‘Son of a bitch!’ Brandon clapped a hand to his face, blood dripping between his fingers. He’d also bitten his tongue, and tasted blood in his mouth.
Mike, the stupid punk, didn’t have the sense to run away. In fact, he stood, stunned, like he couldn’t believe he’d actually just punched Brandon.
Twice.
Motherfucker.
Brandon grabbed the front of Mike’s shirt with the hand not holding his nose. His fingers curled tight in the expensive fabric. He yanked the other guy towards him, up on his toes, to bring him eye to eye. He took his hand from his nose, which was still bleeding.
‘I would like to punch your fucking ticket for you, you know that? I would really like to fucking kick your fucking ass,’ Brandon said in a tight, furious voice. He paused to turn and spit blood onto the pavement. Mike let out a small whimper. ‘The fuck are you thinking? Punching me in my fucking face? The fuck, man?’
Brandon was pretty sure he’d never said the word fuck so many times in a row, but there was nothing better to say than that. His nose was on fire, his eyes watering, and the d-bag in his fist just batted at him with ineffectual fists and couldn’t seem to find anything to say.
Brandon jerked him closer. ‘I should call the fucking cops on you!’
‘No, no,’ Mike said in a strangled voice. ‘I’m already on probation for a DUI …’
‘What?’ Disgusted, Brandon shook the other man until Mike’s face turned bright red. ‘You are a fucking moron! Come up here, punch me in the face, and you’re on probation? The fuck’s the matter with you! No matter Leah dumped your ass, man, you’re a fucking waste of fresh air.’
Brandon dropped him. Mike stumbled back, a foot going wrong, and went down into a puddle of oily water. His elbow clipped the car next to him and he let out a howl of pain. Brandon, watching, found another handful of tissues in his coat pocket and held them to his nose, which throbbed and ached.
‘I seriously want to fucking kick you in the face,’ he said.
‘Why don’t you?’ Mike cried, struggling to get up. He leant on the car, cradling his elbow. His face was still red.
‘Because I think you want me to,’ Brandon said. ‘Maybe it would make you feel better to have me be this giant dick that knocked the shit out of you, so you can feel better about all of it. I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m not going to punch you. You’re not worth the bruised knuckles.’
Mike ran a shaky hand over his hair, smoothing it back into place. ‘She’s got you that whipped, huh?’
Tired of all of this, his earlier joy thoroughly shit on now, Brandon sighed. ‘Yes. She does. And I love it.’
Mike just stared. Brandon swiped a hand over his face again, wincing at the throb in his nose. At least his hand came away without any fresh blood.
‘Get the hell out of my way,’ he said to Mike. ‘Or I’ll run you over.’
This got Mike hopping, finally, and Brandon got in the car and drove home.
It wasn’t like Brandon to be late, but it was an hour past the time Leah had been expecting him from the last text he’d sent. She’d been looking forward to coming home to a clean house, dinner ready, her errands finished and his eager hands and mouth waiting to please her.
She was entirely too used to the royal treatment. Now, waiting for him, Leah realised she was taking Brandon for granted. She didn’t like to admit this, but it was the truth.
When she heard the key in the back door lock she whirled from the sink where she’d been running water into the teakettle. ‘Brandon?’
The door creaked open and he appeared in the doorway, his shoulders hunched. At first she thought he’d worn some crazy tie-dye shirt to work today, which made no sense, but once he came into the light she could see the blotches of brown and red were of blood drying on the material.
‘What … are you all right?’ She rushed to him, but he held her off when she’d have hugged him.
‘Don’t get any on you.’
Leah tipped her head to look up at him. ‘Your nose … and you have a black eye, and a cut on your cheek. Were you in an accident?’
‘If you count your ex-boyfriend’s fist hitting my face as an accident, yes.’
Leah hissed in a breath. ‘What?’
‘He was at the bar when I came out,’ Brandon said, then cleared his throat as though it hurt. ‘What an asshole.’
‘Oh … baby, I’m so sorry. Come here.’ Leah took his hand and led him to the kitchen chair, where he sat.
Seated, his face reached her chest, and Leah could look down at him. She put her finger under his chin and tipped his head back, then slowly, gently, side to side to view the damage. Her heart hurt at the swelling and darkening bruises.
‘I can’t believe he hit you.’ She went to the freezer and pulled out an icepack, wrapped it in a towel and pressed it to his face. ‘Tip your head back.’
Brandon did. ‘Forget it. He’s not worth even talking about.’
She cupped his face in her hands. ‘He hurt you.’
Brandon smiled with a wince. ‘Not so much.’
‘Did you … hit him back?’ She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say.
‘I wanted to.’
Leah went to the sink and wet a cloth, brought it back to wipe off the streaks of flaking blood from his cheeks. ‘But did you?’
‘No. I told you. Not worth it.’
Something in his voice made her look deep into his eyes. Most of the time she could read him like a
