit, I'm owed at least something of an explanation.

"Tread careful," Ashleigh calls after me as I start back along the hall.

"Hey, Bas." I'm not quiet when I push through the door into the lounge and close it properly behind me, yet even at the sound of my voice, he doesn't raise his head.

Dobby does, though, and it's the first I notice his company. Burrowed in snug between Sebastian's leg and the sofa arm, the dog turns a doleful look on me that suggests he, too, is feeling confused and concerned.

Hesitating just inside the room, I glance over the now-familiar chaos and wait for some sort of acknowledgement. It doesn't come. The seconds tick by, endless and awkward, and I eventually make a move across to the armchair. I shove a pile of bright scarfs to the back of the cushion and perch down on its edge. "So, um —"

"Save it," Sebastian cautions, startling me half to death. The break in his silence jolts Dobby immediately upright, ears pricked and tail thudding off the sofa arm. He remains fixated on his bourbon. "I've no interest in anything you have to say."

I huff out a breath. "When were you ever?"

"And still, you don't take the hint."

"You almost hit my brother, Bas."

"I know. I was there. You're mad. I get it. Want to remind me you're not my problem? Pointless, seems I'm too dumb to learn."

"What?"

"Can you please just leave me alone?"

Frowning, I lean forward and mirror his pose, ducking my head in an attempt to better see his face. Because, no, like hell is he fobbing me off that easy. "I'm not mad," I say, and it occurs to me as I hear myself that perhaps I should be. "You overstepped, absolutely, and, I mean, the jury's still out on whether Alex deserves a smack." Or a massive apology; I guess I'll find that out when I go home. "But it's not as if you actually pulled it off, anyway, is it?"