Chapter Eleven
Okay, there’s a slight language warning for this chapter. Not much. I toss out curse words much like a sailor, and I’m pretty loose with swearing. But, I pulled out the grand-daddy of the one word curses (ya know, the one that begins with ‘f’, ends with ‘k’, and has a ‘u’ and a ‘c’ in between), and it’s in capital letters, so you can’t miss it. Sorry if this offends you, but it’s the first time I used it in one of these stories, and I’m not using it lightly. Enjoy!
"I don't like her," she said, her eyes narrowing. "It has nothing to do with the fact that she's a reporter, I just don't like her."
JC rolled his eyes and moved away from her to pick a pool cue from the rack, going back towards the table. "You don't know her, New York. For all we know, she isn't even out here to do a story. No one knew that we were coming out, besides management, and you know that they wouldn't have leaked it."
With a pout, she leaned against the end of the pool table, watching as he set the cue ball up, eyeing the distance. "Sure, she may have come out here on a vacation, but why the hell would she be asking for information about my brother, and my sister-in-law. That's what I want to know. She has no reason to do that. You're right, she could have been on vacation, but when she found out that we were here, I bet the word vacation was the furthest thing from her mind." Pausing, she looked away. "It's your break, you know."
"My break, your funeral," he teased. "We're not sure of anything. Hell, we're not even sure that she's a reporter. Although, knowing our luck, she works for the Enquirer."
"Mention them one more time, and this pool cue is going to find a permanent home in your ass. Break the damned balls already." Her eyes rolled as he finally did, and she smiled with satisfaction when not one of them made their way to their desired location. "My funeral, my ass. You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn."
He grinned and grabbed a hold of her as she was walking by. "I love it when you start to talk like a farm girl."
Smirking, she moved so that she was on the opposite side of the table from him and examined the position of the balls. "I never grew up on a farm, thank you very much. By the way, do you know the reason why we're down here, playing pool, while everyone else is upstairs, sleeping?" She shot and made a face. "I hate being stripes."
"Too bad. But what you were saying before...I can bet you anything that Chris is still awake. He doesn't seem to actually go to sleep until about four in the morning."
With a sigh, she shook her head. "You can get the protective look off of your face. He's been sleeping like a baby lately. I know, I checked on him before coming down here. He's been sleeping like that ever since he and I had that little talk about Alexandra." Rolling her eyes, she cursed under her breath when she scratched on the next shot and moved so that he could play. "That kind of pisses me off, too."
"Why, because YOU couldn't get him to sleep, but she could? Come on, New York. Jealousy doesn't make you look as cute as you normally do."
"Flattery will get you everywhere with me."
He walked closer to her and tapped her on the shoulder with his cue to make her move. She side stepped out of the way and smiled at the look of concentration on his face. "Everywhere, huh? I'll remember that."
Her eyebrows shot up as she looked over at him. "Okay, maybe not everywhere, but damned close. You still have to work on it a little, though. My shot again? Man, you suck. I should have asked Joey to play me."
JC laughed and moved so that she could take her shot. "Are you trying to make me jealous now? Because it's working." Her eyes rolled as she stared intently down at the table. "I'm still on this whole 'Me, Tarzan, you, Jane' kick, you know."
Brooklyn straightened up and hit her chest a few times for effect. "Oh, now THAT turns me on. Why don't you go find an ape and play around with him?" she said sarcastically. "By the way, that's two balls that I sunk while you were belittling our relationship."
"Damn, I'm stopping. Do I actually get a chance here?"
"Maybe." They were silent for a moment until Brooklyn scratched again, and took a step backwards. "Jace, I know you don't want to talk about this, but I'm worried about those two. I know, I was the one that wanted them together. We've been through that before, but with what we know now..."
Shaking his head, he leaned against the table. "What we THINK we know, not what we know for sure."
Biting her lip, she looked away for a moment, before turning back to him. "That's just it. I'm almost positive that she's up to something, and I'm afraid that Chris is going to be caught in the middle. Hell, he already is. I can tell that she's not particularly fond of me, and she's not exactly my candidate for best friend of the century."
Spinning his pool cue in his hands, he watched it intently, trying to stop it from dropping. The movement started to distract both of them, and thankfully, Brooklyn leaned over and grabbed the spinning stick with her hand, before tossing it back to him. He held it loosely, thankfully not moving it again. "I think Chris is the only one that she likes out of this entire house. I know what you mean, but there isn't a lot we can do about it."
"Jace, she's going to use him. I know already. I can feel it. And he's tired enough of all that shit, or so he told me. You can tell. I mean, I've never seen him act so cautious before, in all the time that I've known him." He nodded in agreement. "I'm sorry, but this isn't going to turn out the way he thinks it will. And she's going to put him past the point he was just at. I don't want that to happen."
He leaned both of their wooden cues against the table and stepped in front of her, tilting her head back up from where she was looking at the ground. "New York, I understand. You two are close, you're best friends. And he’s my best friend, I don't want to see him hurt, either. But we don't know what's going to happen. This isn't exactly a situation where we can just jump in and take control. It's time that he learned what he's doing to himself, and he has to learn on his own."
"No, you DON'T understand. I was the one that basically told him to go for it. To try. He came to me for advice, I gave him the wrong advice. Don't you see? When this is all over, when it's all said and done, he's...he's going to hate me. I did this to him, he didn't do it to himself. I can't lose him again. I can't lose any of you."
Bending his knees slightly, he lowered himself down to her level so that he could look into her dropped eyes again. "He's not going to hate you, honey. No one ever could. But you didn't do this. I'm trying to tell you that he puts himself in this situation all the time. It's like he does it on purpose. I've seen so many girls like Alexandra come and go. I think that he hurts himself on purpose. I don't know why, but he does. He never blames anyone for it, even if someone sets him up with one of these girls. He always blames himself, gets in one of these moods, and then bounces right back and becomes the Chris that we all know."
Her head shook and she took a deep breath, raising her head again. "He and I are on shaky ground to begin with. We still haven't really recovered from the last big fight that we had...the only fight. We still tiptoe around each other, in case we say something wrong. I lost his trust once, and it's going to happen again. I'm lucky that he trusts me at all after what I did to him and to you. To all of you."
"Brooklyn, I really don't want to get into this again, but I'm going to tell you this once. None of what happened was all of your fault. Everyone was in the wrong in the situation. I started it, and I was the one that got Chris involved. We should have told you...told anyone, but we didn't. You had a right to be angry with us, and while I admit that you were a little too angry over the situation, we deserved it. But we're all over it now. It's in the past and that's where it stays. The past."
The words she said next were hard to catch, barely whispered, but he heard them, anyway. He had become an expert on her by now. "The past comes back to bite you on the ass when you least expect it." Raising her voice back to a normal level, she stared at him. "I'm sorry, JC, but I can't see it. I know that he's going to be angry with me. It's the whole women's intuition thing. It comes up at the worst times, just like PMS and your period. And that women's intuition is screaming at me right now. He's going to be mad, and you know what I'm like. I have a short fuse, I'll snap right back at him. And we'll be in the same position we were a few months ago. GOD, I hate this life."
Rolling his eyes, he brushed back a piece of curly hair that had somehow escaped her ponytail. "I know that this is the hormonal time of the month, and sometimes, to tell the truth, when you start acting like the PMS Centerfold of the Month...every month, I wonder why I fell for you. BUT," he added when he saw the look she was giving him, and oh, it was downright deadly. "BUT then you remind me, in your occasional moments of weakness."
"Yeah, it was a moment of weakness when I tried to get you back," she mumbled before plastering a bright, and very obviously fake smile on her face. For a moment, he thought that she looked like one of his sister's old Barbie dolls. A very psycho and disturbed Barbie, but a Barbie no less. "I wouldn't consider this a moment of weakness, Jace. I've gone beyond that. I've gone to the point where I cashed in my 'Dear Abby to the guys of NSYNC' card and quit the advice business altogether. And why? Because it always ends up here. Where I'm stuck wondering about my future, you're stuck listening to me bitch, moan, whine, and complain, and someone that I love with all my heart is about to find out that life threw him another curve ball, and this one is SO going over the plate."
Tilting his head, JC grinned. "Well, if it's right over the plate, don't you think he'll hit it?"
"Bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, full count, Chris Kirkpatrick is at the plate. They need three runs to tie, four to win. He needs a grand-slam. His specialty is the fast ball, but the pitcher knows this all too well," she started, lowering her voice and making it deeper to sound like a baseball announcer's voice. "The pitcher is winding up, it's a curve ball. He's not good with curve balls, folks. But he's digging his feet in, he's tightening his hands around the bat. It's starting to swing, and-"
His hand clamped down over her mouth, stopping her in mid-sentence. "I don't think I'm going to like what you have to hear. Could we not continue this, please?"
A look of pure evil entered her eyes before she licked his hand, making him take it away quickly and rub it on his pants as he shot her a look. "Oh, you love it when I get kinky, and you know it. Can I finish what I was going to say?"
"Please, but stop with the voice. I don't want to think that I'm going to bed tonight with a cross-dresser."
"I'd think you'd know by now whether I was a cross-dresser or not, but just to make sure, I'll remember to leave the lights on next time." Dropping the sarcastic tone, she shook her head and reached up to pull the ponytail out of her hair, letting the permed locks flow over her shoulders. "I'd be glad to say that this is a wild pitch, or that he did get a fast ball, but I don't think that's what's going to happen. Trust me when I say 'curve ball over the plate' and when I say that there's no way in hell that he's going to hit it out of the park. It's a swing and a miss. A swing and a miss for them, and a swing and a miss for me and him. There's no light in the dark, no saving grace, no grand-slam home run for any of us this time."
Sometimes, her pessimistic views bothered him. It was all right when she was playing the role of the optimist, or even the optimistic pessimist, but a straight out pessimist...that was no good. Not only that, but she was far better than him at arguing and debating. She always won, hands down. Trying to win a fight with her was like trying to become President of the United States. It just wasn't going to work out in his favor. AND she was hitting the baseball terms again. This was another situation where home plate was going to be blocked for awhile. "New York...Brooklyn, you're thinking about this a little too much. Remember that guy upstairs sleeping? His name is Chris. Dark hair, not exactly tall, your best friend."
"Don't give me this shit, Joshua Scott Chasez."
"I'm not giving you any shit. Listen to me, would you? Do you remember him?" Rolling her eyes and letting out an exasperated sigh to show him just how annoyed she was, her head moved in a reluctant nod. "Right, him. It's his life."
Narrowing those same eyes that she had just rolled, she moved her hands and used them to pull his off of her hips, where he was keeping her in place. "Okay, so we've gone from acting like I have amnesia to paraphrasing Bon Jovi songs? Great, what's next? Are you going to tell me that you're having an affair with Lance? Because, you know, there has been some talk about you two."
"Who's giving who shit now? And how the hell did you know Bon Jovi, anyway, Miss 'I Only Listen to Country Music'?" Brooklyn motioned with her hand for him to continue. "Like I said, it's his life. He's the one that has to live it. He has to make his own decisions and he has to deal with them. You're not living his life for him. He's not a child, Brooklyn, you don't have to baby him."
She pushed at his chest with both hands and pushed hard enough to make him step back a few strides as she walked away from the table. "Oh, so now I'm babying him? Thanks, JC. Thanks a lot. He's my best friend, I have a right to be concerned," she shot back. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I better go see if I have to change his diaper." Whirling around, hair flying and eyes blazing, she muttered loud enough for him to hear. "Asshole."
Moving quickly, he chased after her and grabbed her by the arm, turning her around. "We're not getting into a name calling contest here, Brooklyn." Without saying a word, she slammed her foot down against his, causing him to cry out. "God damn it," he practically shouted, letting go of her immediately and hopping on one foot. "Why don't you try and break the others ones, too."
"Well, I figured that I tried once, I might as well go for it again. Hopefully, this time I succeeded." Turning away from him again, she started up the stairs, her feet pounding on them loudly. Wincing and cursing under his breath, almost with every step, he chased after her. "Damn it, leave it alone already. I'm pissed, deal with it!"
Shaking his head in determination, he finally caught up with her as she finished stomping up the basement steps and headed into the living room. Between the two of them, the windows were practically shaking, and he wondered idly if the pictures and paintings on the wall were going to fall down off their hooks. "Get your ass back here. If you're going to start the fight, you have to learn to finish it, and I'm going to get my shots in while I can."
Brooklyn stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face him, walking closer with every word. "You have no damned right to tell me what to do," she shouted. When he saw the look on her face, the fury and intensity, he started to back up, but she continued to follow. "No God damned right. I'd watch it, JC. You don't want to end up disabled for life, because that's what I'm shooting for here."
"You really are a sadomasochist," he said, very weakly trying to offend her. Soon enough, his courage built up again, and he made her back up as he stepped forward. If anyone had been watching them, he was sure that it would have looked humorous, but humor was the last thing on his mind. He'd never be reduced and pulled down to the level where he would hit a woman, no. He couldn't be like Tim Croft, but he sure as hell could yell. Yell, scream, rant...whatever. But no matter what punishment she would heap on him, he wouldn't lay a hand on her in anger. Grabbing her was one thing, throwing her and hitting her was another.
But it looked like Tim was the furthest thing from her mind. He remembered the weak looks she used to have, the way she would jump and look over her shoulder whenever he was around. She was nothing like that. Anger, revenge for what he had said, that was the only thing she was thinking, and he thanked God for that. She didn't really need a reminder of her past. "You're telling me that I have no damned right? You're the one that tried to pull me into it. I told you no, for a very good reason. Now, look at you. You're running to me for comfort for something that hasn't happened and probably never will!"
"I thought that's what you were around for, Joshua," she taunted, pointing her finger at him. "You know, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen with, and a quick screw whenever the time calls for it. I can deal with my life on my own, thank you very much!" She had gone from shouting to screaming. Her voice was shrill and high, almost hard on the ears. She wouldn't be able to say much tomorrow, her throat would be too sore, but she was going to get up to her full volume, the one that made dogs within nine miles run in fright, and she was going to do it that night.
"If you can deal with your own life, how come you always come running to me?"
"FUCK YOU!" she screamed in return, now getting up to that volume. It felt like her throat had ripped right down the middle, but Lord, did it make her feel better. Sort of, that was. The anger was still there and very close to the surface. She took a step forward, her teeth grinding together behind her closed lips, and raised her fist, swinging at him.
The blow never connected, though, because someone had grabbed her around the waist and had started to pull her back. She fought with all she had in her, kicking and clawing to get away as JC was being pulled away. By Justin and Lance, she dimly noticed, as they continued to shout at each other, screaming out incoherent words and sentences.
As soon as they had been separated though, the shouting only got worse. They started to call each other every name in the book, and even some that hadn't been invented yet. Brooklyn fought as hard as she could, but whoever it was (Chris or Joey, her mind yelled, but she could barely comprehend the thought) had a tight grin on her, still backing away with her. "Damn it, let me go," she complained while JC was shouting at her from another room. "I'm not going to hurt him. I'm just going to kill him!" she screamed, getting back up to her loudest volume.
Her feet, clad in heavy wool socks, slid on the kitchen floor as she was pulled across it, trying to pull the hands off of her. Finally, she was thrown down into a kitchen chair, the person still holding onto her shoulders to keep her there. "Did you take your medication today, Brooke?" a voice asked.
Growling deep in her throat, she tossed her head to move her hair out of her eyes. "Chris, don't start with me, all right? This isn't a good time."
"No shit. Tell me another one, sweetheart," he said sarcastically, pushing the hair that was bothering her out of the way and looking up. "You can let go of her, Joey. She's not going anywhere."
With a dubious look, he let go of her shoulders. "I wouldn't be too sure of that," he said with a smile as she tried to get past Chris and out of the kitchen.
Turning around, he watched her as she shot past, before shouting, "Brooklyn Arizona Turner, get your ass back in here and in that chair right now." The deep and commanding voice, a far cry from his normal one, made her stop in her tracks and turn to look at him. But it was when he pointed with authority towards the chair that she moved and sat back down, frowning. "We'll be fine. You can go back to bed, unless her other half besides to throw it down in their bedroom."
Chuckling, Joey rubbed his eyes as he walked out of the room. "You're better than an alarm clock, Brooke, but a few more hours of sleep would have been nice."
She didn't say anything, only stared at Chris as he moved away from her and towards the fridge. Her eyes were alight with interest as he looked inside and finally took something out. It was followed by two brisk snaps, before he tossed the bottle caps in the garbage and slid an open bottle of beer across the table to her. "I don't really care for beer," she said softly, her voice raspy from the shouting and screaming.
"Well, I'm sorry, Miss Priss, but there isn't a bottle of wine or champagne in the house, so deal. Besides, you look like you could use something to calm you down and loosen you up a bit. All the screaming and almost punching made you a little tense."
Her eyes were mere slits as she picked up the cold bottle and raised it in a sarcastic salute, drinking back what was in the neck. The bottle hit the table with a soft bang and she wiped her hand across her mouth, making a face. "It tastes like shit."
"It's supposed to. Think about it this way," he began, speaking more kindly than he had been before, "if something is bad for you, do you expect it to taste good? Chocolate not withstanding, of course." She merely shrugged and started to pick at the label, pulling off the first letter of Budweiser. "Besides, you won't even taste it after awhile. Trust me on that."
Her eyebrows arched slowly. "Heavy drinker?"
A smirk landed on his face. "Experienced and social, but definitely not heavy. I've had my share of drunken exploits and hangovers, which goes hand in hand. You?"
"Occasional. Very occasional," she said after she put the bottle back down, stifling a burp. "Excuse me."
He shrugged. "It happens. No big deal." Falling into silence, he sipped his own beer, wondering what the hell he was doing up that early in the morning, drinking with an irate female. He was also starting to doubt the brilliance behind giving her alcohol, but her breathing had returned to a normal rate by then, and she seemed to be more calm than before. "So, you want to tell me what that was all about?"
Biting her lip, she looked away and sighed. "No, not particularly. Not at this moment, really. Never. How does that sound to you?"
Again, Chris shrugged and moved from where he was, sitting across the table from her, to a more unsafe location, right beside her. He sipped from his bottle again and put it back on the table beside hers, judging the difference. She may had said that she was an occasional drinker, but the way she was drinking that night, it looked as if she had far surpassed him in experience and six packs, because her bottle was more than half empty. He hadn't even emptied out the neck of his bottle. "I can deal with that."
Her head turned so that she was looking at him, her face full of doubt. "Really? Can you? Because normally you push me until you get your answer. Not that I'm against that, because you've always done that when I needed to hear the words myself, but this...this is different." Her hand reached for her bottle again and she drank down the rest of what was in there, putting the empty on the table. "This is bad," she added in a whisper.
"It may seem bad now, but you just need a little more time to calm down. Both of you do," he added, staring at the bottle. "Well, are you going to salute, or are you just going to stare at it?"
"Salute?" she asked.
Nodding slowly, he gestured to the bottle. "You know, dead soldier and all that...never mind. You want another?"
Very slowly, her eyes turned towards him. "What did you pick up last time you were in town, two twelve packs?" He answered her with a nod. "And we just opened them?" He nodded again. "And you have aspirin for my hang over tomorrow?" Another nod. "All right, I'll have another."
Getting up, he wondered again if this was the right path to take. She was an adult, though. She knew her limitations, and she knew what she was doing to herself. But she was human and she was very vulnerable. Chris knew that this could open up the flood gates and it could let all of her emotions out, but it might do the singer some good. Then again, she could always go on a drunken rage, but he figured that she would be so far gone at that point that he could subdue her easily and toss her in his room for the night. Or rest of the morning, as the case was.
He snapped it open and folded the cap in half with his thumb in the middle, before tossing it towards the open garbage can again. She raised her eyebrows in surprise but said nothing as he passed her the second bottle, and sat down again. "I'm not going to push you this time, Brooke."
"What makes this case any different from the rest?" she asked, shaking her head. "What makes you all of a sudden so sensitive to what I'm feeling?"
"I've always taken what you're feeling into consideration, Curly Q," he started, pulling on a piece of her hair to make the nickname evident. It bounced back from being pulled straight and joined the rest of the curls. "Don't think that I haven't, because that's always the first thing that's come to mind in these situations. But then...then, you needed to hear what you were thinking. Hearing it always made it seem more concrete. This time...you know what you heard. To repeat it would only make it hurt more. So, I'm not going to push."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, before they became wide again. "Don't deny that you're curious," she said softly, reaching for her second beer. She sipped it slowly this time, not slamming it back like before. "I can see what you're curious. You're a very curious person by nature."
Chris nodded and watched her carefully. "You're right on both accounts, but we're not talking about me here. We're talking about why you and your boyfriend just about went all Pearl Harbor on each other's ass." Leaning back, he shrugged a third time. "But, if you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. I'll listen to whatever you have to say, but I understand if you don't want to tell me."
"It's just...you're too close to this. That's all." Yeah, he was too close because he was the one that started it, even if he didn't know it, even if he was completely innocent. He was involved. The whole reason they had started the fight was because JC had accused of her babying him. Like hell she was going to say a word. "I'm sorry, but I'd rather that you didn't know."
"That's perfectly fine." Even though he had spoken the words with complete honestly, she didn't look convinced. In fact, she didn't look at him. Her eyes dropped down to her lap again, and he knew, from the year that he had spent with her so far, that she was trying to think up some other reason as to why she couldn't tell him. With a sigh, he used a single finger under her chin to tilt her face up to him. "Hey, look at me for a second, would you? I meant it. I'm not hurt that you can't or won't tell me. I know that there are a few disadvantages to having a guy as your best friend. Hell, there's some things that I don't want to know, but what I DO know is that sometimes you feel more comfortable talking to another woman. Right?"
She nodded. "Yeah."
He smiled and reached forward to wipe away the single tear that was making its way down her face. "I understand that I won't be able to help you out through everything, as much as I want to. But Brooke, you need to talk to someone about this. If you don't..."
"I know."
Well, one or two word answers were better than nothing at all, he figured, even though she was giving him very little. "The closest thing we have to a woman in this house is Justin, judging by his obsession with shoes and hair, but you know, there is a woman just down the road."
Her eyes widened in mock fear. She still had her sense of humor, however automatic is was at the moment. But it still let him know that she was alive. "Oh, God. The Ice Bitch cometh," she paraphrased before shaking her head. "I know you like her and all...for whatever reason I can't figure out, but I don't know Alexandra at all. I'm not going to just drop all my problems on a stranger." Especially a stranger that's playing you for information for an article, she thought bitterly. "That's so far out of the question it isn't even funny."
"What about Mia? You always used to go to her with your problems. Or your brother. I mean, he's not of the female persuasion, persay, but he knows you better than any of us do, and I don't think that you could say anything to shock him," he teased.
"Telling him that JC and I are sleeping together would shock the hell out of him," she told him frankly. "He'd drop dead. But you know what they're both like. If I tell them, they'll come down here and try to take over, make everything better. Command, demand, and destroy. That's their motto. We should have had it printed on the napkins for the wedding. God, what I wouldn't give to have my mom here, however much of a screwed up bitch she was."
Taking her cold hands in his (cold from the bottle of beer, he reasoned, though he couldn't be sure of anything at that point), he smiled gently and looked in her eyes. "Call and talk to my mom, then. You've met her, and she absolutely loves you. She loves you more than she loves me. Or Justin's mom. You two hit it off really well last time you were out in Orlando with us. They both told you that you could call at anytime, just to talk. Take them up on the offer."
Groaning, she slammed back in her chair and took her hands away from him, scratching her nose. "That's what you're supposed to say to someone, Chris. I've said it myself, but no one ever takes you up on the offer. It's just the polite thing to do." Her shoulders started to tense up again, and he knew immediately what that meant. Her anger was coming back to her, and it was coming fast.
So he did the only thing he could think of. He stood up and walked behind her, brushing her hair away from her neck before resting his hands on her shoulders, trying to massage the tension out of them. If the tension was gone, he was pretty sure that the anger would be gone, too. "Relax, Brooke," he told her, as her head dropped forward, her hair framing her face. "Believe me, when it comes to my mom, it's never just something done out of politeness. Same as Justin's mom. I've known her for years, so I know what I'm talking about. They both know what we're all like. They'll sympathize, believe me."
"I don't need sympathy. I need a miracle at this point," she whispered, sniffling from behind the curtain of curls. He stopped and moved forward, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind and resting the side of his face against her head. "And I'm starting to think that even a miracle wouldn't cut it."
Closing his eyes, he thought about the impact of her words. It was like what had happened a few months before. Only it was the three of them that fought and wouldn't speak to each other for the longest time. A lot of misunderstood words, and names that had no feeling behind them were screamed out, and all of it had been taken seriously. It had almost been the end of their relationships with her, and she was predicting the same results again, only he wasn't involved.
He also didn't like the way she was talking.
Kissing her hair, he let go of her and walked around her chair until he was facing her. His hands went out and took hers, helping her stand as she sniffed back a few tears that she was trying to fight. "Come on, sweetheart. You need some sleep." He walked her out the kitchen and up the stairs to his own room, opening the door for her and turning on the light. "I think they finally got the other irate one back in his cage and asleep, so I don't think either of us should chance going in there, least of all me. You're untouchable, I'm expendable, and I don't really like the idea of being a punching bag," he said, trying anything to get some reaction out of her as he dug around in his drawers for something. "Here, this should be long enough for you."
Taking the football jersey from his hands, she nodded and bit her lip. "Thank you," she whispered, looking at the ground. For once, she didn't bother telling him to leave so that she could change, nor did she even mention anything about turning around. He did so without being told, though, and stared at the wall, thinking, as she finished changing.
When he knew that she was done, he led her over to the bed and pulled back the covers for her, watching as she eased herself into it. Bringing the covers back up, he tucked her in the way he used to do for the kids he baby-sat for when he was younger, and sat down on the edge of the bed with a smile. "You don't have to leave, you know," she told him, looking very serene and childlike with her curls and big eyes, the jersey that hung down to her knees and the huge bed she was laying in.
He smoothed her hair back from her face and shook his head. "No, I'm not going to leave the room. I swear. If it comes down to it, I can pee out the window." She smiled faintly at his words, but the smile didn't last long. It dropped as soon as possible. "Just get some sleep, all right? If you want to talk tomorrow, I'll be here. Wake me up if you have to, I don't care."
She nodded against the pillow and closed her eyes as he kissed her forehead. Chris sat there for a few moments, watching her, not thinking much of anything or anything important at any rate. When he knew that she was asleep, he stood up and walked over to the arm chair that was near the fireplace, a sign of a posh ski cabin, and sat down, sighing to himself.
"I don't know what happened, Brooke, but I have a feeling that I was involved in this long before I heard you screaming. And I'm not going to like the results, am I?" he asked the sleeping woman, shaking his head. "I'm not going to like it at all."
A sharp knock on the door snapped him back into consciousness as he looked around. With sleep filled eyes, he saw Brooklyn curled up in bed still, sleeping soundly, as the knock came again. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered lowly, pushing himself out of the chair that he had fallen asleep in, cursing when his back and neck protested at the sudden movements. He may not have been the tallest guy around, but even HE was too big to sleep in a chair like that.
Swinging open the door, he stopped Justin in mid knock as he rubbed his eyes. "Uh huh? Is there a reason why you'd like to have your bald head shoved up your ass on this wonderful morning?" he asked as nicely as possible.
Justin shrugged. "Alexandra stopped by to see you. How...how is she doing?" he asked, gesturing into the room with his head.
It was his turn to shrug, and he did so painfully, wincing with the movement. "Asleep, but when she wakes up, I can bet she'll be barely holding it together. I have no idea what happened or what set them off, but she's not too optimistic about the outcome. Not only that but she held most of the tears in last night, so I can almost guarantee that they're going to come out today, if not when she wakes up." It was then that he spotted Alex standing behind Justin with a puzzled look on her face. He froze for a moment, noticing that she, obviously, had already showered and dressed, making him look like death warmed over compared to him. But the thought didn't last long. Hell, he had almost a hundred people looking at him in the condition he was in at the moment, whenever they were on tour. It wasn't that big of a deal.
"Jace didn't say anything last night, either. He was impossible to understand and when we could understand him, he was almost asleep."
With a faint smile, Chris looked over his shoulder at Brooklyn. She still hadn't moved, which was a good sign. "Oh, her words came out SOUNDING coherent, but when you listened to them...they didn't make any sense at all. Would you mind staying with her for awhile? I told her that I wouldn't leave the room, but if someone's there with her when she wakes up, she might be okay."
When he turned back to look at Justin, he noticed the look of sadness that filled his eyes, and the obvious strain that had been placed on all of them last night when they saw the two of them about to recreate the latest Pay Per View boxing match in the living room. "Yeah, sure. I'll call you if I need any help."
He moved so that Justin could get in the room and closed the door behind him, gesturing to Alex. "Can you hold on just a second? I've got an Anheuser-Busch factory in my mouth, and trust me when I say that it doesn't taste the same as it did last night," he told her, making a face as he opened the bathroom door and reached for his toothbrush.
She leaned against the doorframe and watched him silently for a moment before her curiosity got the best of her. "Did...something happen last night? Everyone seems kind of quiet, and what you said, it..." She didn't finish her sentence, but let it trail off.
With a sigh, Chris shut off the bathroom faucet and put his toothbrush and toothpaste away again, licking the water off of his lips. "Yeah, something happened all right. The heavyweight title bout was about to take place in the living room, without the gloves. Turner versus Chasez. Normally, I would pay good money to see that, but this...I think it scared all of us."
Alex made a face, the wheels of her mind turning steadily. Which one was Turner and which one was Chasez? But it was pretty easy to figure out. She already knew that it had been a fight between Brooklyn and JC. And Chris, ever the gentleman, would use her last name first. She was left with the names Brooke Turner and Josh Chasez, though. Much more than she had ever gotten out of them before. "I'm sorry. If I would have known, I wouldn't have come by. I just meant to see what you were up to, anyway, but-"
She broke off when Chris, almost impatiently and sharply, raised his hand. Frowning, she tried to pick up on whatever sound he had just heard, and finally heard something faintly from down the hall. "Damn. Uh, listen. I'll drop by your place later. It's just that I have to...I mean, I can't leave her right now. I'm sorry."
"No, I understand," she said with a smile, gesturing for him to go back to his room. "I'll see you later."
He nodded and walked down the hall, disappearing back into his room. Brookly had woken up by then, and when, he didn't know. All he did know was that she was a complete mess and she was falling apart more and more. Justin looked almost unsure of what to do, and he motioned for him to let go of the sobbing woman, sitting down on the bed. "It's all right. I'll stay with her," he said quietly, brushing down her hair as she latched onto him. His friend nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Bringing her closer to him, holding her tighter, he closed his eyes and let her cry everything out without saying a word. His mind went back to something that Alex had just said, something that caught his attention. She understood why he couldn't talk right then, and why he had to go back to his room.
Sure, she might have understood, he thought bitterly, but he had no clue what the hell was going on.
And at that point, a little bit of insight would have gone a long way.
Two quick notes. Number one, about the dead soldier comment, unless you didn’t pick up on it, or didn’t know. A dead soldier is an empty beer, usually a can, but it can also be a bottle. I actually know someone, a friend of my dad’s, that salutes them before putting away the empties. Go figure. Note number two. About the comment Chris made about having a beer factory in his mouth, I’m not sure that’s how you spell the company’s name. That’s what spell check brought out for me. But in Canada, Budweiser is made by a different company, so I’m not entirely sure. Oh, yeah, drinking is bad for you (I’m not a hyprocrite or anything).
Chapter Twelve
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