“You moved!”
“You threw a fucking punch!”
“I thought you were ducking!” I gag at the sight of blood trickling down his nose.
“Rowan, what the fuck?” Christian barks from the punching bag in the opposite corner, pulling off his gloves as he races toward us.
“I thought he was ducking!” I shout back and begin ripping the gloves off my hands, removing the velcro from my wrist. I flex and curl my hands, both wrapped in the stripped cloth, feeling the ache in my knuckles from the past hour and a half. I grab for a towel slung over the ropes of the ring and race back toward him, hoping to get rid of some of the bleeding without vomiting in my mouth.
I gag and hold up the towel. “I swear, I didn’t mean it.”
“It’s his fucking birthday and you made him bleed!” Christian snatches the towel from my hands and I practically thank him as I squirm at the sight of blood.
I stammer and point at Julian’s face. “I—Okay well, he—He doesn’t even like to celebrate.”
“That doesn’t mean you fucking punch me!” Julian hisses. “Ow, be fucking gentle.”
“I’m trying. Stop moving?—”
“At least it was with a glove?” I try to reason with a half-shrug but all I get in return in a growl.
Christian swaps out the towel and Julian’s blood collects on his hands, and I gag.
“Youmakemebleed andyouthrow up?”
I gag again and cradle my churning stomach. “Oh god.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Christian brings tissues to Julian and inspects the nose. “You’re squeamish?”
“I just—” I make the mistake of looking again and gag. “I just can’t do blood. Or see it come out of someone.”
“Too bad because you’re driving us to the emergency room,” Christian says, holding tissues to Julian’s nose.
I grimace and take one last look over my shoulder. “Please don’t get blood on my seats.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Julian hisses, shaking his head. “I’ll bleed on your fucking seats if I fucking feel like it.”
“Language,” I hiss, trying not to projectile vomit as we get into my car.
#
“You fucking dick,” Julian mumbles in the chair beside me, sitting between me and Christian. “It’s my birthday,” he whines. “And now my daughter is going to see me with a bloody nose.”
I lean forward and whisper to Christian, “I think he’s concussed.”
“Oh you think?”
“I apologized,” I mutter.
After another fifteen minutes, a nurse comes out asking for Julian and Christian helps him stand. “You don’t like theblood. I got him.” He jerks his chin toward the exit. “Go get Gracie.”
“Go get Gracie, please,” Julian mumbles.
“Okay, just update me?” I ask, patting my pockets to ensure I have everything and averting my gaze from Julian’s face.
“I think I know her,” Julian mumbles and squints. “I think I know her!”
“Shhh!” Christian hisses. “Go.”
