I hate closing shifts.

Unfortunately, during hockey season, the only shifts I can work are mostly closing time and weekends.

The problem with closing shifts is that the restaurant at The Lodge closes at eleven, but the bar stays open all night. And while I never work night shifts, because I'm not old enough to work at the bar, my brother tends to stay well past closing time, since he's the manager. Which means I can either walk home after dark, or wait for him to finish going through his shit.

Tonight, he said he was going into his office next to the staff room to look over the books, while I finished clearing up the restaurant area. I saw him walk away in that direction, but then I heard Scarlett come in for her night shift and their voices meshed together as Elliott stopped to talk. Now, it's been thirty-seven minutes and I have just finished cleaning all the tables and chairs, and I'm now on my second turn cleaning the counter.

I'm finally starting to consider going out to the bar to ask my brother if he plans on staying much longer, when there's a clatter of metal on metal from the kitchen. 

Chef Armel and his cooks have all gone for the night, over half an hour ago, as has Hannah. And I never left the restaurant, nor did I see anyone walk in. If there's anyone in the kitchen right now, they must have come in through the back door.

I push past the double-swing doors into the kitchen to see what happened. The scene I'm faced with looks straight out of a movie.

A kid I know from Brunson High, and from the skaters' rink at the Arenas, has one hand propped on the counter where Chef Armel usually cuts meat. His other arm is laced around Liam Astor's hip. At their feet, a knife block has been knocked over and half a dozen kitchen knives are scattered across the floor.

However, Liam's state is what jumps to the eye most. His lip is busted open, swollen and bloody, and the whole right side of his face is bruised. He has one arm limply draped over his friend's shoulders, with one hand pressed to his side, just bellow the ribs.

I rush forward to put my own arms around him from the other side and help lower him to the floor, away from the knives.

"What the hell happened?"

"I drove here as fast as I could, but I think he might've blacked out a bit on the way," Liam's friend vents, a little hysterical. His hair is all over the place, and although his face is intact he has this sort of crazed, anxious look in his eyes. "I didn't know where to take him."

"How about a fucking hospital?" I spit out.

The kid shakes his head fervently. "His dad can't find out."

My mouth actually gapes open at his words. "You're fucking kidding me," I say under my breath, surprising myself with the steadiness in my own tone. "You think his dad won't find out?" I raise my voice a little to exclaim, "Look at him!"

My arm is still around Liam's waist, even as I'm crouched down on the floor by his side. His friend stands over us both and shoots Liam a nervous glance, quickly averting his eyes. I watch him fidget restlessly.

I shake my head. "I'm calling 911. Which is what you should have done hours ago."

He nibbles on his thumb nail. "My parents can't find out either. They think I'm staying the night at Mack's place with Liam," the kid blurts. 

I look up at him in disbelief. 

"Seriously? That's what you're worried about?!"

Before Liam's useless friend has time to say anything in his defense, my brother's voice sounds from the other side of the kitchen doors.

"Everything okay in there?"

Liam's friend whips his head up to look at the door in wide-eyed panic.

"Just leave," I hiss.

I don't have to say it twice. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, he bolts. I almost expect to see the cloud of smoke where he used to be, like a cartoon character.

My brother pushes into the kitchen, taking a look at the scene before him. Behind him comes a pretty blonde, with full, red-coated lips and a crease of concern wrinkling the space between her bright blue eyes.

"What the hell, Eli?" Elliott sounds stunned.

"He just came in like this," I say.

"On his own?!" My brother exclaims.

The glance I shoot Liam's way is totally unplanned, but it's enough to see the look on his face. Even through the bruising, I can tell that's a warning. Or more like a plea.

I sigh. "I don't know. When I came in here, he was like this." 

That last part's not a lie.

"I'm calling an ambulance," Scarlett, the pretty blonde, says right before stepping outside with her phone already in hand.

"And I'm calling his dad," my brother adds swiftly. "Can you stay here with him?" He asks me, reaching for his phone.

I nod.

As soon as I'm alone with Liam, I try to gather all the spread out knives and set them on the counter. They'll need to be washed, but now's not the time.

Liam lets out a strained grunt-like sound and I lower myself by his side again, setting one hand on one of his shoulders and the other on his hip. He looks at me.

"Can you sit up?"

He doesn't reply with words, crawling backward instead, with my help, to prop his back up against the cabinets under the stainless steel counter.

As soon as he looks steady, I let go and ask, "Who did this to you?"

"Who said it was a who?" He murmurs.

"I think I can tell what the loser of a fight looks like, when he's lying right in front of me."

Liam snorts out a laugh, and then winces like that pained him. "It wasn't so much a fight as it was just me lying in fetal position, trying to protect vital organs," he says, voice strained and breathy.

I pull back, supporting my elbow on my knee. "If you can joke, I guess you can't be dying."

He laughs, but the sound quickly fades into a horrible cough that has him gripping the underside of his ribs again. He might not have been completely successful at protecting vital organs, after all. 

Judging by his clothes and the scent of cologne mixed with alcohol on him, I'm assuming he went out. Most likely outside the Brunson-Lake City area. I remember my brother used to go out with his friends every once in a while and cruise the bars in the Moscow area, when he was in high school. I remember he got into a couple of fights during those nights out too. Never came back looking like this, though.

It takes me a while to notice Liam has closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the cabinet door.

"Keep you eyes open," I speak up to make him look at me. His eyes look a little drowsy and unfocused. I try to force a smile, but I don't think I manage very well. "Your main job right now is staying awake."

"I wouldn't mind taking a nap, to be honest."

"That's not a good idea when you might be concussed," I say.

My eyes drift down to his hand, the one he isn't moving much, and I see the red swelling forming around his joints. It's around all of the joints, though, and the skin around the knuckles isn't broken, so it doesn't look like the kind of injury you'd get from throwing a couple of punches back.

"What happened to your hand?" I ask him.

"Think he stepped on it."

"Does it hurt?"

"Like a bitch." He tries a grin, but quickly replaces it with another wince. 

Whoever beat him up really did a number on him.

"Can you stretch your fingers?" I ask. "Like this." I raise my own hand to spread open my palm, all five fingers fully stretched, then ball it into a fist again.

Liam tries to reproduce it. The movement is stiff and slow, but he gets there.

He lets out a tiny groan, lowering his hand again. "It hurts to do that."

"But if you can do it, you probably didn't break any fingers."

"How do you know all this?"

"I play hockey."

He rolls his eyes playfully, then cradles his ribs again, almost like he's trying to hold everything in place. His eyelids droop again.

"First time I broke a finger, I was fourteen," I tell him to make him look at me. Then, I lift my right hand's middle finger, which stands up crooked and knobbly. "Since then, I could never flip the bird in style again."

He lets out an audible laugh at that, which fades into a long moan of pain.

"Are you talking to me right now just to keep me awake?"

I shrug one shoulder. "Maybe."

Yes, I am. I suspect having the boss's son die in front of me would not get either me or my brother any raises or promotions.

"I think this is the longest conversation we've ever had," Liam muses quietly.

I shrug again, this time looking down at the floor between us. "We were never in the same circles."

"There's, like, fifty people in our whole school," he retorts. "There is only one circle."

I look at him again. "Pretty sure there's at least two."

"Hockey players and ice skaters?"

"I was actually thinking Brunson people and Lake City rich... guys." I almost said 'spawns'. Owen's starting to rub off on me.

"Really?" His eyebrows draw in slightly.

I nod.

"I never really noticed a divide in that sense," he murmurs pensively.

The corners of my lips twitch faintly upward. "No. You wouldn't."

There's a stretch of silence after that. He refuses to break the eye contact, though, like he's trying to read in my expression something behind my words that I didn't say out loud. I can't be sure if he ever found it, because he speaks again.

"It's quite noble of you to try to keep me alive, but utterly useless."

"Why?"

He gives me a tame, sly smile. "Because, as soon as my dad hears about what happened, I'm dead anyway."

I breathe out a soundless laugh. "What'd you do to make him want to kill you?"

Liam's dark-blue eyes glimmer with satisfaction, as though he couldn't be happier I asked. 

"Go out to a twenty-one-and-up nightclub?" He offers. "Lie to him about where I was? Not feeling particularly sorry about all of the above? Fuck another guy in the summer?"

I snort.

He tilts his head. It's as deliberate and elegant as every movement he ever does, but it looks odd when paired with the current state of his face.

"That's interesting," he mutters. "You were considerably more flustered the other night, when I mentioned gay sex between two guys."

"Isn't all gay sex between two guys?"

He smiles. It's a knowing smile, like he knows exactly that question is a sloppy deviation technique.

"Or two girls," he replies with a wink.

I look away, shaking my head.

I'm not sure what effect he hopes to be having on me with this. But I have a feeling he's definitely hoping for something. And the most stubborn part of me that tends to lead the way on all decision-making activities tells me I shouldn't give him what he wants. Even if I want to.

"The ambulance is on its way, and so is your dad," Elliott announces as he walks back into the kitchen, looking straight at Liam.

I stand up, taking an unconscious step away from Liam. My brother looks at me, and reaches inside his pocket for the keys to my parents' Honda.

"Take the car and go home. Scarlett can drive me later."

"I thought she was working the night shift at the bar," I murmur.

"Yeah, I'll keep her company," Elliott says. "You should get some rest, though. You have practice tomorrow."

I nod. I don't look back at Liam before heading out, but it takes a willful effort. I can still feel his eyes on me as I walk away, though.

***

Here's the new one!

Any thoughts on how Liam's parents might react when they find out? And what did you think of Eli's reaction? I would also love to know if there are any opinions on Elliott and Gus so far!

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