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“No, Tom,” Beckett warns.
I go do my part to help calm down Eliot. Squatting, I put a hand to his broad shoulder, and his elbow juts backwards and jabs my mouth.
Ah…the stingradiates. My palm flies to my mouth. Stumbling away, I taste the bitter iron of blood. My lip throbs.
Eliot doesn’t even notice me. Didn’t even see me or feel the elbow-to-the-mouth. Have my powers of invisibility really kicked in?
“Luna, Luna,” Beckett says quickly, seizing my arm and drawing me away from his brothers.
Not invisible.
“I’m fine,” I mumble against my hand. I wish Donnelly were here. The other bodyguards know not to intervene in family disputes, but maybe Donnelly would’ve been the one beside me. Or is that just a fantasy too?
Eliot is still wrestling Ben, and Tom is wedging himself too much between them. Limbs are being tangled and caught, and suddenly, Tom lets out a sharp wince.
“Fuck,fuck.” He grits between his teeth, shooting to a stance and clutching his wrist.
Beckett comes forward, his hand on his forehead like someone shielding the sun. “Enough,” he says too quietly and then shouts, “ENOUGH!”
It stills the room.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard him yell that caustically. He sweeps his brothers and the mess strewn around them. His breath is uneven. “Enough.”
I go to my best friend. “Tom?”
He has his back to everyone, even me.
“Did he…?” Ben pants hard, everyone going eerily still. “I-I didn’t…did I?” He looks to Eliot.
“No, it was me,” Eliot murmurs, concern darkening his features.
“I twisted an arm…I-I thought it was your arm,” Ben stammers, eyes glassing.
“Tom?” I mumble behind my hand.
“Hmm.” He winces, then says tightly to the room, “I’m okay.”
Eliot stands in haste, but his focus isn’t glued to the phone. He extends a hand to help Ben to his feet, but Ben is too dazed to take it, watching Tom in pain. So he rises on his own.
“I can call Farrow?” I whisper. He can check Tom’s wrist, see if it’s just sprained.
Tom shakes his head. “I’m okay, really.” He whirls around to us—but then hurriedly gathers his leather jacket off the floor. Once the jacket is on, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, not letting anyone see the damage.
He needs his hand in prime condition to play the guitar.
To his brothers, he forces out, “I’m okay.” He frowns at me. “What’s with the hand over your mouth?”
“New fad,” I mumble.
Eliot beelines for me. He catches my wrist and lowers my palm. “Oh,fuck.” More concern rips at his face.
“Is it that bad?”
Tom cringes. “Your lip is busted.”
Must be a Hale ramification. Same thing happened to Moffy when he pinned Eliot. A mouth full of blood. Kinda makes me feel more like my big brother, like I did somethinggoodin a strange way.
Eliot pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.”
