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“Break it up!” the big one shouts again. The guards in the pool have started grabbing some of the brawlers, pulling them back by their arms, and only now do the workers seem to realize they have an audience. Slowly, they all fall back, leaving Ward panting in the middle, letting me see him clearly for the first time.
His left eye is swollen and his nose is bent at an odd angle. His lip is busted and getting puffy, and there’s so much blood—from his nose, from his lip, from God knows where—that it’s soaked through his shirt and started to form a crimson cloud in the water.
The others look bad, too, but none of their injuries compare. One of the guards moves toward Ward, offering an arm for support, and he staggers forward a step. I suck in a breath.
That stupid idiot! How did he get himself in this mess?
“Someone get the medic.” Carolson’s voice, cold and even, breaks the awful silence.
Mr. Haymore, too flustered to even remember his assistant is standing right next to him, nods. “Right away, sir.” He turns and darts out the door.
I can’t take my eyes off of Ward. The guard is helping him to the tile steps of the pool, letting him lean on his shoulder. There’s a red trail in the water behind them.
There’s so much blood. He needs to stop the bleeding. His nose is broken, certainly. But right now he needs a bandage, or a rag, or a—I turn and dart back to the spa’s front desk. Just as I’d hoped, there’s already a supply of towels on one of the shelves. When I get back to the pool, they’ve already helped Ward out of the water.
“Here,” I say, pushing through the others.
I hold out the towel, and he grabs it and presses it to his face. Only then does he look up, and his eyes widen slightly when he sees me. He looks down again almost immediately. I’m not sure whether it’s from shame or something else.
Mr. Haymore returns a moment later, the medical team on his heels. I slink back against the wall, trying to get out of the way but unwilling to leave the spa. Over by the door, one of the other brawlers is talking to a security guard and Carolson.
“He started it,” the man says. He pushes a bit of wet hair out of his eyes. “He’s been trying to pick a fight all morning. Insulting Jacobs. Giving us attitude. He just—”
I can’t listen to this. I didn’t think Ward was just an innocent victim in all this, no, but I don’t want to hear that he was looking for a fight. Anger flares inside of me. What is it with men? How does punching something or someone ever make anything better? Ward looks like he was run over by a truck, and that’s just a casual analysis of his current condition. Who knows what other injuries they’ll find when they examine him? What the heck was he thinking? He’d better hope they take him out of here soon because I want to throw a few punches at him for being such a hot-headed idiot.
I glance back over at him. His shoulders are slumped and he’s looking down at his lap while the medics examine him. He still holds the towel to his nose, and though it’s drenched in blood, he’s sitting perfectly still. His wet hair is plastered to his forehead and neck, and his clothes are dripping onto the tiles. He looks so… vulnerable.
“Something has to be done about this,” I hear Haymore say behind me. “This kind of behavior is unacceptable.”
This is it, I realize. Ward might have talked his way out of trouble after his first fight, but there’s no way he won’t be fired now. Especially since Carolson witnessed the whole thing.
I’m saddened by the realization more than I want to admit.
But I don’t have the chance to analyze that feeling too closely. The medics are moving Ward, taking him back to the clinic, I assume. I wouldn’t be surprised if they end up calling an ambulance and shipping him off to the hospital.
He can walk, at least, though it takes two of the medical personnel to support him. I want to say something as he passes, to reach out and tell him that it will be okay, but Ward doesn’t even glance at me, though I know he must know that I haven’t left. He walks right past me without any sort of acknowledgment.
When they reach the men by the door, though, Ward jerks out of the medics’ grip. He takes a step forward, wobbling slightly, and raises his head to look Carolson right in the eyes.
Then proceeds to spit right in his face.
I gasp, and I’m not the only one. For a moment the entire room freezes, stunned by this display of disgust and disrespect. Mr. Haymore looks like he might explode.
The only person who’s managed to avoid showing any shock or anger is Carolson. He blinks once, then raises a hand to wipe the spittle from his nose. His face remains blank.
Only then does one of the guards leap forward, and the medics quickly grab Ward’s arms again. As soon as he’s been escorted out of the room, Mr. Haymore steps forward.
“Sir,” he says. “See what I mean? Completely unacceptable. We can’t have men like that working here.”
Carolson doesn’t say anything. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabs at his face. Mr. Haymore keeps going.
“…just completely unprofessional,” he says. “We only have a handful of days unt—”
The other man clears his throat, and Mr. Haymore falls silent.
“It certainly is unprofessional,” Carolson says. He stuffs the handkerchief into his pocket and looks up, taking in the rest of us with his measured gaze. “But he’s not the only man at fault here. Every man who raised his fist is at fault.” He walks deeper into the room. “I will have the name of every man involved. The cost of the damages will come equally out of each of your paychecks.”
One of the men starts to protest, but Carolson raises a hand.
“You’re lucky I don’t fire all of you right now,” he says. “This spa will be finished today. I don’t care if you’re here until midnight. You will take responsibility for your childishness. If I get word of any more trouble, I won’t be so lenient. Get yourselves cleaned up and get back to work.”
He turns without even waiting for a response. Mr. Haymore is instantly at his side.
“Sir,” he says. “There’s still the matter of Ward Brannon. He’s been in fights in the past, and I—”
“I’ve made my decision,” Carolson says. “If we’re going to have to pay out any medical bills, then I want the work he promised us.”
“Certainly there are others who can—”
“Not others with his skill who have been with this project since the beginning. What I’ve seen of his work has been exceptional.”
