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7
The night exploded. His head exploded. Black stars detonated in his vision as pain shattered everything.
He lurched sideways, looking for what had hit him, who had hit him. His blurring vision locked on a familiar shape—Simon?—and then Bria shouted, and Owen’s knees crumpled beneath him.
He hit the floor, head a throbbing mass of pain.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Bria shouted.
I’ve just been hit, he thought, propping himself up with one hand, rubbing at his jaw with the other. His fuzzy vision jumped around the place, focused on nothing. Shit, did Simon punched me?
“You fucking jerk,” Bria went on above him. “How could you—”
“That’s what you get, Bri Bri,” the familiar male voice cut her off.
Yep. Definitely Simon. Owen lifted his head, squinting through a black cloud of agony up at the Simon-shaped blur. Great, so the ex had decided to pick a fight. Awesome.
Get up. Punch the bastard back.
A shard of fresh pain sank into the back of his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Punching anyone at this point in time was a no-go. Hell, it was a wonder his brain was still in his skull.
“I’m okay,” he croaked, trying to push himself to his feet.
No, you’re not.
“You don’t just fucking sucker punch someone, you prick,” Bria growled, shoving at Simon’s chest.
“What the hell did you do to my brother?” a new voice shouted from behind Owen, and his gut dropped.
Tilly was here. Had she seen Simon hit him? If she had, Simon was in for a whole world of shit.
“Til,” he said, wincing as the pain in his head dialed up to a hundred. He squinted through it up at her. “It’s okay. I’m—”
“Who the hell are you?” Simon yelped, staggering backward as Tilly launched herself at him, sexy-scientist lab coat flapping behind her as she rammed her hands into his chest.
“What kind of idiot wanker punches someone with brain cancer?” she shouted, slamming her palms into Simon’s chest again.
“I don’t know if it’s—” Owen mumbled, trying to make his knees work. Shit, he needed to stand up. He needed to stop all this before it got out of hand.
“Brain cancer?” Bria echoed Tilly’s words.
The world wobbled. Owen wobbled with it. Or maybe it was his brain wobbling. Holy crap, his head felt like it was about to explode.
“I’m okay,” he said again, blinking, trying to clear his vision. “I’m—”
“Brain cancer?” Bria repeated, confusion in her voice.
He closed his eyes. Fuck, his head hurt. What had Simon hit him with? A cricket bat? No, it’d be a baseball bat in this country. He looked up at Bria, his vision clearing a little as he straightened to his feet.
She stared at him, expression unreadable. “You have brain cancer?”
“I…” He swallowed, his chest tightening. “I don’t know.”
His brain—cancer-riddled or not—told him Tilly was making Simon’s life hell. He’d intervene in a second, rescue the bastard from his sister’s wrath, but right now, he needed to make it right with Bria. She was all about being upfront and open, and he hadn’t been that with her. From the second he’d realized there was something special between them, he should have—
“You didn’t think you should tell me?” Bria asked.
“Not to start with.”
