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She stared at him, a stiffness to her he hadn’t seen before, not even when Simon had first given her grief at the party, and a pity in her eyes that tore at his heart.
“It’s not exactly a conversation opener, is it?” he went on. “G’day, I’m Owen. I might have brain cancer. And this—me and you—wasn’t meant to be anything more than… Well, a hookup, right? But then it started to feel like it could be more. It started to feel perfect, and I didn’t know how I could bring it up. How I could tell you without scaring—”
“Hey, dude?” Simon tapped Owen’s forearm, cutting him off. “Owen.”
For a brief second, barely a heartbeat, Owen held Bria’s unreadable gaze, and then he turned to face Simon, his head still aching, the side of his face a throbbing sting. “Mate, if you want to continue the fight, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”
“No, no.” Simon shook his head. “I want to say sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to—”
“Hit him?” Bria stepped between them. “Try to knock him out?” She shoved his chest again. “I can’t believe you did that.”
Simon cowered, looking at her with a wounded expression. “I’m sorry, Bri. It’s just, you’re here with him, and I got jealous, and he pushed me in the pool and—”
“And that’s not an excuse for being a fucking—”
“Jerk,” Tilly cut Bria off, stepping up beside Owen, in front of him a little. He wanted to chuckle at her protectiveness, but his head hurt too much. She flicked him a look over her shoulder, worry and rage warring in her eyes.
“I’m okay,” he said for the third time. Or was it the fourth? Shit, he didn’t know. Nor did he know if he was okay. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken a punch. During his time working as a bouncer/stripper in his uni years, he’d learnt how to handle himself in a fight, but this was the first time he’d been blindsided by one. And the first time he’d almost been knocked out. The doc had told him to avoid doing anything too crazy while waiting for his results, and getting hit by a jealous ex probably fell firmly into that category. “I’m okay,” he repeated, for his own sake more than Tilly’s.
She frowned at him, just as Bria turned to do the same.
“You need to get to a doctor,” Bria said, reaching a hand out toward him and then dropping it.
“Do you know one?” Tilly asked her, frown growing deeper as she stepped up and gently touched Owen’s face.
Biting back a hiss, he pulled away. “I’m okay,” he said. Again. “I just need to—” get the hell out of here, “—go get a Panadol or something.”
“Panadol?” Worry flared in Bria’s eyes.
“Paracetamol,” Tilly clarified with a quick smile before turning her attention back on Owen. “I’ve got some in my bathroom, O. Let’s go.”
Behind them, Simon met his gaze, and Owen’s gut clenched. Fuck, was that pity in the wanker’s eyes as well?
He looked away, shaking his head. “No,” he said, schooling the wince of pain before it could escape him. “I need—” to get away from all the fucking pity, “—to just go be calm and quiet for a while.”
“O,” Tilly growled.
Bria didn’t say anything.
He shook his head again. “I’m going. I’ll be okay.”
The fifth okay since Simon punched him.
Around them, curious partygoers watched, zipping their stares between them all. Were they waiting for Owen to punch Simon back?
Owen let out a sigh. They’d have to deal with disappointment. He’d had enough. His head hurt, he’d clearly fucked up something that had the potential to be important, and the thought of engaging any further with Simon, giving the bastard any more of his time, made him angry.
What if someone had filmed this all on a smartphone and uploaded it to TikTok or Instagram or whatever the social media app of choice was at the moment? What if his students saw it? The last thing he needed was for them to see their teacher elevate a conflict even more. No one needed to see him acting like a macho bullshit caveman.
“I’m outta here,” he muttered, rubbing the side of his head where Simon’s knuckles had landed as he turned away. So it seemed he actually would make Tilly’s curfew after all. God, he had a headache.
He heard Tilly call his name. He thought he heard Bria do the same. It might have been wishful thinking. Or maybe his brain was rattling around in his head so much he was hearing things.
Just get out of here.
He weaved through the crowd, although it seemed to melt away from his path. By the time he made it to the elevator lobby, he’d reached far enough away from the epicenter that no one gave a fuck who he was or why he was rubbing his jaw. He probably looked inebriated.
Hitting the button for Tilly’s floor, he gave the rooftop party one more look. Still in the throng, Bria and Tilly—and probably Elisa and Zeta—were no doubt giving Simon hell again.
