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Both. Both hurt.
Voices were yelling overhead, but he couldn’t make sense of them through the overwhelming need to breathe. It felt like he’d been choking for half an hour. There was a good chance he was drooling on the floor.
And Gabriel was leaning over him, and his voice was fierce. “Guess you picked enemy over friend, huh, jackass?”
Hunter saw Gabriel’s leg move, and just when he thought he might have to draw his weapon to avoid getting kicked again, Michael’s girlfriend appeared in front of Gabriel and put a hand on his chest. “Go on,” she was saying. “Take a walk. Cool off.”
Hannah got Hunter into the kitchen before he was fully aware that he was off the ground and walking down the hallway. None of the Merricks followed him, so he was alone with her, following directions like sit there and don’t move.
The chair came up faster than he was ready for, and he wondered how hard he’d whacked his head. He touched a hand to his temple and was surprised when it came away wet.
Blood.
Hannah was in front of him again, a folded paper towel in her hands. “Press this against your forehead. I need to get my bag from the car.”
“I’m bleeding,” he said, like an idiot.
“I know.” Her eyes weren’t too concerned, though. “Can you hold that and remain upright?”
Either he answered and didn’t remember, or she left without bothering to wait for one. Whatever, she was gone, and he was sitting there, dazed and trying to make both eyes focus.
Then she was back, pulling a chair close to him and pressing gauze to his forehead instead of the paper towel. She had purple latex gloves on now, the kind doctors wore. “Hold that again,” she said, grabbing his wrist to put it in place.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. For a second, his addled brain wondered if she’d been on the porch with Michael during their argument, but he couldn’t make that line up.
She was digging in her bag. “I just got off work. Mike sent me a text ten minutes ago saying everyone was going to bed and we could have a quiet cup of coffee.” She laughed a little, but not like it was funny.
“Sorry,” he said.
She had a tiny flashlight in her hands, and she shined a light in his eyes. “It’s not every day I walk in the front door of a house to see two guys fall down the stairs on top of each other.”
Put that way, it sounded insanely childish. He looked away.
She tapped his chin. “No, look at me. What were you fighting about?”
“It’s not important.”
The light flicked to his other eye. “It rarely is.” She paused. “No concussion. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck. I saw him kick you. How are your ribs?”
ichael remained still. “You want to sit down for a minute?”
“No.”
“You want to tell me where you’ve been all night?”
Hunter offered the only thing he figured Michael wouldn’t question. “I went by the house. Tried to work things out with my mom.”
“You know I’ve got three younger brothers, right?”
Hunter frowned. “What?”
“It means I’ve got a pretty finely tuned bullshit detector.”
Hunter turned away, his fingers forming a fist around the keys in his pocket. Michael shifted on the step, and Hunter hoped that this was it, that Michael would come after him, that he could rage and fight and come out on top, just once.
But the only thing that came after him was Michael’s voice. “Hunter.”
He kept walking.
